I swallow.
I can’t see them now, except for their shoes, but I hear Rune.
“Alright. Let’s head for class. We’ll meet at the barn tonight.”
I crane my neck, watching as they stomp up the aisle then exit.
My lashes flutter in relief. I give them three minutes to exit the building, counting the moments in my head.
I inch my way out from under the chairs. My legs are shaky as I crawl to the end of the row and stand up, blinking to adjust to the overhead lights that have just been flicked on.
A gasp escapes me as Rune appears at the entrance. He looms as he walks down the main aisle, his face impossible to read. One thing is clear: He does not look like a college student. Sure, he’s around my age, early twenties, but there’s an edge to him. He’s a beautiful angel of darkness. My breath hitches. Why would I think that?
He stops in front of me, that familiar curl of disappointment evident on his face as he takes me in. “I knew someone was here.”
He rakes his gaze over me, drifting over the rip in my jacket, down to my skirt, then back to my face. He touches the blood on my arm, and I watch in shock as he sniffs it, his forehead furrowing with disgust.
I flinch away from him, backing away, but he follows.
“Never come in here again,” he bites out. “I can’t stop Evan if he finds you. I think you know that.”
Yeah. I’ve caught the hungry, lingering gazes from the gangs here—not just Rune’s boys. Have I mentioned how much I hate this place?
“Other people come for classes. So what?” I snap.
“No, they don’t. This building is ours.”
Oh. I assumed classes were held here, but this building is a bit run-down and there was a layer of dust on the podium at the front—
“And stop eating pears,” he mutters.
“I like pears.” Dick.
He levels cold but brilliant green eyes at me. A glacier resides there. I imagine I see something ethereal, a multi-layered yearning to…
Kill me?
“I can end you with one touch. You’re nothing but a speck. A fly. A piece of dirt on my shoe. Annoying and useless. You live for a heartbeat then turn to ash, girl.” He snaps his fingers. “Did you hear that? That was you being born, then dying.”
My mouth gapes. There’s so much to unpack there (his anger, why he speaks as if I’m going to die tomorrow), but I choose to get hung up on girl. I’m twenty one years old, plus, my uncle called me ‘girl’ with the same venom and—
I suck in a sharp breath. Shit, Rune’s bending down to me, our noses only a few inches apart.
Several moments pass. Little puffs of air slip out through my parted lips as I try to gain control of my fear and dig deep…
From somewhere inside me, defiance flares bright and shiny. “What can you do to me that hasn’t already been done?”
He laughs, but there’s no mirth in it. “So brave. So stupid.” He pushes a finger to the middle of my chest. “Listen to me. You’ll never come here again.”
Okay, I get it. Obviously, they meet here to fight or sell drugs or fuck or whatever. My own lip curls. “I’ll come when I want.” I shove his hand away from me.
He glares at me then rocks on his heels, seeming to come to a decision. “Damn, I really hate to do this but… What’s your name?”
“I’m in your class!”
“Name?” he growls.
“You sit across from me!”
“Name. Now.” There’s power in his voice, rich and luscious as it wraps around me.
My teeth grit as the compulsion to answer him hits me right in the head. “Everly,” I gasp out as I fight the tightness in my mind.
“Everly?”
I nod jerkily.
“Whole name.”
I don’t want to tell him my entire name—
“Everly Marissa Anderson, social security number 210-78-9901, room number 914 in Wilson Dorm. Home address is 592 Quail Ridge in Brooklyn, New York. My boyfriend’s name is Benny.” My eyes flare and I clap a hand over my mouth.
“Is he here?”
I shake my head.
“Speak,” he orders, power rippling through the air.
“He’s in Brooklyn.”
“Do you know what you are—because I sure as fuck can’t figure out why you’re here.”
“I’m a woman.”
He chews on his bottom lip, and for a moment it makes him appear vulnerable. “How did you get into Crystal Lake? Was your ancestry—something not human?”
Good God. My heart thuds. He’s a wacko.
“Be a good girl and tell me everything about your background,” he demands.
My lashes flutter. Emotion pricks my eyes at the vague memories I have of my beautiful mother, her sweet smile, her comforting nature. Before I realize it, a lone tear has fallen down my face.
“She died when I was a small.”
He stares at me, then wipes at my face with his thumb, his face implacable. “Everly Marissa Anderson, tell me why you’re at this school.”
I don’t know!
I press my thumb nails into my index fingers viciously, needing pain to push his compulsion away. I feel a trickle of blood on my hands. It’s a trick—create pain to make other pain go away. It’s a defense mechanism I used while my uncle lashed my back with his whip. Good girls avoid the carnal. Good girls don’t stink up the house with perfume. Your mother was a whore and so are you.
“Where did you go?” he asks, frowning when I don’t reply. His green eyes bore into mine, and wow, lightning sparks flare in his irises.
I press even harder into my skin.
“Forget this happened,” he says in a lulling murmur. “Forget me and Evan and Bodhi. You never saw us or heard anything.”
I blink.
He gives me a dismissive wave. “Go to class or wherever you’re supposed to be.”
To hide my expression, I bend my neck and stare at his black boots, my head tumbling.
Did he just try to hypnotize me into forgetting? Oh, girl, he did hypnotize you—you told him your SSN and a whole bunch of other stuff. But I’m free of his power now.
I shift around him to get to the exit. Our shoulders brush and I catch his scent: leather, pine, and male, a gorgeous musk that makes my mouth water.
I pause when he grabs my arm and stares into my eyes.
“Oh, and you don’t like pears anymore.”
Dude has some serious issues with fruit. I nod and scoot away hurriedly.
I don’t see him watching me the entire way up the aisle, but I know he is.
Beware the Ides of March
Everly
I shut off the shower nozzle and shiver. I’ve yet to experience hot water in this hellhole. Wrapping my towel around me, I slide the flimsy plastic curtain aside and pad out of the cubicle wearing flip-flops to avoid the stains on the concrete floor. Dark brown, faded, and rusty, they make a person think about blood, like someone was murdered.
Oh, wait, someone was.
Supposedly, a girl went to this bathroom, and all they found of her was some blood and her clothes. After searching the twenty-five acres of campus for weeks, they came up with nada. No one saw or heard a thing.