Chapter 33 Mara
THIRTY-THREE
MARA
Milo picks up his phone for the third time in five minutes.
His thumb moves, his jaw flexes. Concern etches across his face in the way I’ve known since we were small—eyebrows drawn, lips pressed thin.
I can read my twin like a headline. I know when his mind is somewhere else.
And I know when he thinks I’m a complete burden.
“You don’t have to be here.” My voice comes out flat, but it’s an accusation dressed as a kindness.
He ignores me, flipping through his textbook, pretending to be calm, but his knee bounces under the table. His fidgeting gives him away.
“Milo!” I snap.
He looks up at me. “What, Mara? Yes, I do have to be here. There’s just… other things going on.”
“Girl trouble?” I arch an eyebrow.
He squints. “I don’t date girls.”
“Okay… boy trouble?” My smirk is small, a knife.
“Fuck off, Mara.”
“I’m trying to.” My voice dips bitterly. “But I’m only allowed to leave the PTO house supervised. So, kinda hard.”
The library hums around us—muted voices, pages turning, the click of shoes on polished wood.
My eyes roam the room automatically, scanning for any sign of Omega Chi.
Nothing. Not even a glimpse of Dredyn’s black hoodie or Jasper’s sharp blue stare.
If I had to guess, Milo’s already posted his guys at the doors to keep OCK out entirely.
Probably even at the catacomb entrances too.
My brother knows how to lock a place down without ever announcing it.
“Mara.” Milo’s voice drops to that tight twin register that’s half command, half plea. “I took you here like you asked and you’re not even studying. We can go back.”
“I’m not a dog you walk for enrichment time,” I mutter, picking at the edge of my notebook. “Why don’t you tell Valen’s daddy to figure out who’s murdering everyone so I can go back to my life?”
Milo doesn’t answer. His silence is a wall. It’s always been his strongest move, and today it works. My throat burns.
“Fine.” I push back my chair, the scrape loud in the hush. “I’m going to the bathroom.”
He flicks a glance at one of the guards my father assigned me. The guy starts to rise automatically.
“I’m fine. It’s literally ten steps away.” My voice softens just enough to sound like a sister instead of a prisoner.
Milo finally looks at me. His stare reminds me of a prison bar: hard, unyielding. Then he gives the smallest nod. Permission.
I slip away, fast. My pulse is already pounding. Each step feels like an escape hatch, like air hitting my face after being held under.
The back stacks swallow me—colder, dustier, the kind of air that tastes like old paper and secrets. Shadows eat the golden light until it’s all dim corners and silence that feels too alive.
I turn a corner and stop breathing.
Or maybe begin to breathe again for the first time all week.
Talon’s there, leaning against the shelves like he summoned me. Hands in his pockets, head tilted.
“Miss me, Princess?”
The word slices through me. I hate that it lands where it does—low, hot, in the pit of my stomach.
“You can’t be here,” I hiss. “Not now. Milo’s—”
“That’s the point.” He pushes off the shelf, as lazy as a lion stretching.
My back hits the books before I even register moving.
He’s taller up close, shadow stretching over me, heat rolling off him.
Up close, he’s a hundred dangerous details: the bulk of his shoulders, the way his shirt clings to him like it was made to show off everything beneath; the faint scent of smoke and leather that clings to his skin; the scar cutting a pale slash along his jaw, almost hidden under stubble; the flecks of green in his dark irises that catch the last strips of sunlight.
It’s too much. Too close. My nerves sing like live wires.
“You’re shaking like you want me to ruin you,” he whispers in my ear.
“My brother’s outside—”
“Then be quiet for me.” His laugh is soft, like he’s in on a joke only he knows.
His thumb grazes my lip and my breath catches. My heart bangs against my ribs like it’s trying to escape.
“Have you ever been on your knees for anyone, kitten?”
My throat locks. I shake my head, face flaming.
“Fuck,” he mutters, voice sharp and sweet all at once. “That’s criminal.” His grin goes feral, teeth flashing. “Firsts should be mine.”
He looms without touching, and yet I feel him everywhere. The bulk of his shoulders blocking out the thin slant of light, the smell of his skin, his breath skimming my temple. I can count his lashes, the tiny scar on his jaw, the flecks of green buried in his dark irises.
His eyes drop to my mouth again, and I feel like a mouse pretending not to want the trap.
He presses on my shoulders, causing my knees to buckle and me to slowly sink onto the floor. My pulse hammers so hard I swear he can hear it. Talon looks down like I’ve just crowned him king. The way his lips part is almost gentle, but his grin devours it.
“Take it out,” he instructs, causing my eyes to land right on the bulge pressing against his zipper. A pit opens in my stomach. Fear. Arousal. The two wage war until I can’t tell which side I’m fighting for.
When I hesitate, his smirk sharpens. “Fine. Watch, princess.”
After a moment’s hesitation, Talon relents and takes it out himself, his long shaft falling out of his boxers until it lands just inches away from my face. The head is already swollen with need and my pussy pulses as I watch his cock throb.
With one of his hands, he strokes himself. The other tangles in my hair, tugging my head back so I have no choice but to look up at him.
“Tongue out,” he instructs.
I obey, sticking my tongue out until the corner of his mouth tilts upwards in satisfaction. He takes his cock and runs it along my tongue, my pre-cum dribbling out in small droplets.
“Such a pretty girl. Now, open wide. A whore like you should know exactly what to do.”
I shake my head. “I just told you I’ve never done this before. And I’m not a whore.”
“Oh… Princess…. you are most definitely going to be my whore when I’m done with you.” His thumb drags across my lower lip. “We’ll start slow—let you feel the edge before you fall.”
The way he says fall makes the whole aisle tilt. My pulse is so loud I barely hear the soft shuffle of footsteps at the far end of the stacks. For one dizzying second I remember where I am—the library, Milo just outside, guards waiting. My body tenses up.
“Shhh. Stay right here, on your knees. Breathe me in.”
I obey, trembling, tongue wet against my lower lip. His thumb follows, pressing just inside my mouth first, testing me, forcing me to taste salt and sweat before anything else. My lips close around his thumb instinctively and he groans.
“That’s it, Princess. Fuck—yes. Now, you’re going to hollow those cheeks for me.”
I try, my throat fighting to stay open as he pushes deeper. My hands grip his thighs, nails digging in. But he doesn’t allow me to retreat. Instead, he guides his cock into my mouth—thrust, retreat, thrust.
“Relax your throat. You’ll need to be comfortable taking dick if you’re going to survive us.”
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes as he sinks deeper, hitting the back of my throat. He groans at the wet choke it drags from me.
“Perfect,” he hisses, pulling back only to slap the tip against my tongue. Spit strings down my chin. His grin is feral. “My filthy little princess on her knees in the goddamn library.”
I gag again when he thrusts forward, and he moans like it’s his favorite sound. His hand tightens in my hair, holding me there, cock buried in my throat until my vision swims.
Before too long, his hot cum shoots down my throat.
Talon smirks down at me, cock still hard, glistening. “See? Not a whore yet, but you’re getting there.” He leans down, close enough his breath scalds my ear. “Swallow my cum. Then, you’re going to walk back to your brother and act like you didn’t just love the taste of me.”
I swallow because he tells me to. Because part of me wants to. My throat burns, my eyes sting. I drag my sleeve across my mouth, but it only smears the mess. He helps me up gently, one palm on my back, the other still tangled in my hair until I’m steady on my feet.
When I wobble, he steadies me again.
Then he leans in and presses a warm kiss to my cheek. “Fix your skirt,” he whispers against my ear. “Straighten up. Be proud to be our girl.”
And just like that, he slips away, melting back between the stacks, his shadow gone.
I’m still pulling at my cardigan, smoothing my hair, when Milo rounds the corner. He stops dead, eyes sweeping over me.
“What the hell, Mara? You look—” He bites off the word but it hangs there anyway: fucked. “Did someone—”
I snap before he can finish. “Don’t be disgusting, Milo. I went to the bathroom. That’s it.”
He doesn’t buy it. His jaw flexes, knuckles white around his phone.
I shoulder past him. “Mind your business,” I hiss.
By the time I slide back into my seat, my mask is already in place. Milo’s still somewhere behind me in the stacks, and my heart is hammering against my ribs, but my face stays serene, head bent over my notes like a girl who’s done nothing but study.