9. Drake #3
“And I never much cared for the rules.” I shrugged before slipping my hands into my pockets. My damn fingers kept twitching, inching closer to her, and I needed to reel them in.
“No surprise there. Families like ours don’t generally follow rules.
” Her eyes sparkled with a levity that sucked the air from my lungs.
For the first time since my first kill, I wondered what Monty had to do for her family.
Would she be a killer for her family, like me?
Or would she be their dainty little princess traded to some mafia lord’s son?
The thought curdled in my stomach, sloshing around as if I’d spent the past several hours drowning myself in poison. It burned, acidic and wild as my blood thinned and the surrounding air grew heavy.
Redirecting my thoughts, I waved a hand at the book on the table. “So, what book is so good it’s keeping you from the dance?”
“None of your business?—”
I snatched the book before she got her remark out. She shot to her feet, but I held the book out of reach, reading over her head.
“Delicious Poisons: Spices and Vices second edition.” The girl was so short, it was easy to twist away from her flailing hands.
“Really, Monty? Poison?” A laugh barked free of me, a maddened, wild sound set free by her frustration, her small, warm body shifting against my chest, and delight from her literature choice.
When my arm lowered enough, she snagged the book away, folding it against her chest as one might hug a shield. “I didn’t know you could read,” she huffed out. “Hasn’t rugby knocked your brain loose?”
I placed a hand over my chest, feigning insult. “Oh, you wound me.”
“Die about it,” she bit back.
“Oh, the kitten finally found her claws.” It had to be the alcohol, it had to be.
Because that was the only excuse for why I’d suddenly stepped closer, crowding into her space.
She noted the drop in my tone and squeezed herself against the bookshelf behind her table.
Her breath hitched as I took another step, close enough to feel her body heat again.
Not from her struggling to get her property, but just from standing in her proximity trying to absorb her warmth.
Her throat bobbed as she swallowed her nerves, and my eyes tracked the movement of the graceful column on her throat and where her thick, oversized sweater engulfed her collar and chest. My gaze dipped lower, searching through the shapelessness of her top for the curves she had to be hiding.
“Don’t you have some other shadows to lurk in?” she asked, bringing her anger back to the surface and straightening her shoulders.
“Well, that depends,” I drawled.
“On what?” It must be the alcohol buzzing in my ears, because her voice sounded breathier than before.
The following mistake solidified my trajectory of mistakes.
My hand lifted of its own accord, reaching across the shrinking distance.
The heaviness between us almost feels like a weight in my stomach, tugging me in her direction.
I watched like a helpless puppet as my fingers caught one of the fallen curls against her cheek.
Her eyes flared and her pupils dilated as I twisted the strand of brown hair around my finger.
It was soft, so much softer than I ever could have imagined. I thought her hair would be frizzy and harsh, but it coiled around my fingers like silk, and I got swept up in the urge to pull her hair free and run my hands through it.
“If I keep pissing you off, will you pay attention to me?”
Her expression changed, quickly morphing into something guarded and alert. She sucked in a gasp and smacked my hand away. “No. Get away from me.”
Maybe it was the alcohol and the frustration coursing through me like a curse in my blood.
How else could I have forgotten that she was Helen Montgomery, my enemy?
I was Drake Graham, a cruel bastard and already a killer, a trained soldier for my father.
She was a good girl, a brilliant student, and practically a princess in our world.
Her shock and my return to sanity shattered the fragile, glass-like tension holding us in a cage. Our rivalry was written in the stars before we were born, and I had a god-damned part to play, didn’t I?
“Where’d the kitten’s claws go?” I towered over her, using my size to intimidate her. A flicker of fear danced in her eyes, and my stomach revolted.
“You’re a beast, Graham!” Her hand flew out, physically striking me at the same time as her words. The sharp smack of her palm on my cheek stung, and the force of it rang bells in my ears.
“Fuck!” I shouted, grabbing my face as I rocked back.
Rapid clicking alerting us a split second before a harried looking teacher rounded the corner. “Students in the library!” she screeched. A harpy I recognized as a chemistry teacher. Hated that woman’s class the year before.
“Graham and Montgomery,” the harpy-teacher began scolding.
“No, miss, I have permission. I promise!” Monty rushed out.
The teacher raised her hand to halt her. “Be that as it may, I heard an altercation and I see the proof myself.” A sinking dread punched me in the gut harder than Monty’s little slap. “Detention. For both of you.”