She smiles, and it’s about a 50-50 ratio of shiny veneers to malice. Her cronies are with her, but they stand a foot or so behind, unconsciously or not subservient to her.
“I’m going to carve that smile right out of your face, Harlot,” Aurora says.
I can’t even manage a jab at her lack of originality. This was all supposed to be a game—a stupid, ridiculous game—at least to them, anyway. I don’t want to look like Freddy freakin’ Krueger.
“A…Aurora…” I manage, but she steps forward. Arabella, Blythe, and Lilith block the exit, but if I’m being honest, they don’t look happy. They look surprised, and they don’t like the gift they have received. Ivy retreats until she is against the far wall, her back flush against the porcelain subway tile. She appears to be taking it even worse than I am, her freckle-free skin turning from porcelain to pallid to a jaundice green.
My heart hammers inside my chest like a runaway wind-up toy as adrenaline washes away the last of my exhaustion. I catch a whiff of Aurora’s perfume. Lilies, maybe.
Fuck. I can’t get distracted. I need to fight!
But I am stuck, rooted to the floor like my shoes have turned into cinder blocks. I am Alice in Wonderland, only I haven’t been dumped into the land of munchkins, melting witches, and flying monkeys. I’ve entered the land of Louboutins, lip-fillers, and liposuction.
Aurora weaves around me, her gymnastics and cheerleading experience paying off. I turn for the stall, ready to lock myself inside and scream, but it’s too late. She catches me, her manicured talons digging deep into my shoulders before she shoves me against the wall. I lift my arm just in time, taking the brunt of the impact on my forearm.
In the blink of an eye, she has the blade against my throat.
I scream, and I hope it’s loud enough for the teachers to hear. Voclain may have a long and sordid history with the Blue Bloods, but it doesn’t mean they will actually allow them to spill blood. Or at least, I hope not.
Adrenaline hums in my veins.
The speckles of light from the overhead chandelier glint brighter.
The chill of the tile turns icy against my cheek.
Time seems to freeze as though someone hit the pause button on the universe.
The door to the bathroom slams open, the blow violent and loud. I hear someone go sprawling, maybe Blythe by the string of curses that follows, but I can’t be sure. Then Aurora’s hand is yanked away, the knife clattering to the floor as she is torn away from me.
I jerk around, ready to sprint for safety, but what I see steals my ability to move.
Aurora picks herself up off the floor, her red hair askew. She swipes a stray lock behind her ear as her eyes narrow. Ian stands across from her, his glare murderous, his shoulders rising and falling as he stills his trembling hands into fists at his sides.
“I told you she is mine,” he warns, his words as sharp and deadly as the knife now on the floor.
I am captivated, entranced by him—this boy, this being—with a face so perfect he must have been sculpted by God itself and a silver gaze that promises hedonism and hellfire in equal parts.
It’s probably the high of the adrenaline and the lack of sleep—or at least that’s what I will blame it on—but right now, in this very moment, he is the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.
Obsidian hair falls into his pewter gray eyes, which match the color of his Academy-issued slacks. He doesn’t wear a jacket, and the fabric of his white button-down strains against the muscles of his back, drawn taut with rage.
He is a brooding tower of stone and angst. Has he always been this tall?
He could make an angel sin, my knight in shining armor. Only I have a feeling if he really did wear armor, it wouldn’t be shiny or polished at all. It would be dented and scratched and blood-splattered just like his soul.
Aurora’s cronies stare wide-eyed at her and Ian like they can’t decide whether to obey their Queen or Voclain’s King. Their gazes flit quickly back and forth between the two like little birds hoping along the shoreline.
Aurora frowns, her fuchsia pink lips disappearing into her teeth as she scowls at Ian.
“Why do you care?” she demands. “You never complained before. I was just giving you a head start.”
Ian’s gaze falls to the knife, a silver blade encased in black leather that lies under a vessel sink attached to the wall. His expression darkens, yet his words are calm and somehow it’s worse than if he had yelled them. “We don’t kill people.”
Aurora shrugs as though murder really isn’t so bad. She walks over, picks up the blade, and slides it beneath the waistband of her skirt. She eyes me, but the thread of Ian’s self-control snaps and he vaults forward, landing inches away from her face.
“Get out!” he roars, his words echoing off the tiled walls.
The anchors holding my feet to the floor evaporate with the command. I can’t be here. The darkness waves a murky hand out of the recesses in my brain. I should leave.
I need to leave.
LEAVE!
I catapult forward as Aurora and her friends scamper. Only I don’t make it to the door before Aurora does. She bolts in front of me, and the door hits me in the face. I tumble backward with an oomph and a burgeoning headache. I land against something…someone hard and warm.
Ian. Effing. Beckett.
I cradle my head in my hands as he stands there, not holding me, just a wall of muscle keeping me upright. I should run, but the fight has left me as quickly as it arrived. Plus, it’s not like I would get very far.
“Let me see,” he coaxes, his words pouring over me like a warm shower on a cold, winter night.
I turn around to face him. I know I shouldn’t. I
