Chapter 4 Eva #2
That’s a good question. One I have been asking myself since Dan and Grandpa insisted I move my studies.
I didn’t want to return to Manchester. That would have been too devastating.
But I could have transferred to one of the other red-brick universities.
My guess: they want me here for the same reason my mum came here.
What’s better than guards? Constant surveillance from students whose families are knee-deep with Etheridge Enterprises and a vice-chancellor on speed dial.
“My parents studied here,” I give him the bare minimum.
“That’s interesting,” he mutters.
“What is?” I squint.
“Your family. You're a strange bunch.”
“Strange?”
“Yes. Tell me—why are you an Etheridge, when your father was a Rycroft?” He cocks an eyebrow.
I hold my face steady, refusing to let anything slip.
He’s obviously done his research. Not that I have the answers he’s looking for.
My brother and I were Rycroft. Then one day, years ago, Mum and Dad decided to switch our surnames out of the blue.
Dan and I assumed Grandpa finally got his way, like always.
“No idea.” I shrug. His eyes narrow to slits as he scans my face.
“Hmm… maybe you’re right. You’re not that important an Etheridge,” he taunts, a smirk lifting one corner of his lips.
I clamp down on the venom burning my tongue.
“So, your parents would be happy you’re at Kingsden?” he asks.
“Probably not. But I guess they forgot to warn me about the devil’s nest at Fort before they died.”
“Careful, sweetheart.” His voice rings with warning. “Let’s not say things that risk shortening your lifespan.”
“If threats are all you’ve got, you are going to have to get in line.
Apparently, I’m already an amber risk. Hence, the guards, who will find me, sooner or later.
” His right eye twitches, which makes me smile.
“From the look on your face earlier, I am guessing that will get in the way of this little power show?”
And then it’s his turn to pause. He stops swaying mid-step, drops my hand, and reaches for my face.
“You have quite a mouth on you, for a princess.”
His gaze locks on my face as his thumb brushes my lower lip, back and forth, his touch rough against my soft skin. It takes all my will not to pull away when he smudges my gloss with every stroke, meticulously working to rub every ounce of pink from my lips, smearing it over my cheeks and chin.
I stay still, waiting for him to stop.
He doesn’t.
A hot ache blooms in my chest. Every heartbeat pushes the heat higher until it pulses behind my eyes, while he continues to touch me as he wills.
He keeps invading my mouth, one layer at a time.
Pulling my lower lip down, twisting it between his fingers, every which way he wants, slowly working his way into me.
Like he has every right to.
Like I’m his plaything.
Anger thumps in my veins, taking over reason, shredding all restraint. On the next stroke, he grazes the edge of my teeth. My fangs bare, and I bite down.
Hard.
Hard enough to draw blood. Hard enough to keep it in a tight grip even as he tries to pull away.
“You fucking brat.” He winces. “Let the fuck go.”
I don’t. Not even when he growls like an animal. I dig my teeth deeper into his flesh until…
Mason grabs the roots at the top of my head and pulls them back, making my mouth fall open in a cry and releasing his bloodstained limb.
“You have some fucking nerve, Etheridge,” he hisses, leaning down so his face is an inch from mine.
“You think you can draw my blood and walk away, unscratched? I’ll knock that crown clean off your head.
And when I’m done with you, not one of those posh twats will touch you with a fucking barge pole. ”
My skin prickles as I stare at his raptorial face, speechless. Any attempts at words end in quivers. And then there is no time for apologies. Mason yanks my head farther and places his bloodied thumb on my tongue. The metallic taste burns, a mixture of smoke and ash.
“Clean up your mess,” he barks.
I freeze with his thumb stuck to my tongue that’s as dry as sand.
“Don’t test my fucking patience, princess. I don’t have any to begin with,” he grits. “Suck. Unless you want me to use another one of your holes to wipe my blood off.”
That does it.
His brash words melt all my inhibitions, making me surrender.
My mouth wraps around the base of his thumb, tongue swirling, licking the liquid off his skin.
His eyes darken as he watches me suck his limb, drawing it in and out of my mouth.
Something feral flickers behind them; a monster pressing its face to the glass.
My temperature rises, all the way to my core. And in that moment, I see what others see on his face—the false magnetism he uses to lure them.
“Good girl,” he drawls in a deep voice.
Three things happen at the same time: I freeze, my tongue pauses, and something wet pools between my legs.
What just happened?
My reaction doesn’t go unnoticed. His lips twitch slightly, then curve in a wicked smile that only amplifies my clenching, throbbing core. My mouth jerks off him, cheeks burning red hot. His thumb falls out, clean and shiny, coated with my saliva.
“It’s done,” I whisper.
“I see that.” Mason slowly twists his thumb in the air. “Shame you didn’t bite harder.” He wipes a drop of red from my mouth. No, not wipe. Spreads. He brushes my lip, replacing my pink with his red.
The act itself is so unsettling, I miss the approaching footsteps until the door bursts open, clanking against the wall. I jump. Right into Mason.
Dark shadows drift in, something green flashing in one hand—Jack, followed closely by a man, dressed all in black—Kane Berkeley.
“Eva.” Jack’s face is stern as he glares at Mason but speaks only to me. He motions toward the door. “Time to go.”
Relieved, I start toward Jack, but before I take the first step, I’m whirled around. My eyes widen in horror as Mason leans down and presses his lips to mine.
His taste of smoke and whiskey and something tantalizing I don’t want to name hits me like a drug injected directly into my brain. My heart pounds, heat rising inside me as his lips move against mine, blood and saliva swirling between us.
What is happening right now? Why is he kissing me? And why hasn’t Jack ripped him off me yet?
Maybe because you are kissing him back, idiot.
Damn it. I am. I start to pull away, but Mason holds me steady.
From the corner of my eye, I see Jack gritting his teeth, fists clenched, and Kane staring at the floor, shaking his head.
“It seems we are out of time,” Mason whispers against my mouth. He grabs my hand and places it over his crotch. My pulse spikes when my hand touches something hard in his pants. Because unless he has two dicks, and one of them is metal, what I’m touching is a freaking gun.
My mouth rips from his, still on fire.
“Breathe a word of this and I’ll become your worst nightmare, princess,” Mason mutters quietly, warning clear in his eyes.
A meaningful smile curls my lips.
“I highly doubt that, Mason Grant.”