“Let me go, you fucking—”
“Sinner.” Legend’s voice is smooth and controlled, which only annoys me more.
I snap my head toward Sinner, whose grin only widens, something wicked and gleeful sparking in his eyes. He lifts one hand, fingers curling in a lazy gesture.
Fuck.
My body locks. Every muscle seizes, frozen mid-struggle. I can’t move. Can’t even twitch. My arms hang limp at my sides, my legs useless, my spine relaxing against Legend’s chest like I’m some docile fucking pet.
Panic flares hot and immediate, but I shove it down, bury it deep.Breathe. Think.
I can still feel everything. The scratch of his coat against my shoulder blades. The steady rise and fall of his chest behind me. The hard ridge of his cock pressing against my ass.
And I can still talk.
“I’m going to fucking stab you,” I hiss, voice low and venomous.
Legend leans in, lips brushing the shell of my ear. “Behave yourself like a good girl,” he murmurs, dark and threatening,“and Sinner won’t cause you any embarrassment.” His hand slides up my thigh, fingers splaying possessively. “Like, I don’t know, making you suck my dick in front of the whole school.”
Heat floods my face—rage or arousal, I can’t tell anymore. Maybe both. His breath ghosts across my neck, and I want to sink my teeth into his throat until he bleeds.
But I can’t move.
Can he really make me, or would it be an illusion?
A very vivid illusion?
No. Bad thoughts.
Definitely don’t tell them you’d do it in front of all of them without being forced if the mood was right.
Sinner’s magic holds me in place, limp and pliant, like a puppet with cut strings.
“Sad how you have to ask big brother for help, Legend. How veryprince-like of you,” I damn near sing the taunt, waiting for him to get pissy and do the whole “Baby, I’m a King” bullshit. He doesn’t.
He just chuckles, low and dark. “I see you still have much to learn in that little codex of yours, though this might work in my favor if you continue to be as clueless as you are…or are pretending to be. Not sure which it is quite yet. Maybe a bit of both.”
“Fuck you,” I manage, voice tight.
“Later.” He laughs. “Promise.”
The doors to the War Room groan open, and the sound of footsteps echoes through the chamber. Students file in, professors trailing behind them, their faces pale and drawn. Chairs materialize along the walls, stacking upward in tiers so everyone gets a view of the dais.
The room fills quickly. Whispers ripple through the crowd, eyes flicking toward me, toward Legend.
They think you killed your roommate.
They see you on their King’s lap.
I almost tense, annoyed that a single thread of someone else’s thought could affect me enough to almost gain a reaction.
They can think I killed the girl, I don’t really care. But if they run their mouths about where my ass is planted because the man beneath me is a complete pain in the fucking ass, we’re going to have problems.
Once the last student settles into their seat, Knight stands. His movements are smooth, unhurried, but there’s a tension in his shoulders that sets my nerves on edge. He scans the crowd, gaze sharp and assessing, before he speaks.
“Effective immediately, there is a curfew.” His voice carries through the chamber, cold and commanding. “No one leaves their quarters after sundown. Anyone caught roaming the halls will spend the remainder of their time in The Cellar.”
Silence. Heavy and suffocating.
