1. Chapter One
Chapter One
Dacre
If I had known what I know now, I’d have never come to Doxlothia University. I’d have begged, betrayed, committed crimes—anything to avoid ever knowing her.
I’m an Everhart, a founding family of Doxlothia University with a legacy so significant that I can’t read a history book without finding someone I’m related to. So why is it that one woman has me hiding in the bathroom with a cold towel over my face?
Everharts don’t struggle. We don’t beg. We certainly don’t do what I’m doing right now.
I take some soap, rub it into a paper towel, and dab at my shirt, leaving a wet, seeping stain.
Ignoring the stares, I rake a hand through my hair.
It’s not enough. Her scent is stained into the fibers of my shirt. I’ll have to change.
Staring at the ornate ceiling through the mirror, I’m reminded of how old this castle is and how every Everhart that came before me likely looked in this very mirror. Only they never looked so fucking pathetic.
The first time I saw her, I knew.
I’d heard rumors about her, her sisters, and their sweet blood when they arrived last semester. I traveled a lot with my grandfather as a kid, and once I met a man in Vviveren City with blood that smelled like rich honey. It’s a little overrated, or so I believed until I met her.
When I saw her for the first time, I walked past Emma as she entered the Luxxia House common room with that golden-blonde hair and sparkles shimmering across her cheeks, and I almost took her right there. It took seconds for me to turn into a feral animal at the smell of her.
Vampires are particularly sensitive to pheromones, and sometimes, those pheromones mix together with the smell of a person’s blood to create the perfect concoction for torture. It’s rare and only surfaces in full-blooded vampires.
I never thought it would happen to me. I wanted it not to be true. Even now, as I rub a hole in my shirt to wash out her scent, there’s a lingering hope that it’s some type of hoax. A sick joke someone decided to play on me, well-deserved payback for all the shit I’ve done. But no.
As if I needed the distraction of some human girl assigned to the same house as me, walking around and muddying everything with her scent. Every. Single. Day.
That’s why this is her fault.
The familiar prickle of disdain shoots up my spine. Because of her, I can’t go anywhere without the possibility of losing control.
I pluck at the hairs on my jacket sleeve, rejecting the urge to savor her scent. That smell, mingling with the scent of her sugar body scrub and pheromones, is enough to keep me desperately clinging to the sink. She always smells like that—achingly sweet. And that’s the problem.
Who am I kidding? This is partly my fault. How did I let her get so close to me?
I’m still dizzy from the aroma hitting me all at once. Usually, I have time to adjust and prepare. But this time . . .
She doesn’t know how close I was to tasting her.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I hang my head. Shit.
I rummage for my phone, cringing through the familiar chiming ring.
The screen lights up with my sister’s face close to the camera.
“What’re you doing?”
“Uh.” I search around for any good explanation. As if I’m going to explain my current issues to my sixteen-year-old sister.
“Ew. Are you in the bathroom?”
“You called me.”
“Yeah, it’s my birthday, and you missed it.”
“It’s not your birthday. I know when your birthday is.”
“Just testing you.” She smiles, setting her phone down on her bed with a pudding cup in hand.
Like I need any more tests. Grabbing more paper towels and soap, I stare at the harrowed, pathetic man in the mirror and press my fingers to the bridge of my nose.
“Did you fall in or something?” She motions to my shirt.
“Florence,” I say her name through gritted teeth. “I’m busy. Can I call you back later?”
“No. You haven’t called me in two weeks. I was scared that maybe he finally got to you, and then I’d never see you again, and I’d have to watch you on TV like Daniel and John.”
Her lack of confidence in me would be insulting if I could get any lower today, but I’ve already hit the bottom of the barrel.
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Maybe, but you only respond to theatrics and tears.”
A sound leaves my throat that is barely a laugh. She’s ridiculous. As if the calls from her boarding school teacher about poor grades and disciplinary action weren’t proof enough of that.
My phone vibrates on the porcelain. Why is my grandfather calling me now, of all times?
“Speak of the devil.”
“Don’t ditch me for Clyde.”
“I have to. I promise to call you tonight. Okay? I’m free all night.” I’m free every night, not that she needs to know that.
“Fine.”
The call ends before I can say goodbye, and the next one begins right as I muster a greeting.
“I need to speak to you in my office.” My grandfather’s voice is hoarse, as if he just got out of a meeting. Or a screaming match.
“Today?” He never comes to campus on weekends; he’s usually at his vacation home.
“Yes, it’s urgent. There’s something I need to discuss with you.”
“Something?”
My grandfather doesn’t mince words, and he doesn’t keep secrets from me. But “something” could be anything. Culinary club duties? Something with the company? I physically don’t think I can pick up another responsibility.
“It’s more of a ‘someone.’”
I stop cleaning the sink.
“Well, who is it? Someone I know?” What is it this time? Someone to blackmail, extort, gain their trust, only to betray them later?
“Emma Osborne. Do you know her?”
My two worlds collide at once.
I’ve tried hard to keep Emma’s name out of my grandfather’s mouth. For the first time in my life, for a reason I can’t quite place, I contemplate lying to my grandfather.
Well, shit.