Chapter 2
Fear rooted me to the spot. Someone—a man—was standing in a darkened corner of the stacks.
I suddenly understood what it felt like to be prey.
I was a hare, cornered by a wily fox; my hackles raised and my heart slamming against my ribcage.
I summoned the courage to shout at my would-be attacker, but the oppressive silence of the room, combined with my terror, choked off any sound before it could escape my throat. My lungs refused to expand.
Breathe, I told myself. Don’t show an ounce of weakness.
Gathering every last ounce of self-preservation I possessed, I forced myself to speak. “Whoever you are, you’d better show yourself.”
A low, rumbling laugh cut through the darkness. A lighter clicked, revealing a slim figure. A young man. My first impression was that he was around my age—maybe a sophomore, though not someone I recognized from class. As he approached, the flame illuminated the curves and planes of his face.
Topaz eyes sought mine from beneath a tangle of midnight curls, cascading against his smooth bronze skin.
Based on his casual attire—a black jacket and jeans—I surmised he was likely not associated with the Gilded Circle.
He stopped a few feet from where I stood, and my gaze caught on the small gold earring that glinted out from beneath his dark hair.
Definitely not in the Gilded Circle, I thought. Something about the gauntness of his cheeks and the shadows blooming beneath his amber eyes hinted at deprivation.
My second impression was that he was astonishingly beautiful.
All rational thoughts evaporated from my mind. The stranger stopped and leaned over the table to flick on a table lamp. I caught a glimpse of his profile—an archangel cast in bronze. For a moment, neither of us spoke. I still held the unlit lamp over my head, my arm aching from the effort.
I bit back the question I wanted to ask—what are you?—and instead demanded, “Who are you?”
No response.
I spoke again, hating the tremulous quality of my voice. “Were you listening to my private conversation?” Even in the darkness, I was sure he could see the flush rising on my face and neck.
His slender brows rose. “If I did happen to overhear your conversation,” he drawled, “it was hardly my fault. Are you aware that you’ve been practically shouting in the library? Perhaps next time you ought to curb your decibel level.” His lip curled in disdain.
I stared at him, aghast at his brazenness. “I was hardly shouting! Besides, everyone knows the polite thing to do would’ve been to fuck off to another part of the library, not hang around and eavesdrop!”
“I’m not everyone,” he said, shooting me a wry smile. “And you can put down the lamp. I’m not going to attack you,” he added before lowering himself into a chair, seemingly in no rush to leave.
“Why should I?” I demanded, lifting the lamp higher above my head.
“Because you look foolish.” He grinned maliciously. “Besides, a lamp really isn’t the best weapon for self-defense, you know.”
“You might be lying about your plans to attack me,” I argued, though I no longer felt afraid, and my arms were beginning to tremble from the weight of the brass lamp.
He gave a low chuckle. “Are you always this paranoid?”
When I continued to glare at him, he sighed. “If you really are determined to beat me over the head with that lamp, you’d best get on with it.”
I hesitated, considering my chances of getting expelled for bludgeoning this irritating stranger. “Whatever,” I grumbled, lowering the lamp back onto the table. Crossing my arms protectively over my chest, I fixed him with a lethal glare. “Now, are you going to tell me why you were eavesdropping?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said. “I was looking for a book, and then I happened to overhear your very loud conversation.”
My cheeks heated. “At midnight? When the library’s about to close?” I narrowed my eyes, not believing him for a moment. He was definitely lying—
But the accusation struck a wall in my mind as a realization dawned on me. Not once during our conversation had I detected a single lie. No, that couldn’t be right. Probably I just wasn’t paying close enough attention. Covertly, I tasted the air for any traces of deceit, but I found none.
What the fuck?
I was dragged from my ruminations when he spoke again.
“Oh, yes, what a scandal,” he snorted, fanning himself with a hand in a mockingly dramatic fashion. “August Sinclair’s dirty little secret, finally revealed.”
“His—what, excuse me!?” I sputtered. Indignation and shame flooded my chest, the waves of fury and hurt threatening to break against the stranger’s cool arrogance.
That temper of yours is going to get you killed one day, Little Arrow. My father’s admonition echoed against my skull, an unpleasant reminder of how little control I wielded over my temper.
Gritting my teeth, I forced myself to take a steadying breath, inhaling through my nose, and back out again. Calm down. He’s only trying to get a rise out of you.
When I regained control, I spoke in a voice of tightly restrained fury. “You don’t know anything about me.”
He gave me an impish smile in return. “I know you’re Arden Farrow.”
My heart stuttered in surprise before I quickly recovered. “What, have you been stalking me?”
“No,” he said simply. “But your reputation precedes you.”
“Oh? And what reputation is that?” My stomach twisted with nerves. Did I really want to hear what people said about me behind my back?
Yes. I did. I desperately wanted to know what he knew.
The stranger shifted a little in his seat, but his gaze sliced right through me, as though my guarded expression was no barrier at all.
“You’re the scholarship kid,” he began, his voice low and soft, like spun silk.
“Your father was a professor on the mainland, but he died suddenly. I know that you and Sinclair have long been suspected of having little liaisons around campus.” His sensuous lips curved into a cruel smile.
“Well, I suppose that last part isn’t relevant anymore. ”
I tried to arrange my features into a disdainful expression but was unable to entirely conceal how deeply his brutal analysis cut me.
“Yes, I’m the scholarship kid. August and I were seeing each other.
Not that it’s any of your business. Whatever was between us—that’s over now, so don’t you dare refer to me as his dirty secret. ”
He tilted his head as he looked at me, the way one might examine a curious artifact at a museum.
I wanted to smack that smug, condescending look off his stupid, beautiful face.
“You’ve got quite the temper, you know that?” he commented wryly. His smirk faded as he took in the hurt behind my expression. “But I should have used a less invective term. I apologize.”
I ground my teeth in lieu of replying. I didn’t trust myself not to confirm everything he’d just said about my temper. “Fuck this. I’m going to bed.”
Before I could make a hasty exit, he stood abruptly. “Wait,” he said. “Perhaps we got off on the wrong foot. My name’s Casimir Wrayburn. I’m a sophomore.”
I blinked, surprised by his sudden formality.
“Casimir,” I repeated slowly, accepting his proffered hand.
It occurred to me that I’d never heard his name before, and at such a small school, I certainly would’ve remembered seeing that face darkening the alcoves of Ash Hall.
My eyes narrowed in suspicion as I withdrew my hand sharply, as though bitten. “Why haven’t I seen you around before?”
The smile he offered me was polite and infuriatingly bland. “You wouldn’t have. I only just transferred from a college in Massachusetts.”
“Why the hell would you want to come here?” I blurted.
His brows rose at my outburst.
Backpedaling, I explained, “I just meant that Ouverham is notorious for attracting a certain kind of…” My mouth opened and closed as I failed to come up with an adjective to adequately describe the type of self-obsessed, silver-spooned socialite that Ouverham regularly sought.
“Pampered, overindulged, and entitled brat?” he offered.
I couldn’t suppress a smirk as I nodded. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you fit in quite nicely here.” I allowed a corrosive smile to play across my lips.
Casimir chuckled, a low, gravelly sound that slithered over my skin. It bothered me that he wasn’t offended.
“I can assure you that I didn’t come here to lay claim to some grand legacy or anything like that,” he replied. “But I am curious to hear why you’re attending a school you so clearly despise.”
I eyed him warily. “That’s a long and complicated story.”
Casimir shrugged. “I’ve got time.”
I bit my lower lip. “It’s late.”
“Do you live in one of those religious dorms that has a strict curfew or something?” That wry smirk was back, spreading over his full lips.
“Have you never heard the word ‘no’ before?” I asked, my exasperation leaching into my tone.
“Not often,” he replied. His answering grin was downright wicked.
Gods, why did he have to be so damned good-looking?
“Tell me the story, and I promise not to tell anyone what I overheard tonight.”
I hesitated. I hardly believed him, but what choice did I have? There was nothing to stop him from whispering the details of my scandal to every soul on campus. “How do I know you’re not bluffing?”
Casimir made a show of feigning being affronted. “You wound me,” he said, pressing a hand over his heart. “I’m offended you’d accuse me of something as pedestrian as gossip.” He spoke as if he hadn’t just admitted to listening to gossip about me and August.
I fought the urge to roll my eyes at him. “I don’t know, you seem exactly like the sort of person who thrives on gossip,” I countered.
“Such slander,” he scolded, but his eyes were glinting with mirth. “And toward someone as innocent as myself.”
With his bright eyes and his white teeth glinting in the low candlelight, he cut a devastating figure. But like a handsome Lucifer cast out of Eden, he was anything but innocent.