Chapter 1 #2
I had seen him on campus, obviously. You couldn't attend Blackstone without seeing Kai. He was on the banners in the student union. He was the whispered fantasy of every girl in my sorority house. The King. The brooding, silent center who skated like he was angry at the ice.
But seeing him in a jersey was one thing. Seeing him like this—in black joggers and a tight black t-shirt that strained against biceps the size of my head—was another.
He was currently kneeling on the bed, trapping me against the headboard. His scent washed over me—sandalwood, cold air, and something dark and spicy that made my stomach do a traitorous little flip.
My heart was hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.
I tried to summon the mask. The Armor. The persona of Maeve Sterling, the untouchable bitch who didn't care about anything. It was the only thing that had kept me safe for four years. If you act like you’re above everyone, they can’t see that you’re actually trembling beneath the surface.
“It’s just a sheet, Volkov,” I snapped, though my voice lacked its usual bite. “Send me the bill. I’ll have Daddy cut a check.”
It was the wrong thing to say.
I saw the change in his eyes immediately. They were grey, like slate, but they darkened instantly, the pupils blowing wide. His jaw flexed, a muscle ticking in his cheek.
He reached out.
I flinched, squeezing my eyes shut, expecting… I don’t know. To be grabbed? Shoved?
Instead, I felt his hand wrap around the neck of the wine bottle I was still clutching.
His fingers were warm, rough, and calloused. They brushed against my knuckles, sending a jolt of electricity straight up my arm that settled low in my belly.
“Let go, Maeve,” he commanded.
His voice was a low growl, vibrating right through my chest.
I opened my eyes. He was staring at me with an intensity that made my skin prickle. He wasn't looking at the wine anymore. He was looking at my mouth.
I released the bottle.
He took it from me and set it on the nightstand without breaking eye contact. The clink of glass on wood was deafening.
“You think this is about money?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.
He shifted, leaning closer. His knee pressed between my legs on the mattress. I was wearing a short dress, and the fabric had ridden up. I could feel the heat of his leg through the thin material of my tights. It was scorching.
“I have more money than God, little mouse,” he murmured. “I don’t want your father’s check.”
Little mouse.
The nickname scraped against my nerves, patronizing and strangely intimate all at once. I hated it. I wanted him to say it again.
“Then what do you want?” I challenged, lifting my chin. I refused to cower. Even if my hands were shaking. Even if the way he was looking at me made me feel like I was naked. “An apology? Fine. I’m sorry I spilled cheap wine on your boring bed. Happy?”
Kai tilted his head. He studied my face like he was reading a playbook, looking for a weakness.
“You’re trembling,” he observed.
“I’m cold,” I lied. “You keep this place like a morgue.”
“You’re not cold,” he countered, his voice dropping an octave. “You’re scared.”
He reached out again, and this time, his hand went to my face.
I froze. I had never been touched by a man like this. Most guys at Blackstone were terrified of me, or they just wanted to be seen with the Dean's daughter. They were handsy, clumsy, grasping.
Kai was precise.
His thumb brushed over my lower lip, tugging it free from where I had been biting it. The pad of his thumb was rough, scraping sensitive skin.
“Why are you in my room, Maeve?”
The question was heavy. It demanded a real answer.
I couldn't tell him the truth. I couldn't tell him that the party outside was making me feel like I was drowning.
I couldn't tell him that seeing my ex-boyfriend, Carter, mauling a freshman in the kitchen had made me feel so pathetic and lonely that I needed to hide in the dark just to breathe.
I couldn't tell him that I was twenty-one years old and I felt like a fraud in my own skin.
So I lied. I put the armor back up.
“I told you,” I scoffed, pulling my face away from his hand, missing the warmth immediately. “I needed quiet. And I figured since you’re never actually in here—seeing as you live at the rink—you wouldn't mind.”
Kai sat back on his heels, assessing me. He didn't buy it. I could tell.
“You are a brat,” he stated. It wasn't an insult. It sounded like a diagnosis.
“And you’re a brute,” I fired back.
“Maybe,” he agreed. He glanced down at the red stain spreading between us. “But this brute sleeps here. And you just destroyed my sanctuary.”
He stood up abruptly. The loss of his proximity left me shivering for real this time. He towered over the bed, looking down at me with a cold, calculated expression.
“Get up.”
“Excuse me?”
“Get up,” he repeated. “Strip the bed.”
My mouth fell open. “I am not—”
“You made the mess,” Kai cut me off, his tone brokering no argument. “You clean it up. Now.”
He crossed his arms over that massive chest. The tattoos on his left arm peeked out from under his t-shirt sleeve—swirling black ink that disappeared into the fabric. I caught a glimpse of a wolf’s jaw.
“I’m not your maid, Volkov,” I hissed, scrambling off the bed to stand on the opposite side. I smoothed my dress down, trying to regain some dignity. “I’ll pay for a cleaning service.”
“No,” he said. He walked around the bed, backing me toward the door. “You invaded my privacy. You disrespected my space. You don’t get to pay someone to fix your mistakes, Princess. You’re going to fix them yourself.”
He stopped when I was backed against the doorframe. He was so tall I had to crane my neck to look him in the eye.
“Strip the sheets,” he said again. “Take them to the laundry room. Start the wash. And if you spill so much as a drop of detergent on the floor, you and I are going to have a very different conversation.”
My heart was racing so fast I thought I might pass out. I was furious. I was humiliated.
And god help me, I was turned on.
It was a sick reaction. I knew it was. But no one ever told me what to do. No one ever looked me in the eye and demanded accountability. My father just threw money at problems until they went away. My friends just agreed with whatever I said.
Kai Volkov was looking at me like I was a problem he intended to solve.
“And if I say no?” I whispered, my defiance wavering.
Kai stepped closer. He placed one hand on the doorframe above my head, boxing me in. He leaned down, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.
“Then I call your father,” he whispered.
The heat of his breath sent a shiver down my spine.
“And I tell him exactly what his daughter was doing in my bed with a bottle of wine. I wonder what the Dean would think about that? Especially since I’m on academic probation.
It would look very… scandalous. Don’t you think? ”
It was a bluff. We both knew it. He would get in just as much trouble as I would.
But the threat wasn’t really about my father. It was about power. He was testing me. He was seeing if I would yield.
I looked up at him. His eyes were dark, expectant. He was waiting for me to break.
I clenched my hands into fists at my sides.
“Fine,” I spat.
I turned on my heel, stomping back to the bed. I grabbed the corner of the wine-soaked duvet and ripped it off the mattress with as much force as I could muster.
Behind me, I heard a sound I didn't expect.
A low, dark chuckle.
“Good girl,” he murmured.
The words hit me like a physical blow. Good girl.
My knees went weak. Heat flooded my face, hot and shameful and delicious. I gripped the bundle of dirty laundry against my chest, refusing to turn around, refusing to let him see the way my breathing had hitched.
I marched out of the room, dragging his ruined sheets behind me.
I could feel his eyes on me every step of the way. Burning. Possessive.
I didn't know it then, but I had just signed a contract I hadn't bothered to read. I thought this was just a stain. I thought this was just one night.
But as I walked down the hallway, the heavy bass of the party swallowing me up again, I couldn't shake the feeling of his thumb on my lip.
The King had noticed me. And he didn't look like he was planning on letting me go.