Chapter 18
C h a p t e r E i g h t e n
S y l v i a S w a n
The announcement crackles through the intercom—the immediate sound of chairs scraping and lockers slamming jolts me out of my focused state. I fold the newspapers and put them in my bag.
I can hear the distant bells and brass of Macy’s parade bleeding into the air, the sound of holiness dressed up. I stand up and walk to my locker, pushing the books I won’t need inside.
“I guess it’s time to enjoy some holy fun,” I say to Amos, he purrs in content and I adjust the silver cross around my neck.
Even though my soul is as black as coal I still have some hope in religion, no matter how little it is.
I shut my locker and look at the newspapers once more. Alistair and I had studied these for a few days at Jullia's Creme Delights or at the bookstore I had visited by myself before. Its long oak desks and faint whispers didn’t help us find anything.
Absolutely nothing.
No new names or missing ink, just the same dead ends. Alistair tried to be reassuring and I let him but it wasn’t the least bit of reassurance. The same gnawing feeling that the shadow can still remain hidden eases through me and I clench my fist.
I step back but bump into a person.
“Sorry, I–” The apology dies on my tongue as I turn around and come face to face with his cruel gaze.
“Little Swan,” he says and his words are cold. “You’ve been busy.”
I had somehow avoided his presence all week but today is not my day.
I lift my chin with aggravation. “Move.”
His mouth curves but it's humorless and I step back.
“You look tired,” He says softly but it still doesn't hold any meaning.
“Do you always watch people through their windows?” I say.
I hadn’t forgotten the other day when I saw him through the door of my terrace, every night since I’ve locked and tucked my curtain closed.
He steps closer, crowding my space on purpose and ignores my question. His cold eyes search mine and I can see the calculating way he looks at me.
“You’ve been chasing ghosts with a boy who thinks he can save you.” He tsks. “I know you don’t want comfort.”
I lift my hand between us, my palm meeting his solid chest.
“Don’t,” I say but it comes out weak.
I can’t think when he's this close. This intoxicating scent of his and that damn cold attitude has my knees weak and my brain unforgiving.
“I know you want answers and you're picking people too kind to give them to you,” He mumbles.
My back hits the lockers and I crane my neck to look up at him. I hate that my breath catches and he notices, watching the lift and fall of my chest.
“You’re letting him hold your secrets yet you look at me like you want me to ruin them.” He says and his hand comes up to tilt my head.
He doesn’t restrain me, he gives me a choice but his fingers are firm on my jaw and I hate that he moves with something certain. His eyes lock on my lips and I nervously lick the bottom one.
“Kian, I don’t know what—” He groans and tightens his hold on my jaw. His other hand curls around my waist and I suddenly feel small under him.
“Say no,” he murmurs and he's so close I can smell the mint on his breath along with something smokey I can’t place. “And I’ll stop.”
I try to say it but the words get lodged in my throat and I can’t help but glance at his plump lips.
They look kissable.
Before I can change my mind his lips touch mine. I gasp and his hot tongue meets mine. He doesn’t rush or take more than I allow him, but each swipe of his tongue and caress of his lips against mine is ruthless. He kisses me like he owns me and I let him.
His hand moves from my waist and buries itself in my hair, pulling without hesitation and craning my neck farther back. The other wraps around my neck, tight, but not tight enough to deny me oxygen.
My heart stutters but steadies out as if it’s letting me know it's ok to kiss Kian. My hand moves before I can stop it and I yank at the mop of curls on his head. He groans into my mouth and I sigh.
Everything about him is controlled and deliberate—he doesn’t give me room to pretend I don’t want it because I do.
He can feel it in the way I give into him and I realize he’s got exactly what he wants.
The realization hits me hard and humiliation sinks into my gut. I like kissing Kian Grimm. His danger and the honesty of it all has me reeling. He refuses to soften himself for my comfort and I love it.
He pulls away and a moan slips past my lips. “Careful, you might make me think you want more.”
His thumb swipes across my Adam's apple as he releases me and I gulp.
His lips are swollen from our kiss and I can imagine mine are the same. Luckily I didn’t wear any black lipstick or that would’ve been everywhere.
“That—” I don’t know what to say as I look up at him in confusion.
“That’s just a reminder of where and who you belong to. Pimble doesn’t deserve you, maybe I don’t either but I’ve already stolen your soul, Little Swan and I plan to keep it. No matter what,” he states quietly before stepping out of my way.
He disappears in the crowd of students and I realize we’ve just kissed in the hallway, right in front of the other pupils. No one seems to notice, their eyes on their friends as they giggle and walk around with the hope of the parade coming.
Saints on floats are coming and I’ve just lost my first kiss.
My lips tingle with warmth and my heart leaps, the feeling of being wanted pulsing in my veins.
What did I just do?
“You ready?” I turn to my right, surprised to see Alistair's blue eyes on me.
“Uh…yeah.” I whisper and pull Amos’ carrier higher again.
His eyebrows furrow. “You ok? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” His hand lifts and he puts it against my forehead. “No fever.”
“No fever, I’m ok. I was confused in the crowd, that's all.” I fake a laugh and nod.
“Oh, good.” His gaze shifts with relief and he grabs my satchel from me and heaves it over his shoulder. I keep Amos tight to me and follow him out the doors of the academy.
The warmth of something that shouldn’t linger still does. It settles in my stomach and I try my hardest to brush it off as a one time thing.
Never again, I vow and tighten my grip around the sleeve.
As we step off the frozen grass and on the sidewalk the streets are crowded. Town people are packed shoulder to shoulder with tourists, their wool coats brushing and condensation curling around their mouths as they talk. Children sit on their parent’s shoulders and vendors shout from their booths.
A bell rings close by and the air drifts with the smell of sugar and exhaust.
We situate ourselves between other people as the parade starts. Gold and red fabric ripples by as saints wave from their floats. Brass music bounces off the brick walls of this town turning the street into something unreal, very spectacle and holy.
I feel the safe presence of Alistair beside me and lean into him.
“Beautiful, right?” Alistair asks and I turn to him.
“Very, it's so magical, honestly. We didn’t have stuff like this in Windale.” I answer truthfully.
Even though Thanksgiving will be without her this year, I can’t help but enjoy the expression other people carry as they watch the parade unfold in front of us.
“I’m going to go grab us some hot cider from a booth, do you want anything else?” He asks.
I shake my head and he walks down the path behind us over to a vendor. I shiver and pull my coat tighter against my body. The hot bodies around me are keeping me warm to a certain degree but a chill still crawls up my spine.
I look across the street at the other line of people when my gaze catches his.
His camera is lifted and he holds it with those same hands that touched me just a moment ago.
He lifts the camera, his gaze vanishing and I realize he's taking pictures of me.
He tilts the lens and adjusts his hold, the muffled click resonating through me even with the loud crowd.
I look at the ginger male beside him, confused, because it's the first time I’ve ever seen Kian with anyone else. Lori, the girl who got me detention, stands beside the ginger. Her blonde hair curled and her arm hooked through his.
They look like a couple.
“Here you are.” Alistair rejoins me, cider in both hands and I grab one of the warm styrofoam cups in my hand.
I swallow and look at Alistair. “Do you know him?”
I nod towards the lanky ginger, keeping my voice casual as if my heart isn’t racing on the inside. Alistair squints and follows my gaze before he nods.
“Yeah.” He exhales through his nose, white mist forming the trail of carbon dioxide. “That’s Kian’s friend, Hayden. They’ve known each other since pencil school, practically inseparable since they met.”
“Inseparable?” I ask softly.
“He was always around when trouble started, especially in grade school but he’s much quieter.” He leans closer so I can hear him and my eyes skate to Kian. I can feel him watching us and when my gaze meets his I can see the control stirring in him.
“Today, Kian called you Pimble. What does that mean?” I ask and my gaze shifts back to Alistair.
He scratches the back of his neck awkwardly and smiles. “A nickname they gave me when we were kids. It means weak or mama’s boy.”
“Wow.” I perk up with disgust and frown.
I let that douchebag kiss me.
“It’s fine really. Both of my mothers have taken wonderful care of me after my father split so of course I love them.” He admits.
“Wait, you have two mothers?” I ask in surprise.
I am not a good friend. I don’t know much about Alistair like I thought but from now on I'll make it my mission to uncover his secrets too.
“Yep.” The ‘p’ pops from his lips and I nod.
“That’s awesome.” I nudge him and wink.
He chuckles and slings an arm around my shoulder. “I’m glad you think that. Most people run from them like they’ve got the cooties.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course they do.”
He turns back to the parade with another chuckle and I do the same. It still runs at full force, another float and saint cruising by with sugar filled candies in their hands.