Chapter 28 #3
“Sorry,” he coughed an apology. “It was just the look on your face.” He wiped a tear from his eye. “Anyway, I think we’ve found our culprit.”
I scowled at him, but allowed my shoulders to slump in relief. Then Casimir cast me a curious glance.
“What were you going to ask me just before we heard the noise upstairs?”
“Nothing,” I said quickly, averting my gaze. Too late, his interest was piqued.
“No, tell me,” he insisted, his eyes alight with curiosity.
“I don’t even remember what it was,” I lied, trying to push past him, but he remained immobile, an obstacle blocking my only exit.
His smirk only grew. “You’re lying, I can tell.”
I strode away from him and toward an unfamiliar row of stacks, halting when I realized it was a dead end. Of course, he’d followed me. Trapping me.
I glared at him as he approached.
“Casimir,” I said warningly. “We don’t have time for this.”
He approached slowly, like a hunter trying not to startle its prey. “Come on, Farrow,” he said, imploring me with those impossibly amber eyes. “I promise I won’t laugh.”
“Why would you automatically assume that whatever I have to say will make you laugh?”
He scoffed. “I don’t.” When I glared at him disbelievingly, he rolled his eyes. “When have I ever laughed at you?”
I gave a derisive snort. “Seriously? Is your memory that short? I seem to recall you doubled over with laughter at my expense not five seconds ago?”
He gave a dismissive wave. “That was different.”
My nostrils flared in anger, but he was not to be deterred. I was close to cracking under the pressure, the confession wavering on the edge of my tongue. And he knew it.
“Please?” he coaxed. “It’s going to bother me for the next century if I don’t know what it was that made you blush so furiously in the crypt—”
“Fine!” I shouted before remembering that we were in the library.
“I’ll tell you if you’ll stop haranguing me.
” Christ, he was irritating. I huffed in frustration and then focused on composing myself long enough to speak.
Casimir watched me, his amber eyes swimming with gleeful anticipation. This was going to be humiliating.
“I don’t know whether you’ve heard,” I began, my tone coming out entirely too hostile.
“But the college is hosting the Jewel Ball Sunday night. The same night as the ritual.” I cleared my throat.
Gods, why was I so nervous? “I was thinking…It might be a good idea for us to attend together—just to make sure the Order doesn’t try to do anything nefarious…
If you’d like.” I finished, falling into an embarrassed silence.
A blush crept up my neck and onto my face, and I prayed he couldn’t see it in the darkness.
Casimir watched me, an amused smirk playing on his lips. “Farrow,” he began, his eyes glinting. “Is this your attempt at asking me on a date?”
“I—No!” I cried, my cheeks flushing an ever deeper shade of crimson. “I didn’t—I wasn’t asking you out!” My mortification was approaching a near-lethal level. Suddenly, I wished I could spontaneously melt into a puddle and sink into the floor.
“A misunderstanding, then,” he said.
He was enjoying watching me squirm, and I could see him fighting the urge to laugh at my embarrassment, especially in contrast to my suggestion’s hostile delivery.
“I just meant—We could go together as friends—or not even as friends—as allies, if you prefer. We are working toward the same goal, after all, I mean…” I was trying to do damage control but only managed to dig myself deeper into the mire.
“And this would fall under your definition of keeping this professional?” he asked, and despite the way he furrowed his brow in confusion, I caught the thinly veiled amusement sparking in his expression. Oh, he was loving this.
I might have punched him if I wasn’t so deeply mortified. I took several calming breaths before speaking again.
“I only meant,” I began, forcing my voice to remain calm, “that I thought it would be wise to attend together so that we can keep an eye on things and make sure that Devereaux doesn’t—I don’t know—perform the bloodrite in the middle of the ballroom, or murder the orchestra or something.
” I shot him an icy look. “You’re the one reading into things. ”
I was fully backtracking now, heedless of my former promises to Gwen.
He nodded solemnly, forcing his mouth into an expression more appropriate for the bedside of a dying loved one. “Of course, you’re right,” he relented. “Forgive me, but at first it did sound like a date.” He pressed his lips together to hide his mirth.
I gave him the most withering glare I could muster. “You can be a real asshole sometimes, you know that, Wrayburn?” I grumbled, quoting his earlier accusation.
He grinned at the insult. “Always with that sharp tongue, Farrow. So, just to clarify—I will be attending as your ally, then, not as your date?”
I clenched my teeth together, my temper rising. “If you like.”
“Does attending as your ally involve the usual accoutrements?”
“Like what?” I asked, bewildered.
“You know…” He gave a shrug. “Come to your dorm with a bouquet of flowers, escort you to the ballroom…”
“No flowers,” I growled.
He shook his head regretfully. “Will you at least let me buy you a dress?”
“Absolutely not!”
“I suppose you could just wear the silk dress I sent you…”
I flushed angrily and snapped, “I’m returning that dress to Gwen to replace the one I ruined. It was hers in the first place, before I bled all over it.”
“So stubborn,” he complained, stalking closer. “Don’t tell me you’re planning to show up in jeans and a T-shirt?” His eyes fell to my baggy denims, and I glowered up at him.
“Obviously, I’m not wearing jeans to a fucking ball, Casimir.” I might not have the best fashion sense, but I wasn’t an idiot.
“My mistake,” he intoned.
He was close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off his skin; his warmth felt like a gentle caress.
My tattoo prickled as if aware of the proximity to its maker, and I shuddered at the way his name haunted me.
I was reminded of the magic binding us every time I caught a glimpse of my tattoo in the mirror, or when the inevitable prickling returned, demanding I scratch it.
It was as if his name was burrowing itself deeper into my skin with each passing day, bleeding into muscle and suffusing with bone, at once an irrevocable and permanent mark.
Even after our veilbound bargain ended, I feared I would somehow still belong to him.
“Will there be dancing at this ball?” he asked.
I’d almost forgotten what we’d been discussing. His eyes skittered over my face, zeroing in on my mouth. This close, his smoky, leather scent struck me like a tidal wave, threatening to undo my resolve. I set my jaw stubbornly.
“Obviously,” I gritted out.
His mouth twitched. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re quite adorable when you’re angry?”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re an insufferable bastard?” I fired back.
His grin only grew. “Yes, in fact, I have been told that, on more than one occasion. But thank you for reminding me,” he said softly, his breath a whisper skittering over my skin.
I inhaled sharply. This close, I could count two freckles on his left cheek.
The scent of him was fogging my mind, my thoughts drifting into dangerous territory.
I felt intoxicated by his proximity. Like a drug injected directly into my veins, his essence raced through my bloodstream.
I wanted him to kiss me, but at the same time, the desire to punch him in the ribs in retaliation for teasing me was almost overwhelming.
Most of all, I felt like a coward for backing down.
I had been trying to ask him out, but his amusement had been more than I could bear.
He could be such an asshole, and it brought out the worst in me.
“Do you always have to be such a prick?” I choked out.
Every ligament and muscle in my body went liquid as his hand reached out to rest against my neck, just above the pulse point. My skin burned at the contact, and I swallowed nervously against his hand, my breath hitching in my throat as he tucked a stray curl behind my ear.
My mouth went dry. “We should go soon, before we get caught,” I babbled, trying to think around his overwhelming presence. The echo of mortification from his earlier rejection in the dormitory still lingered in my stomach.
“We won’t get caught,” he said, an insouciant smile playing across his lips. He was in no hurry to leave this little alcove of the library, it seemed.
“Why now?” I asked. Why did you reject me before?
He shrugged. “I decided I’m going to have a difficult time keeping things professional after all.” His thumb traced along my jaw and came to rest on my lips, his eyes fixed on my mouth.
My entire world narrowed to the six inches of space that remained between us. My blood heated as his gaze skewered me. No one had ever looked at me the way he was looking at me.
His eyes were pointed blades that might, at any moment, pierce through my flesh and dissect my darkest thoughts. After all, he could delve into my head whenever he wanted to…
“Is this a glamour?” I rasped out, trying to remember what we were even talking about, my words slipping through my fingers like grains of sand.
His fingers curled around my neck to entwine themselves in my hair. I hardly noticed my back pressing into the bookshelf behind us.
He leaned in, breathing the words against my skin and making me shudder. “You know it’s not.” And then he pressed his lips to the hollow of my throat, and my flesh burst into flames.
It felt like my brain was short-circuiting.
He continued, pressing me up against the bookshelves until our bodies were flush, murmuring, “But I should punish you for trying to make my life more difficult at every fucking turn.”
I clung to the bookshelf like an anchor, desperate to guard myself against his intoxicating proximity. But as his hand snaked its way around my waist, the other curling in my hair, my eyelids fluttered closed on a sigh.
I should be afraid of him, I thought dimly. Why wasn’t I afraid of him?
“You let someone else brand you. Someone other than me,” he growled, his teeth dragging across my throat.
I whimpered as his lips kissed away the hurt. I felt a pulse low in my abdomen. “S-so?” came my weak retort.
“So,” he murmured against my skin, his lips tracing my neck and up to linger over the shell of my ear. “You don’t belong to him.”
I scoffed, but it came out sounding breathier than I would’ve liked. “I don’t belong to you either.”
He drew back to meet my gaze, the black of his pupils absorbing the brown until they were wholly dark. “No?” he challenged, and then resumed his exploration of my ear and jawline. He laughed against my lips. “We’ll see about that.”
Before I could bite out a retort, his lips slanted over mine.
When I remained stubbornly still, refusing to kiss him back, he pulled at my lower lip, nipping it with his teeth.
The pain was enough of a shock that I gasped, and he took advantage of my mistake to delve his tongue into my mouth.
He swallowed my involuntary groan, and my face grew hot with the shame of my response.
There was something alchemical—something akin to magic in his kisses, and I couldn’t fight what my body craved a moment longer.
He was kissing me, and I was kissing him back, and the only thing I could think was that I wanted him closer.
I clawed my nails against his scalp, hard enough to hurt.
To punish him. He hissed and pulled back, only to smirk down at my triumphant expression.
“Sometimes, I really do hate you,” I whispered against his lips before I finally succumbed to my need for him.
“I know,” he said, and leaned in to kiss me again.