Poison Princess

different universes.

“Look at Radcliffe down there. You think you’re on his mind right now?”

Brand was surrounded by a bevy of slores as he drank from the keg like it was a water fountain. The life of the party, worshipped and adored.

Where was Mel? Normally, she’d be throwing elbows at those other girls. I hadn’t seen her—or Spencer—for a while. I rose at once, stepping over Jackson to go look for her.

“Where you goan, Evie?”

Though I ignored him, he followed me down the stairs. Back on the ground, I saw a shadowy figure skulking among the parked cars. I squinted, but couldn’t see through the fog. Another hallucination?

I cautiously eased closer to get a better look, but Jackson stepped in front of me. I shimmied to the left; he blocked me.

“I don’t have time for this.”

He began edging me toward the mill.

“Stop it, Jackson,” I snapped when my back met a brick wall. The bass pumped so hard that I could feel the vibrations through the stone.

He leaned in, his brows drawing together. “You got on some kind of expensive perfume? Never smelled anything like you.”

“I don’t wear perfume.”

He looked at me like I might be lying. “You smell almost like . . . honeysuckle.”

“I’m not wearing anything.”

“My fondest wish.” The corners of his lips curled—the first time I’d seen his expression even come close to a genuine smile.

Despite myself, that half grin affected me, made my heart speed up.

Was Jackson flirting with me? Like a normal boy might? And not just to make me uncomfortable?

Too bad. Between Brandon, Death, and the cryptic boy, my dance card was full.

And this flirtatious side of Jackson made me wary. Even though the Cajun was attractive in a too-rugged kind of way, I probably trusted Death in armor more. “Just leave me alone.”

“I will as soon as you do two things. Admit you speak French, and show me the rest of your drawings.”

I was already gazing past him, done with this conversation. “Why are you acting so interested? Why are we even talking? You hate me, remember?”

“Mais yeah.” For sure. Pressing his palm against the wall beside my head, he leaned in, murmuring, “But maybe I want you a little, too.”

I’d just learned something I’d never known. A boy could desire to have sex with me and not like me at all. In fact, he could even hate me.

“Maybe I’ve decided to forgive you for making me la misère.” Causing me trouble.

I exhaled, sick and tired of these games. I was sick and tired of everything. “Jackson, listen—”

“Call me Jack.”

“No. Because we’re not friends.” Imitating his accent, I said, “And only your friends call you Jack, no.”

He grinned down at me again, his teeth even and white. “We may not be friends, but I’m about to get real friendly with you.” I could feel the heat coming off his body. He smelled delicious, like the woods, a little wild.

He had some unknowable look in his eyes. He seemed to be silently promising me something, but I didn’t know what.

“Friendly with me?”

“I’m goan to kiss you, cher.”

My thoughts scattered. Though the moment had begun to feel like a dream, I didn’t want to be a cheater. “I need to get . . . back to Brandon.” I laid my hands on Jackson’s chest to push him away, but his muscles flexed under my palms, that heat drawing me like a magnet.

“I woan let you go back to that boy—not until you give me one bec doux.” A sweet kiss. Then he reached forward, unlacing the ribbon from my hair.

“What are you doing?” I murmured.

“Souvenir.” He put it in his pocket, and for some reason that struck me as the sexiest thing I’d ever seen.

Energy began filling me. Sick and tired? No longer. I felt excited and alive for the first time in months.

Where was the meh I’d been feeling about kissing and boys and sex?

At that moment, I was dying for this Cajun boy to kiss me. I didn’t care about my reputation, the friends I’d disappoint, the popularity I’d lose, or the bragging rights he’d win.

I had to know what the look in his eyes promised.

He was staring at my lips, and before I could think better of it, I’d wetted them.

“That’s it, bébé,” he said in a coaxing rasp. “Ma bonne fille.” My good girl.

He wrapped one of his arms behind my back, cupping my chin with his free hand. “Evangeline, I’m goan to kiss you until your toes curl, until we’re breathing for each other.”

That was the promise. . . .

As if from a great distance, I heard someone yell, “Jack!”

He ignored the voice, inching even closer to me.

“Jack!”

Our lips were about to meet—

“JACK DANIELS!” I realized Lionel was yanking on his arm.

As Jackson turned, he flashed Lionel the most frightening look I’d ever seen on a man. “What you want?” he thundered.

“Time to go, podna.”

Jackson shook his head hard, his arm snaking tighter around my lower back.

“We’re done here. Time—to—go,” Lionel repeated.

Whatever that meant. Yet Jackson was listening to him.

Lionel said to me, “They’re looking for you inside, Evie.”

“Oh. Oh!” I shimmied out of Jackson’s grasp, but I couldn’t stop from glancing over my shoulder.

When I bit my bottom lip, I thought he might come after me, but again Lionel hauled back on his arm. Jackson growled at his friend, “Want a taste of dat girl, me.” The look in his blazing eyes . . .

Lionel said something I didn’t hear.

Something that made Jackson scowl. “Go on, Evie,” he snapped. “Now! Go back to your friends.”

His curt dismissal stung, bewildering me even more. I hurried back inside, pressing my fingertips to my lips. Oh, God, I’d almost kissed another boy. I’d nearly cheated on Brandon, who didn’t deserve that.

I stopped in my tracks.

Clotile was slinking up to Brand, and he looked thrilled, holding out his hand for her. My jaw dropped as he helped her do a keg-stand, with all the wardrobe malfunctions that entailed. Football players cheered.

The humiliation! And in the midst of this embarrassing crisis, one mental plea stood out from all the rest: Please don’t let Jackson see this.

I shoved through the crowd toward the keg. When Brandon caught sight of me, he flushed red, helping a giggling Clotile down.

I was mortified that everyone had just witnessed this scene—and pissed off. Feeling reckless, I gazed up at Brandon. “Hey, big guy. Why don’t you give your girlfriend a kiss?”

“Here? In front of everybody?” he asked.

Hesitating? “Yes. Here.”

Finally, Brandon leaned down to slant his mouth over mine, once and again. With a stifled groan, he