Page 27 of Twisting Beauty

Laughter broke out behind me, sharp and bright and impossible to place. It could have been about anything. It still sank under my skin like it was aimed at me.

By the time I reached my locker, every glance landed with weight. Every whisper sounded aimed. Every laugh carried cruelty whether it had meant to or not.

Christ, if the hallway alone had me wound this tight, my first class was going to be a bloody disaster.

I grabbed the books I needed and slammed my locker shut. I turned and froze.

A familiar girl moved through the crowd like something half-feral, wild white-blond hair spilling over delicate shoulders that her hairband couldn’t contain, moon-pale skin, and a mouth too sensual to suit the intensity of her stare.

Recognition landed hard enough to make my next step catch.

Nuala.

The girl I’d helped escape the asylum during that student prank.

Her eyes landed on me and held, the stare sharpening into something that made my nerves jump.

Shit. Nuala knew me as Liath. One wrong word from her and my cover would be blown wide open in the middle of the hallway before I’d even lasted an hour.

I ducked my head and kept walking, peering up through my hair as if that could somehow hide me.

Keep walking. Just keep bloody walking.

Nuala tilted her head, and certainty lit her whole face. She started toward me, weaving between the mingling students like she was following a scent trail, until she cut into my path.

Shit. There was no way to avoid her.

“I knew it,” she said, her voice bright and way too loud, making my skin tighten. Her smile stretched too wide, showing too many teeth. “It’s me, Nuala.”

She stopped too close. Citrus and jasmine clung to her clothes, and the scent chimed through my head in bright, tinkling notes that only made my nerves jump harder.

“You helped me escape Magdalene,” she said, still smiling like the memory excited her. “Looks like you got out after all. God, I’m so bad with names…”

Her hand rose before I could dodge it. Cool fingers brushed the corner of my eye, light enough to look harmless and intimate enough to make my stomach turn.

“Irish for gray,” she said softly, repeating the words she’d said when she first met me. “Liath!”

Pure panic grounded me to the floorboards as sweat slicked my palms. I flicked a glance around the corridor, measuring distance and witnesses, trying to see whether anyone close enough had heard the name that could ruin me.

“You’ve got the wrong person,” I said quickly, forcing my voice to stay steady. “I’m Rua. I-I’ve been in Romania on an exchange program.”

Nuala blinked once, slowly, as if I had become the strange one. “What?”

Fear climbed fast and cold up my spine. Nuala didn’t sound suspicious. She sounded confused. Confused people kept talking.

“Don’t know who this Liath person is. Sorry.” I veered around her and hurried on. “I’m late.”

But Nuala fell into step beside me, refusing to let the moment die. “Hang on a minute.”

I needed a cover. A distraction. A way to get her off my back.

Lorcan. Standing by a set of lockers.

I cut sharply in front of him before I could think the decision through.

I regretted it instantly.

His friends went quiet all at once, the shift sharp enough to feel rehearsed. One lad knocked his shoulder into another and grinned. Another bent his head, muttering something low that made the third huff out with a laugh.