Chapter Twenty-Eight
“Hey,are you planning to sleep the whole day away or—fuck, my bad. Hi Lia, bye Lia!”
A door slams, jerking me from the last of my hazy half-dreams.
That voice. It’s wrong. A man’s voice, and not one that I recognize. Instantly on alert, I tug my blanket up over my shoulders as I try to make sense of the scene around me.
I’m in a room that I don’t recognize. A little plain, a little messy, furnished in shades of ebony and charcoal gray. I’m also fully clothed, despite being tucked comfortably in bed.
And I’m not alone.
Ryker sits at a wide computer desk, adorned in a dark bathrobe, lounging with his legs spread and his fingertips idly tapping his chin. A scowl is affixed to his sharp features, but it’s not directed at me—he’s seething in the direction of the door, looking like he’s contemplating whether or not to stride over and rip it off its hinges.
“Hi,” I whisper.
His azure gaze shifts to meet mine, and his expression softens ever so slightly. “Hey.”
Okay. This is happening.
Last night’s memories are a whirlwind of heat and color. I took a few shots with Harper, made my way to the GODs party… at first I couldn’t find him, and the blurry glow of the alcohol was irritating more than anything else, dulling the hyper-tuned senses that I’ve always relied on.
But then he was there, and we were dancing… he brought me upstairs… the door was hard and cold against my bare shoulders, but his body was searing hot when he pressed me against it. I could feel my pulse hammering in my wrists where he pinned them high above my head and kissed me, not just with his mouth, but with his whole body…
And then the bed. The pleasure, the release… and a wave of sweet exhaustion that took me under before I could process what had just happened.
“It’s past ten,” he tells me, jerking me abruptly from my reminiscence. “Your friends are probably wondering where you are.”
I sit up slowly. Aside from a soft headache, I feel okay. Hungry, though—my stomach snarls, and Ryker raises his eyebrows.
“Sorry,” I mutter.
“For what?”
“I’m used to eating a lot earlier than this.” I scoot to the edge of the bed. The mattress is high enough that my toes barely graze the carpet below me. “And I probably look like a mess.”
“I don’t know if you could ever look like a mess.”
It doesn’t sound like a compliment—more like a slightly perturbed observation. Unsure how to respond, I buy time by combing my fingers through my hair, which has managed to work itself into a tangled disaster.
“Sorry if Freddie woke you. He has a… certain tendency to go marching into rooms uninvited.”
Freddie, right—the guy from my class. That’s the person whose voice roused me. “He’s your friend?”
He shrugs. “Guess so.”
Talking with him like this feels bizarre and natural at the same time, like a dream of a familiar place with its architecture scrambled nonsensically. A little distant, perhaps, but casual, as though we’ve known each other for far longer than a single week.
God, has it really only been a week? I feel lifetimes away from the girl who got a ride to the island from a surly cab driver. I never could have suspected that the next several days would land me here, sitting in Ryker Pendragon’s bed, fending off the dull throb of what must be a miniature hangover.
I could use a coffee. And a shower. And a whole lot of privacy to process everything that happened in the last twelve hours.
“I’ll get out of your way,” I offer, “so that you can talk to your friend and everything.”
“The longer you stay, the longer he leaves me alone. That’s not a bad thing.”
A knock on the door immediately proves him wrong.
“What the fuck do you want?” Ryker barks.
It creaks open and Freddie saunters in, bearing a grin more befitting more of a wolf than a man. “I fucking knew it.”
“Knew what?” Ryker asks, glancing towards me.
“Uh—” My lips part trying to find the words, but failing. I have no clue what’s going on, but Freddie looks more smug than he really should.
“That you were fucking, Lia.” Freddie finally laughs, shaking his head. “I called it.”
“Freddie!” Ryker snaps, picking up the nearest object before chucking it at him. “Get the fuck out!”
“My bad!” Freddie throws up his hands in mock surrender, but makes no move to exit. “I always send them on their way first thing. Thought your M.O. was the same.”
“Ignore him,” Ryker growls in my direction. “He’s an idiot.”
“She knows me as Freddie, actually. ‘Idiot’ is reserved for close friends.” He winks. “So you’re Ryker’s new plaything. Who’d have guessed?”
“I’m not anybody’s plaything.”
“Ooh, and she’s a feisty one, too! Nice catch, big guy.”
Ryker grits his teeth. “Tell me what the fuck you want or get out of here.”
Freddie’s deep brown eyes grow serious for a moment. “No can do, compadre. It’s not for all ears. But, tell you what—I’ll swing by later. Let you enjoy your not-plaything for now.”
“Let me,” Ryker echoes, deadpan. “That’s fucking rich.”
“You know it!” Freddie flashes him a pair of finger guns, wheels around, and lopes out of the room without bothering to close the door behind him.
“He’s… colorful,” I observe.
“He’s the shitty brother that I never wanted.”
I’m not quite sure that I believe that, though. His tolerance of Freddie’s antics is the closest thing to a display of affection that I’ve ever seen from him.
“Well, it sounds like whatever he has to say is pretty important?—”
“Don’t.” Ryker clicks something shut on his desktop computer and gets to his feet. “Come to breakfast with me.”
“In the city?”
“Hell no. I told you you’re safe on my motorcycle, but that doesn’t apply pre-caffeination. Get on the bike with me now, you’re liable to end up as roadkill.”
I raise my eyebrows.
“Joking,” he mutters. “GODs are allowed to do that, you know.”
“You’ve got a morbid sense of humor.”
“That’s what you said before. Our first night out, when I warned you not to slip on the steps.”
Is it? Wait, that’s right—he’d made some creepy quip about bringing me home in a body bag. I tried to brush it off at the time, but his stony expression left a hint of unease tingling through me.
“A morbid sense of humor and a good memory,” I note.
“Whatever. Seriously, though. I’m not riding anywhere in this state.” He drags a hand absently over his stubble-flecked cheek. “There’s a coffee place by the school shops, and it’s not half bad.”
I probably shouldn’t. “My roommate will be wondering where I am…” I pull my phone from my pocket to confirm. It’s nearly dead, but a careful look at the dimmed screen reveals that I have, in fact, received a text from Harper—if not the one that I was expecting.
Harper: Heard thru the grapevine that Ryker brought a cute blonde to bed last night!!! GET IT GIRLLLLLLLLL
Along with an incredibly long string of little orange fire emojis.
“If you don’t want to come, don’t.”
“I didn’t say that.” Of course I want to come—why wouldn’t I, after everything that’s happened between us? Despite the near-magnetic draw between us, it seems almost as though part of him is still trying to push me away—and I don’t intend to let him. “Breakfast sounds great. Let’s do it.”
He only gives a quick nod in reply before heading over to his dark wooden dresser and pulling out some basic garments—a gray T-shirt and black sweatpants with the name of the school imprinted along one leg in faded red.
He’s going to change, isn’t he? I should look away. That’s the polite thing to do. But his back is turned, and it’s not as though he’s making any effort to hide himself from me…
The robe slips off and pools at his feet, and now he’s in nothing but his boxers.
Oh.
Between the muscles, the scars, and the tattoos, I don’t know where to look.
His back is a tapestry of clashing lines. A huge skull is inked from shoulder to shoulder, filling the entire rippling expanse from his deltoids to his low-hanging waistband. Cutting through it are a plethora of long-healed wounds—lash marks, mostly, with the occasional shiny pink echo of a burn. Someone has attacked him like an animal. More than once, judging by the way the scar tissue layers and intersects. Years of abuse, if I had to guess.
Who the—who the hell could do something like that?
He pulls the T-shirt over his head and glances over his shoulder, locking eyes with me before I have time to look away. His dark blue stare and clenched jaw challenge me to say something, but I don’t. I can’t.
What happened to you, Ryker Pendragon? Just how much are you hiding beneath that ice-king facade?
He steps into the sweatpants and turns to face me again, his chin held high and his arms crossed in a stance that treads the line between confidence and defensiveness. He’s not glaring, not exactly, but there’s a tension to his heavy dark brows that doesn’t escape me.
“Tell me something,” he says.
“Anything.”
“Why are you here, Lia? All of last night, the party—I left you in bed, but you wouldn’t leave my mind. I couldn’t stop thinking about how different you are from those other girls.” Irritation edges his tone. “They’re a bunch of rich snobs, and you’re… not.”
His bluntness takes me by surprise, and I find myself answering automatically—“I’m here for my mother.”
He scowls. “Your mother?”
“She, um—died when I was little. But she said that what she wanted more than anything—” The words keep spilling out of me, and I’m helpless to stop them. After last night’s intimacy… and now, with the scars… I feel like I can talk to him, really talk about the things that matter, and I didn’t realize until now just how badly I’ve been aching to do that. “She asked me to go to school, and to try to be… normal. And I want to prove to her that I can do it. That I want to fit in… that’s the most important thing in the world to me. And I’m scared that I’m not very good at it. Honestly, it’s all just so new. People have told me I’m kind of weird, but maybe not in a bad way?”
He doesn’t interrupt me, doesn’t even react. Maybe I’m going too far… my voice grows quieter, and my hand rises to my hair, twirling it uncertainly.
“But, well, I told you I’ve never been to a restaurant. The truth is that there are a lot of things I’ve never done… so I guess I’m a little bit scared.”
He says nothing, just stares at me, as if searching for some hidden meaning deep within my eyes—and then, fast enough that I don’t get the chance to react, he closes the distance between us and slides a hand under my jaw, tilting my head up firmly but not aggressively, leaning in close enough for me to feel the hot puffs of his breath against my lips. He smells like something familiar, though I can’t possibly say what it might be—something close to menthol, with an underlying woody aroma that makes me think of the wilderness.
“Things like this?” he asks, his voice a low growl. His fingers slide down my throat, teasing gentle pressure against my windpipe, coming to rest against my collarbone. The kiss is forcefully sudden and leaves me breathless.
“Yeah… like this.” I swallow hard, completely taken back. Last night, under the influence, things felt so much easier—but now I’m flushed and unsteady, stumbling over my words. “I haven’t had a real friend, let alone a boyfriend—not that you’re—I mean, I don’t know what we are. But I haven’t done this either.” I gesture to the bed behind me. “Sex, I mean… I guess that makes me a virgin.”
I’m making an idiot of myself—but he’s not laughing. He’s following every word with a quiet intensity.
“There’s more to it, though,” he mutters, his voice even lower than usual. “Why do I get the feeling that you have something to hide?”
Visions from Friday night flash through my mind. The demonic red masks, the hooded figure, the terrified new recruit scrambling for safety as the cliff’s edge crumbled beneath their feet.
I crush the images down, terrified suddenly that he’ll be able to read them on my face. I’m not guilty of anything, even if Ryker is making me feel as though I am.
“Maybe because it takes one to know one,” I whisper. “Or maybe you’re the one who’s imagining things.”
He releases my chin and steps back, a light scowl shadowing his face. “Fine. Be like that—but at least come to breakfast with me. I’ll grab you something to wear.”
His absence sears the skin of my jaw, as though his touch left a fiery brand where it had rested. A low, dull throb rolls through my torso from top to bottom, and I’m so distracted that I barely manage to catch the gray sweatshirt that he tosses in my direction.
“Breakfast,” I repeat, pulling it over my head. It’s several sizes too big for me, but surprisingly soft—and it smells like him, too. “Is that what you want?”
“Right now? More than anything.” He jerks his head towards the door. “Are you coming or not?”
Of course I’m coming. I think part of me knew all along that I was going to, but I couldn’t keep myself from drawing out our last few moments alone together. His mask is far from gone, but in the past several minutes, I’m sure I’ve begun to see it slip.
The GODs house, I discover upon exiting the room, is surprisingly full of life for a Sunday morning. Laughter and profanities, punctuated with the clinking of cutlery, flow out from a door that must lead to the kitchen. On the stairs and in the common room, a scattering of freshmen are on cleaning duty, gathering piles of bottles and garbage from last night’s party—one particularly unfortunate guy appears to be scrubbing a vomit stain from the entryway carpet.
Their eyes lift as we pass, only to fall immediately upon glimpsing Ryker. At least, I assume the response is to him. I can’t imagine anyone being that submissive to me.
Maybe that’s why I got rejected from Omega Phi. The way I carry myself has always been quick and quiet, while those girls walk like royals.
When I’m with Ryker, though, I might as well be royalty too.
The sun catches his hair when we step outside, highlighting whorls of deep chestnut that I’ve never noticed before. He seems pensive as we walk, his brow and lips drawn tight, eyes narrow and distant. I find my own gaze straying to his shirt, the way it hugs the hard muscles of his back. He keeps an arm looped around my waist, a proud declaration of ownership that fills me with a glow of excitement.
How many other people have laid eyes on the spectacle of ink and scars that he covers up so casually? I know he’s… done things with other girls; he touches me with the precision of someone well-practiced. But the way he looked over his shoulder at me, that wariness—I couldn’t help but feel as though I was seeing something very few have.
Come to think of it, I hope I’m one of the only ones. Not just because it would make me special, but because I can sense that he’s ashamed. No, that’s not quite right. Less ashamed, and more… guilty, almost. As though the marks of abuse are evidence of his failures.
They’re not. Scars are never signs of weakness—they’re the opposite.
I wish I could tell him that, but I get the feeling he wouldn’t listen.
The sun has begun to fade by the time we reach the little semicircle of shops, overtaken by an ominous veil of clouds that look as though they might be pregnant with yet another storm. I squint up towards the sky and am instantly rewarded with a fat droplet right in my eye.
“Crap, ugh—” I blink furiously and swipe at my face with one hand. More raindrops join the first in a hurry, pattering against my shoulders. “Come on, let’s get inside…”
When I look back towards Ryker, though, he’s standing still. Oblivious to the rain darkening his T-shirt. Watching me with a strange expression, almost like he’s struggling not to cry.
“What—are you okay?”
“Crap,” he repeats carefully.
“What?”
“Crap, ugh. That’s what you just said.”
“Yeah? So?” I bundle my arms around myself. Tank top season is decidedly over. “Because the rain fell right into my eye. It stung.”
“I bet it did,” he says, his upper lip quivering?—
Oh my God.
He’s not holding back tears. He’s holding back a smile.
Something twists in my chest.
“I’m freezing,” I declare with as much dignity as I can muster. “And I need a coffee.”
“Yeah.” The odd look on his face melts back into the usual brooding stoicism.
I’m not disappointed to see it go. At least, that’s what I’m going to tell myself.
Warm, cinnamon-scented air buffets me as soon as I enter the coffee shop, a tiny white-shingled building nestled between the bookstore and the apparel boutique. A few other students are seated at leather booths and tables veined with wood grain, chatting with their friends or studying alone. Muted overhead lights cast the room in a golden glow—the opposite of outside’s drizzling chill and the stark, oppressive hallways of the castle.
“This place is nice,” I murmur.
“I thought you’d like it.”
I don’t even have the time to process how thoughtful his words are before he’s ushering me up to the cash register, manned by a sleepy-looking man with a black ponytail.
“What can I get started for you?” the worker asks.
“Is there…” I bite the edge of my lip. “Could I see a menu?”
He jabs a thumb over his shoulder, towards a chalkboard with a hand-scrawled list of drinks and prices. Half the words are unrecognizable, but I spot a classic near the bottom. “A cappuccino, please. Medium.”
“And you, sir?”
“Large cold press. And throw in two of those chocolate croissants.”
“You got it, Mr. Pendragon.” The cash register beeps as he taps a series of buttons. “Anything else?”
“That’s all. Lia, go find a seat. I’ll cover this.”
“Okay… thank you.”
I can’t even pretend not to notice everyone’s eyes on me as I make my way towards a corner booth. Hard as I try to ignore them, I can’t shut out the murmurs from the tables I pass by?—
“She’s new, isn’t she?”
“Looks like a freshie…”
“Wasn’t he with Marissa Alexander?”
Oh.
Marissa.
I sink into the booth, ears burning, and fix my eyes on the rain-dappled window.
I should have known. Should’ve known from the moment I saw her watching us from the OP porch with the eyes of a tigress. The GODs belong to Omega Phi, and nobody else. Even Sage and Aimee seem to respect that to some extent. Ryker isn’t someone I can just casually see. He’s a status symbol, whether I like it or not. The campus adores him… which means that they very well might hate me.
I don’t look up when Ryker takes a seat across the table. I feel, stupidly, like I’m going to cry, and crying in the middle of a coffee shop is the last thing my public image needs right now.
“What’s wrong?” he asks.
“Um…” I swallow hard. “It’s a big deal to be seen with you, I guess.”
“Of course it is.” He states it bluntly, unfazed. “You’re surprised by that?”
“Well, no. Not exactly. But I just overheard—someone mentioned this girl, Marissa, and… I was rejected from Omega Phi last week. So. I kind of put the pieces together. And it doesn’t feel great.”
When I finally look up at him, my stomach sinks. He doesn’t look surprised—or angry, or confused. His mouth is straight, his eyes steady.
“You knew,” I realize aloud.
“I figured… considering Marissa and her bullshit.” He heaves a sigh. “She’s a mess, Lia. You don’t want to get involved with her or her stupid fucking sorority.”
“Don’t tell me what I want.”
“Omega Phi is mostly full of air-headed cunts who wouldn’t last five seconds in the real world. You’re smarter than that.”
“My friend is Omega Phi,” I snap.
He doesn’t apologize, but he does go quiet.
“I just—is this what’s going to happen if I keep seeing you? Are people going to… disdain me?”
“No,” he says at once, then scowls slightly. “Well, yes. Some of them. Other people are going to want to be your best friend. For most, it’ll probably be a combination of both.”
I prop my chin on my hand and peer at him thoughtfully. “You’re really used to this, aren’t you?”
He shrugs. “Haven’t got much choice.”
We’re interrupted by the arrival of our order—a steaming mug for me, a tall glass for him, and a plate topped with two pillowy, chocolate-doused croissants, placed right in the middle of the table.
“Thank you.”
The cappuccino is good, even if it burns my tongue a little bit. That’s something. And I can’t deny that the pastries smell amazing.
“Listen, Lia,” Ryker says after several seconds of silence, voice so low that I have to lean in slightly to make out his words. “I’m going to be blunt. I’ve wanted you from the second I first laid eyes on you. And I’ve discovered since then that you are an extremely confusing, mildly frustrating person, which has only made me want you more.”
The word want stirs something deep inside of me—memories of last night, the way I felt engulfed beneath his weight in bed, gasping for his taste, the pleasure building at my core…
I suppose I’ve known that he wants me, but still. Hearing it spoken so plainly throws me for such a loop that I can’t find my voice at first.
“I think,” he continues, “that it will only get worse, the longer that we let this go on. So if you want this to be over, you better say so right now. I can’t promise that I’ll leave you alone. But if we keep seeing one another, I know that I won’t be able to.”
I stare into the frothy depths of my drink. “What are you asking me?”
“I’m not asking anything. I’m warning you.”
“Warning me?”
“That the window is narrowing. That you should try to get out while you still can… if that’s what you want.”
The narrow-eyed look he threw over his shoulder when he exposed his back to me. The ridiculous twitching of his lips under the light rain, fighting back a smile that I would have killed to see. The sparking energy on the dance floor, on all of the dance floors, as we moved together, learned all the different ways we could touch, hands and hips and mouths…
If that’s what you want.
“What I want,” I say, looking up at him at last, “is you.”
He doesn’t smile. Not yet.
But I think he’s getting closer.