“I have my books,” I growl, “now, move.”
“Check.” There’s something in her voice. A command. I shiver as the order repeats inside my head, and then I find myself sliding my backpack down my arm and unzipping it.
“Pull one out,” she orders in a silky-smooth voice.
Suddenly I want to retrieve one of my textbooks. Not just want to, I have to. I slip my hand inside the bag and feel something soft brush my fingers. Soft and sticky. Not a book. Something heavy and familiar.
And there’s an alarming metallic, coppery scent coming from inside. My body recoils from it. I don’t want to reveal what I’m holding. There’s a sick dread in my stomach. A terrible, gnawing ache.
But I have no choice. My body isn’t my own. Slowly, I pull out whatever this is . . .
It’s a head. A bloody, severed head inside my backpack. Red pig-tails. Freckles. Blood and other horrifying things drip from the neck. But worst of all—worst of all, I recognize the face.
Jane.
With a wail, I fling the head away and fall to my knees as a pang of grief splits open inside me. The pain is unreal. I gag, warm vomit tickling my throat. My thoughts ping-pong all over the place.
Do Aunt Vi and Z know yet? When did this happen? Why? How?
Laughter echoes around me. Cruel, cold, unending laughter. A few Unseelie whip out cell phones and shoot videos. Someone jumps in and takes a selfie with me.
I hardly notice them. I clutch my chest. Unable to breathe. To focus on my surroundings. My heart. My heart is tearing in half.
“What’s happening here?” a deep voice booms.
A male professor stands just outside the classroom, frowning at the whole affair. I point at where I tossed Jane’s head . . . except now there’s only a book. And the blood staining my hands and the floor has disappeared.
It was a . . . trick. A spiteful, brutal, callous trick.
The professor sees Inara and then his face goes slack with fear. Still, he seems about to help me, taking a step forward, despite Inara’s terrifying presence. Then his gaze slides to my right and he freezes. The blood in his face drains until his skin is the same hue as snow.
With a quick, apologetic glance at me, he disappears into his classroom.
Coward.
I follow his gaze, wondering who could be more intimidating than Inara, and my eyes snag on the Winter Prince. He’s leaned against a locker watching Inara, his gaze avoiding me completely. He wears his usual lazy smirk, the one that makes me want to throat-punch him. His blue-black hair is artfully messy and falls around his slender, pointed ears, the white collar of his tunic unbuttoned and open to the top of his chest.
He looks like he just fell out of bed. He probably did.
My skin tingles with fear as I remember last night. Does he know I trespassed inside his mind?
“Keep your filthy trailer park eyes off him,” Inara hisses. “He’s off limits.”
I’m still on my knees as she leans down and takes my chin between her fingers, forcing my focus away from her mate. One of her pack of sociopaths moves in to video the encounter.
I should stand, but I’m afraid if I move, I’ll hurl. The sight of Jane’s head is still too fresh. The horror of her fake death still too raw. My body hasn’t recovered from the influx of grief, fake or not.
“That was just a taste of what I can do.” Cold emanates from Inara’s fingertips. She yanks my head up by the jaw, tweaking my spine and forcing me unsteadily to my feet.
My hand curls as I prepare to deck her, but the homicidal look in her eyes says she’ll snap my neck if I try.
Instead, I grin, fighting back with the only thing I have available: words. “I’m curious. Why did you make my book look like an adorable puppy?”
Confusion flickers across her face. “That’s not what you saw.”
“Yeah. He had the cutest nose—”
“I saw you fling it away.”
I shrug. “It was cuteness overload. I panicked.”
The dark blue vein snaking down her forehead throbs. She can’t puzzle me out. Why I’m not afraid of her. It’s either a really smart—or really stupid—play.
“Whatever,” she says. “Leave, Trailer Park. This school isn't for you.”
That nickname is really getting old. “You’re wrong,” I somehow manage as her fingers dig deeper into my jaw. “I don’t even . . . live in a trailer.”
I swear in my periphery I catch the prince’s lips quirking.
She tilts her head to the side, her eyes narrowed like she’s trying to figure me out. Somehow I manage not to flinch as she leans down and sniffs me—sniffs me, for Fae’s sake.
A cruel smile bares her snow-white teeth, complete with a set of fangs. She must be half-shifting, but I’m too nervous to remember what her animal shifter form is.
“Joke all you want,” she says, “but you can’t hide the stench of your fear.”
“Fuck you.” The words just tumble out. Maybe she is getting to me.
Something dark and dangerous flashes across her face. A shot of cold pierces my chest—
“I’m bored, Inara. Let’s go.” The Winter Prince is standing next to Inara, his hand resting on her shoulder. I recognize the long, delicate fingers from my vision last night, the fingernails kept neat and clean.
Her eyes brighten at the contact, and the icy dagger I felt spearing my flesh disappears as she makes doe eyes at the prince. Gag me.
Someone’s obviously been forgiven.
The hatred pouring from her dissipates, but she’s not totally done with me yet. “Where’s your Summer Court now? What about your friends?” She glances around, pretending to look for them, while panning for the camera. Someone laughs. She slides her dark gaze back to me. “I rule this school, and no one, not even the teachers, can help you. Stay, and I’ll discover your deepest fear and make it happen.”
She releases my jaw, and I rub the tender spot where her fingers gouged. That’ll leave a bruise.
“See you in class, Trailer Park,” she calls. “Unless you know what’s good for you.”
She turns on her heel and struts down the hall with her minions in tow. Reina flashes me a smug look before trailing after them with her two boy toys. The Winter Prince is the last to leave.
“You shouldn’t antagonize her,” he admonishes.
I grit my teeth. “It’s not in my nature to roll over and play dead.”
“I can see that.” His eyes linger on me. There’s a darkness in his look.
I stare back, letting my frustration and anger over Inara’s trick leak out until it fills the air between us. Our seemingly mutual hatred. The air between us crackles with the raw emotion, so real it could drown us.
The memory of being trapped in his head last night surfaces. The intimacy of seeing his most private moments. I feel his confusion, his anger and need. I see the way he looked at my picture and realize it’s the same way he looks at me now.
Only, maybe it’s not hatred in his stare, but something else. Something I don’t quite understand. Something dark and ragged and . . . yearning.
And then it happens again. A burst of icy warmth blooms between us. For a moment, a breath, I feel drawn to him. Tugged along an inescapable chain of familiarity and desire.