6. Chapter Six
Chapter Six
Emma
It’s late when I walk into Luxxia House. It’s the largest house on campus, with chandeliers and a huge corridor that echoes with the chatter and footsteps of my housemates. Tonight, the cornflower-blue walls are bathed in sparkling red lights that blend into a lavender haze.
We’re all required to take tests to get our house assignment in the first semester, and so far, I love mine. All the girls on my floor are so friendly.
Weekday nights sometimes mean performances in Luxxia. There are poetry nights, classical music performances, and karaoke. Right now, there’s a whole band onstage bouncing around and bobbing their heads. Our common room has space for the stage and room to spare for a crowd in front.
I stop, despite my aching feet and tired eyes telling me it’s time to hole myself up in my room.
Because why is Dacre Everhart dancing in the crowd . . . with no shirt on?
We unfortunately share the same house because house assignments aren’t about being placed with like-minded people.
They’re meant to force collaboration, and I think we may be testing that to its limits.
I’ve seen him many times wandering around, but never shirtless, showing off his tattoos that contrast his ivory skin . . . and his abs.
The longer I watch, the louder the room gets. This was a dare. That, or he’s extremely drunk.
I’m processing this in a completely new way now that I know Dacre might just be part of the richest family on campus.
Everyone is rich here, but some take it to the next level.
There’s a whole other world out there that I don’t understand.
My family was well-off, but after my mom died and my dad quit teaching for years, we got by with less and less.
“Emma! Ah, thank the stars above you’re here. Can you believe it?” Kitty grabs my arm and hands me a cup of punch, motioning to Dacre.
“How did this happen?”
“Well, he was drunk when he came in, and then he took his shirt off like thirty minutes later.”
There’s a group of girls around him, tossing their hair and rubbing against him.
I wasn’t sure he had any friends. Maybe they aren’t his friends, just others in Luxxia who want a piece of the spotlight that he so radiantly lives in.
I asked around a few times today and heard he gave a student twenty thousand dollars once to stop playing his music so loud next to his room.
“Why does he look . . . good?”
He’s flinging sweat all over the place. It’s strangely hypnotizing. I should just go to my room, but . . . it won’t hurt for me to watch a little longer.
“I can’t believe you just admitted that. Do you think this is him letting out all his clearly repressed sexual energy for you?”
I called her immediately to tell her about my interaction with Dacre.
It’s nice to have a friend I can make reckless decisions around and not get lectured.
Well, at least a little less than my sisters.
Unfortunately, though, she’s set on the theory that Dacre has either a sexual obsession with me or “feelings so deeply romantic he has no choice but to push you away.”
Both sound nauseating.
“I just . . . I’ve never seen him like that.”
Dacre dances, stumbling with a smile plastered on his face.
It’s like seeing a mystical creature walk through the door.
I’ve never seen him smile. Not a genuine smile with teeth that isn’t a smirk.
He motions for a girl and pulls her in to whisper something in her ear.
The tattoos lining his arms are on full display, and now I know they’re on his chest, too.
While his lips are buried in her hair, his eyes dart to me, and that carefree smile drops.
I’m veiled in the dim light of the corner, so he shouldn’t be able to see me. But it’s as if he sensed me without seeing me. I’m too far away for him to smell me. Well, I think.
He stares. I stare. Why do I care whether he’s angry or not? I live here. He doesn’t own the common room.
“I think he’s just mad that you said no to being his source.” Kitty snickers, pulling me toward the kitchen.
Yes. Because I’m definitely saying no. It would be asinine to say yes.
“What’s it like . . . being a source?” I ask Kitty, and she shoots me a devilish grin.
“Oh, curious now, are we?”
“It’s only right that I know.”
“Well, I’m not sure how the rich do it, but for me, I signed up at eighteen like everyone else.
You get to choose whether you want to donate through blood bag donations or directly.
I used to be exclusive to blood bag donation, but then I tried giving directly once, and it’s a lot faster and more convenient.
Plus, it’s an automatic two-day excusal from classes and work. ”
“Do you get really sick?”
“No, you get these Quik-Recover boxes. If you feel crappy because they . . . overindulged, then the boxes make you feel better really quickly.”
Hence the name.
“I’m surprised you don’t know all this, since your mom donated.” Kitty is so soft-spoken that I almost don’t hear her over the music until she places a hand on mine.
“Oh, well . . . I guess I don’t remember those details. Just going with her to her appointments and sitting with her while she gave blood through an IV. I liked the free suckers they gave me.”
“Oh yeah, the suckers are good.” She tucks a curly piece of hair behind her ear and wraps her arm around mine. “What else do you remember?”
I’m not sure a party that’s making my ears ring is really the appropriate setting for this conversation.
I’m also not sure whether she really cares or she’s humoring me, but I take the opportunity to talk about my mother at length, and she listens intently, asking questions between songs in the set.
The party stretches on, and I can’t help but check back in on the phenomenon that is Dacre while I nibble from the various snack bowls. I get lost in another student’s acoustic set, and I realize he’s gone.
I should go back to my room, but that inkling of curiosity moves me from room to room, just to see where he went.
Kitty is easy to hide from. She gets so caught up in talking with our friends that she hardly notices when I’m gone.
He’s probably up in his room—
I stop.
In the murky haze of smoke, Dacre has a girl sitting across his lap, his teeth sunk into her neck. I’m frozen as he grips the back of her hair, and her hand splays under his blazer.
I step back, sucking in a breath and nearly slipping on a beer bottle.
Our eyes meet.
Hot liquid runs down my body from the top of my head and settles in the pit of my stomach as his grip knots in her hair and he drinks deeper, never letting his dark gaze fall from mine. She responds with a whimper, and he responds by gripping her even tighter.
It’s seconds before I regain my senses and turn toward the door and knock into a few people in my retreat. The memory of Dacre’s unbroken stare keeps replaying, his lips grazing the neck of that girl as he drank in the haze of alcohol and smoke.
Heat floods through me as my heart pounds in my ears.
“Where are you running to?” Kitty catches me.
“I’m going to bed,” I say, chugging the punch left over in my cup and chucking the cup into the trash.
“No way, the karaoke just started!”
“I’ll catch up later. I’m dead on my feet.” My voice is drowned out by the next singer onstage.
After hours of volunteering, my normal classes, and the mental load of analyzing our interactions over and over, I’m exhausted.
My heart is still pounding when I reach the living area. It’s usually spacious, but now it’s closing in on me as I beeline for the fountain that splits the stairs.
Luxxia is the only house that doesn't have men and women living on the same floor. I think they just wanted more space in the layout. This whole place looks as if they couldn’t stop designing, from the carved marble figures that differ in every room to the intricate tile work beneath my feet.
When I reach the top of the stairs, the sound of feet clacking up the steps forces me to turn.
Dacre’s leaning over the railing, swaying.
“I knew you were stalking me,” I say.
I wait for the scowl, but all he gives me is soft-eyed interest. That’s the only way to describe how his attention settles on me. It must be the alcohol making him softer, but he’s not flirting. I don’t think he can.
“Might I remind you that I was in Luxxia first?”
“But you never come to these events.”
“Do you often find yourself looking for me across the room?” He takes another step closer.
“No, I’d just know if I’d seen you because it’s really hard not to notice a drunk idiot making a fool of himself.”
Those eyes rake over my face. He says nothing.
“What?”
He shakes his head, and heat rises in my belly when he stares at my lips. My attention shifts to his chest. It’s glistening with sweat. He’s close enough that I can smell him . . . And why does he smell so damn good, and how can I find the name of his cologne?
We stay fixed. Staring. Almost as if it’s a contest to see who will break their composure first. My hand on the banister slips as I let my breath settle in my chest. When he’s looking at me, he isn’t looking through me.
It’s as if his full, undivided attention is spent on watching every mannerism of my face, and there’s not a single thing he’d rather do than stand there, waiting for me to speak.
There’s something about it that makes me feel hot. Uncomfortably so.
“Enjoy the show?”
“I . . . No. I didn’t.”
“Really? Because you stood there for a good ten seconds before running away.”
“I was shocked. I wasn’t expecting to see you drinking in the middle of the common room.”
“Hmm . . . But it interested you enough to stare?” I open my mouth to speak, but he cuts me off before I can say anything else. “Tell me, have you ever had anyone drink from you before?”
My breath hitches. “I haven’t, and I don’t want to.”
“You’re not curious what it feels like? The total submission to another person, giving them . . . something to live off. To sustain someone. Be . . . enveloped by them.”
“No. It sounds . . . miserable.”
“I’m sure your sister has told you about it. You strike me as the curious type who would love to hear all the dirty details of such a thing.”
“I don’t ask.” I do ask, but Olivia is really private.
“I guess that means you haven’t given any more thought to my proposal.”
My heart jolts at that word. “Proposal” makes me think of marriage, and somehow, asking me to be his source seems more intimate than that.
I don’t know why—Donor Program students do it all the time.
Maybe it’s the way he’s looking at me, or maybe it’s the fact that he smells so good that I wonder what it might be like to lick his neck, but when I think of donating to Dacre, it’s as if he’s asking me to make out with him. A ridiculous notion.
About as ridiculous as imagining licking the sweat from his neck, which is disgusting.
“The answer is still no.”
“How will I ever find another little blonde who wants to be my source?” He waves his hand and turns on his heel to leave.
I was right. He didn’t think I would accept. Then why ask? Why torture me?
“You won’t find any blood like mine,” I quip.
That stops him. When he turns toward me, his gaze is darker.
“I know my blood is valuable to you . . .” His lashes flutter when I mention that word. Blood. “And maybe that’s the only reason you asked me, but I think there’s more to it than that. I’m not as naive as you think. I’ll figure it out.”
With grace, he moves up each step until he’s towering over me. He takes his middle finger and runs it from the tip of my elbow down to my hand. I’m frozen as the heat of his finger warms my cold skin. I didn’t know I was cold until Dacre’s hot skin started caressing my arm. He flips open my palm.
“How’s the hand?”
“Better.” I’m vaguely aware I should yank my hand away, but I can’t thaw from the shock of his proximity. Dacre is . . . touching me.
His thumb traces over the freshly healed cut on my hand, and a shiver runs down my spine.
“What are you doing?”
I snatch my hand back and try to move around him, but he stays standing in my way. He’s got his blazer on, but his chest is open and exposed.
He leans down, hinging at the hip, till his face is inches away from mine. “I’m just thinking about how satisfying it will be to walk into the culinary club tomorrow and not see your face.”
I scoff, basking in the glowing spotlight of his attention and letting it warm me for a few seconds further before breaking away and bumping his shoulder on the way out.