Savage Heir #2
Each cottage has a downstairs kitchen—though there’s a Great Hall dining area that serves three meals and two teas a day—a study library and living room. Upstairs, there are two bedrooms with private bathrooms, and a common area between them.
Outside, I tighten my hood against the downpour and trudge across campus.
The housing address for Ilya that the student services office gave me simply says “Lordship Manor.” I haven’t explored much of campus since I moved in three days ago.
But an online map had it situated on the far side of the stables—yes, there are stables—and past the archery range. Yes, there’s an archery range.
My rain boots splash through puddles along the slate and cobblestone walkways that crisscross the grounds of Oxford Hills. There are only a few other people out in this weather, but they seem to ignore me even when I give a wave.
I’m quickly learning that the children of the world’s elite aren’t the friendliest bunch.
I pass the stables, smiling at the smell of hay and horses. The archery range is empty and gray in the downpour. I’ve got my head down to ward off the rain, so I don’t notice the wall and the gate until I’m almost smacking into it.
I startle and step back. I glance up, and my eyes widen.
Past the ivy-covered stone wall and ornate iron gate, is a stunning old home.
It looks like it belongs on the grounds of Versailles or something—a huge, beautiful and yet imposing stone manor, half-covered in ivy.
Black-iron windows dot the facade, and the front door looks like it would withstand a siege from a rival kingdom.
I’m about to dig my phone out and figure out how close I am to Ilya’s cottage when my eyes suddenly snap to the words carved into the stone wall next to the gate. My mouth falls open in shock when I read “Lordship Manor.”
What. The. Fuck.
This is where Ilya Volkov lives? It’s no cottage. It’s a fucking castle. I shake my head in disbelief. But, this is it, alright. And palace or not, the student I’m supposed to tutor in order to bulk up my resume is in there.
This will be fine.
Unless he eats you.
I tremble as I push the gate open and step through. I fast-walk up the stone walkway to the enormous, black iron and old-wood door. There’s no doorbell.
I frown. What the hell am I supposed to do, use a battering ram? Have my squire call up to the Lord of the realm?
I take a breath, haul my fist back, and pound. Then I pound again, and again. Finally, I hear the sound of a lock being drawn back. The door cracks and then swings open. I blink in surprise.
The girl is not who I expected. She’s… stunning. Tall, leggy, blonde, and absolutely gorgeous. And here I am standing in the pouring rain in a baggy red raincoat, hair stuck to my face, no makeup, looking like a shipwreck survivor.
The wrinkled-nose look of disdain she gives me seems to back that up.
“Who are you?” She sneers in a haughty, posh British accent. Her manicured brow arches with distaste.
“I—I’m the…”
I suddenly realize there’s a party going on behind her. The inside of the manor is even more gorgeous than the outside. And it’s full of students drinking, dancing, making out, smoking cigarettes—and something else by the smell of it—and roaring with laughter. Music thuds.
“Were you invited ?” She sneers.
I frown. “No, I—I mean, I’m the—”
She suddenly smiles widely. “ Oh ! Oh, no, honey,” her smile thins. “We won’t need the maid service until tomorrow. And when you do come back, do make sure you come through the service entrance at the back, yeah?”
Her cold eyes pierce me as her lips thin. “Kay, bye …”
She starts to shut the door in my face. But my rain boot juts out to stop her. She looks at me like I’ve just peed on the royal jewels.
“Are you fucking— ”
“I’m actually the tutor?” I smile weakly. Then I take a breath and compose myself. I stand a little taller. “I’m the tutor. I’m here for Ilya.”
She stares at me. But slowly, her lips curl in amusement.
“Ilya?” She says with a smirk.
“Uh, yes. Does he live here?”
She grins widely. “You’re sure you’re looking for Ilya. Ilya Volkov.”
Good grief.
“I’m sure,” I say tightly. “Can I—”
“Stay here, I’ll get him.” She starts to turn. But then she glances back at me and shakes her head. “You’re sure about this?”
“Pardon me?”
She chuckles as her eyes slide up and down over me, like she’s sizing me up. Her lips smirk.
“Oh, hon,” she shakes her head and gives me a faux-sympathetic look. “Just remember, you had the chance to run, and didn’t.”
She shuts the door. I stand there in the pouring rain, blinking and trying to figure out what the hell just happened.
The minutes tick by. After about five of them, I realize I’m being pranked, or hazed or something. Yeah, screw this. I can tutor anyone. But I don’t need to deal with this mean-girl shit.
As I start to turn to head back home, though, I hear the door creak. I roll my eyes, ready to give miss Ice Queen the finger. Slowly, I turn with the sneer on my lip as the door swings open.
And then my heart stops beating for a second.
Suddenly, I’m face-to-face with The Wolf himself.
The dark hair, the piercing green eyes. The dark, menacing look on his perfectly chiseled face. My eyes drop, and I blush.
He’s also shirtless. Shirtless, and… built. And tattooed to hell and back. My face burns as my eyes drink in the broad, muscled shoulders, the lines of his photoshop-perfect chest and abs, and the grooves of his hips diving into the waist of his black jeans.
I slowly drag my eyes up to his stern but slightly amused face. And I tremble.
Ilya Volkov is stunning. And terrifying. And gorgeous. And dangerous looking. His hair is both tussled and perfect. Those almost supernatural green eyes pierce into my very soul. There’s a smug smirk on his perfect lips, and what looks and smells like a spliff dangling from them.
He leans against the doorframe holding a crystal tumbler with what looks like whiskey or scotch in it. His cold, amused gaze sweeps over me.
I shiver under it.
“Well?” He growls—growls, literally. Like a… well, like a wolf.
I frown. “Well… what?”
His smirk deepens. “Well are we doing this outside in the rain or in my room?”
“I… uh, your room would be good?”
He chuckles darkly. I glance past him at the raging party going on.
“Look, if you’re in the middle of something, I can always come back later—”
“I’m ready right now.” He shrugs, his eyes never blinking or leaving mine. “We could go right there on the floor in the middle of it, if an audience is your thing.”
I frown in confusion. “I’m sorry, do you know who I am?”
He shrugs. “I know what you want, and that works for me just fine.”
My frown deepens. “You know what I—” I shake my head. “I’m Tenley.”
“And I’ve got things to do, Tenley,” he grunts thinly. “So if it’s a shag you’re so desperate for, why don’t you turn around, lift that skirt, and say please.”
My mouth falls open, and I stare at him. “ Excuse me ?!”
His lips grin; the spliff still dangling from them as smoke curls around his piercing green eyes.
“I said to be sure you said please— ”
I don’t know what takes ahold of me. I just know that I am not putting up with frat-boy bullshit like this.
I’ll take the being relocated to another fucking country.
I’ll deal with the fake boyfriend crap. I’ll cater my perfect Plan to fit the new realities of my life.
I’ll even deal with snobby rich brats talking down to me because I wasn’t born with a jeweled scepter up my ass.
But I will not put up with this shit.
Without really thinking it through, my hand darts out. I snatch the glass from his hands, haul back, and splash the contents of it right into his face.
I swear, the music behind him stops. The people behind him freeze and stare with horrified expressions. And it’s only then that I truly realize what I’ve just done.
I just threw a drink in the face of The Wolf—heir apparent to the most brutal mafia family in the world.
And yet, he says nothing. He doesn’t even blink. His gorgeous face drips with scotch. The spliff in his lips dangles limp and soaked against his chin before he spits it out. His jaw grinds.
But suddenly, a fire sparks like molten green magic in his eyes. I gasp as he rapidly closes the short distance between us. His hand juts out, and I choke on my breath as he grabs the front of my raincoat at the neck in a fist. Fear spikes through me as he yanks me hard into him.
The glass drops from my fingers, landing in the wet grass next to the walkway. The hood falls back off my head. Rain pours down over the both of us in sheets as those eyes burn like green fire right into mine. His perfect lips pull back into an animal snarl, white teeth flashing in fury.
I’m petrified. I can’t even scream, let alone try and break free and run for my very life. All I can do is shake as my wide eyes stare up into his.
The seconds tick by as I wait for death. Until finally, his mouth opens.
“ Run away, little red ,” he snarls thickly and quietly. His grip tightens, almost choking me with the neck of my coat. “Run away, before I eat you up .”
He shoves me back and lets go. I don’t think. I don’t ask what he means. The fight or flight internal war is over in a quarter second: flight wins.
I turn, and I run as fast as I can from the big, bad Wolf of Oxford Hills.