30. Saint
CHAPTER 30
Saint
I wake up Monday morning, after a shit night’s sleep, feeling no better. The weird itching is back on my skin, and I’ve scratched my arm so much it looks like I’ve been dragged through a bramble bush.
We spent the remainder of Sunday arguing about what we’re going to do about our Vani problem.
No matter which way we looked at things, it felt like it was all going to go to shit, but it became clear that if we rushed into something, we’d probably lose Vani for good. Maybe we should want that, considering her betrayal, but none of us could stand to think about a future without her in it.
The last thing I want this morning is to see any of the others. If I can avoid a conversation with them, it’s less likely we’ll have to come to what feels like an inevitable conclusion of Vani being made to leave Verona Falls.
I decide I need some time alone. In nature.
It’s still early, and I don’t have classes for another two hours, so I grab a quick shower first.
As the water sloughs down on me, I notice scratches on my thighs, too. Jesus, what is causing me to itch so bad?
Not wanting to dwell on that, I focus on yesterday and our conversation.
We came close to admitting something seismic during our talk. I’m mortified that I almost cried in front of them. Lex had been shocked. He’d looked at me like I’d grown another head. It wasn’t only the idea of losing Vani, but the idea of losing it all. I saw a future I didn’t like, one where Zane was back in his life with his big Greek family, and it was just me and Lex again in our fucked up little world. Marseille is violent and harsh, and when we are back there, we will need to be as ruthless as fuck. There won’t be soft girls with dark curls and big brown eyes. There will be nothing but the need to stamp our mark on the territory the way our father will demand.
One day soon, our time here will be done, and Vani has come to represent so much more than just a girl. She’s the glue holding us together and keeping us here.
Christ, I need to get a grip.
After I dry off and apply some Hermes body lotion to my irritated skin, I dress and head out the main door of the college. A walk in the woods calls. As I exit the doors, a big, blond figure to my right has my head swiveling that way.
Kirill.
God, that asshole is the last person I want to see. He’s whistling something, but I can’t hear what over the Mozart playing in my ears. I turn the volume down, wanting all my senses about me when I’m around any of the Devils.
“Mattheo,” he says, using my real name.
He gives me a brief nod and carries on by me, whistling, seeming like he’s not got a fucking care in the world.
Asshole. No one calls me that.
It grates on me, anger bubbling up inside. What’s he got to be so happy about? He doesn’t deserve it.
I turn on my heel, and, catching him up, I push him in the center of his back. I’m itching for a fight, and why not him? He stumbles a couple of steps, corrects himself, and turns to me. His gaze is frigid now, reminding me of the otherworldly blue you see in icebergs.
“What the fuck?” he snarls.
I shrug. “Just thought you seemed lost in your own world. Not like you not to hurl an insult or two at me.”
He frowns, and then his expression lightens, and he laughs. “Oh, Saint, I have so many more important things to think of now than any of you snakes.”
“Like fucking what?” I demand, that need to punch someone still not leaving me.
He walks two steps toward me, and my blood sings. Yes, this is it, he’s going to hit me, but he stops right in front of me and looks at me with something akin to pity.
“Like a woman I love. A kid I love. Family.”
His words hit hard. A woman he loves. I can’t stand his happiness. It’s an afront to all that is right in the world. “You fuckers don’t even know whose DNA the kid has.”
His hands flex, release, and flex again, but he doesn’t hit me. I’m about to throw the first punch when he takes the wind out of my sails and steals the damn air from my lungs.
Quietly, he says, “Hitting me won’t make you hurt any less, Saint.”
I open my mouth and snap it closed again.
He laughs. “You think I don’t understand? You think I haven’t felt the same things you are? My fucking father …” He shakes his head. “I’ve seen you, you know? The three of you, with that girl.”
I scoff, but he simply talks over me.
“The way you look at her. The way one of you always has to be touching her when she’s near. She’s not safe, though, is she? We didn’t fuck around the way you are. When we realized our Duchess was ours, we claimed her.”
Did they? I don’t see it that way, but I’m more interested in something he said a moment before. “What do you mean, the way we look at her?”
He laughs again. “If I have to explain that to you, Saint Laurant , you’re more fucked than I thought.” He looks me up and down. “The clothes, the food, the music, all your stupid shit, mean nothing. The same way as the way the watches I collected meant nothing.”
What fucking watches? What the hell is he talking about?
“You can either make sure the one thing that does mean something is safe and is yours … or not. It’s your choice. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I don’t have the time to flatten your fancy French ass because my woman is waiting for me.”
He walks away, raising his hand behind him, middle finger extended, as he does.
Fucking hell, if even that idiot can see the way we look at Vani, does that mean everyone knows?
She’s made a fool of us.
After walking for over an hour and listening to Don Giovanni because that matches my mood, I find myself back in the college. This place that used to be somewhere I felt so sure of myself. Prince of all I surveyed. But not any longer. Mon dieu . Venom has ruined us.
I push open the door to my room and stop.
What the fuck?
The paintings that were in my closet are now piled up on the floor in the middle of the room, and they are ruined.
I stare in a mix of shocked dismay and impotent rage, but then the fear creeps in, icy tendrils of it skittering down my spine. It’s not an emotion I’m used to, but this is weird. No one could have done this. How did they get into my room?
My gaze flashes to the windows, which are firmly shut. I locked my door when I left; I’m sure of it. And the paintings are dripping water, as if there’s been a leak. No, it’s as though they’ve been rained on, the same way my work was rained on the other day.
Not all of my pieces are out in the room. I count—there are at least another five still in my closet, along with my painting materials. So, what the hell happened here?
Vani’s words come back to me: The Preachers want to hurt you ….
They do hate us, me in particular. What if this is their magic? Can it do that?
I’ve still got Roman’s cross. Does he know? Is this his revenge?
I go to where I’ve hidden it in the back of a drawer, checking it’s still there. My fingers close around cool metal, and I exhale. This is my insurance, in case things get really bad.
I scrub my hand over my face. No, I’m being fucking stupid, but then … what other explanation is there?
The picture that got the worst of the damage is one of Vani. The water has distorted her beautiful face so now it’s as though she’s crying and melting at the same time.
Merde.
I take my cell phone out of my pocket and call Lex, but he doesn’t answer. Where the hell is he?
I send him a text.
Some freaky shit is going down. I think the Preachers are messing with us. Are you okay?
I consider things for a moment and fire off two more texts.
Then I take one last look at my destroyed paintings before heading out the door.
Those Preachers have messed with the wrong man.