XV
SILAS
The air around me is electric, my pulse thundering beneath my skin. The anger coils inside me, seething, twisting, demanding an outlet. My blood is boiling—the whole scene etched into my memory.
Lucian’s hand reaching for Eden’s face, the way she flinched when he touched her. How he looked at me when I caught them—like he thought he had some sort of power over me.
Me .
Silas Peregrine-Ashford IV.
I don’t care what that heathen gets up to in his spare time. We all know how he got into this school and manages to get away with flouting the rules more obviously than the rest of us do. Lucian will never have my respect after all he’s done.
But the moment he touched Eden, he crossed a line.
She’s mine.
We’re fated and nothing can undo that. I’ll burn this entire fucking school to the ground before I let anyone even consider taking her away from me.
I storm through the east wing of the main building, my wing-tipped Italian shoes making clipped clicks on the dark marble floor. I pass the headmaster’s office and a few other offices and departments until I reach the Literature department.
The hallway is dim, like everywhere else in this place.
Heavy oak doors line the hallway on one side, each of them leading to the classrooms where the curriculum is taught. These are the doors the teachers enter the classroom from. On the other side, the doors lead to their offices.
I inspect each door until I find the one I’m looking for—Tyne Hampton.
I don’t even bother to knock. I swing the door open to find Ms. Hampton seated at her desk, grading papers in the dim glow of an ancient looking desk lamp. She looks up, startled.
Tyne Hampton caused a stir when she started working at Augustine last semester. Why? Because she’s twenty. She’s a twenty-year old nun and a Literature teacher. It really doesn’t get more pathetic than that.
With her pointer finger, she pushes her horn-rimmed glasses further up her nose.
“Mr. Peregrine-Ashford?” Her voice is shaky.
I take a step closer to her desk, looming over her. “It’s Lord Peregrine-Ashford.”
She nods with a terse smile. “My apologies.”
“I’m not in the habit of accepting apologies, or forgiving indiscretions—” I watch her face, ensuring that the weight of each word lands square on that huge forehead of hers. “But I’ll consider it in exchange for a favor. ”
She narrows her eyes.
I don’t have time to waste on Tyne, so I cut straight to the meat of the matter.
“I need Lady Eden Lockhart assigned to a different partner.”
Tyne blinks, a blank expression on her face. “I don’t understand?”
“I know you didn’t get much formal education,” I grumble. “But surely you understand English? I want Lady Eden Lockhart paired with someone else for whatever project it is you have her working on.”
She seems offended. It matters little.
“I don’t need your forgiveness that badly,” she gives me a small, satisfied smirk. “But why would you want her reassigned?” She pulls a thick docket from a pile on her desk and starts thumbing through it. “Her partner is Lord Beaumo?—”
“I know who her partner is,” I snap. “You and I both know Lucian’s reputation around here. He’s a distraction, and he’s not good for her.”
She leans back in her rickety chair. “Lady Lockhart is paired with an excellent Literature student—he’s only retaking the class to get an A+ instead of just an A. I see no reason to switch the pairing. I’m sure they’ve already started working together.”
My patience is thinning. I grip the edge of her desk. “You will do it, Tyne Hampton.”
She leans forward, removing her glasses with a sigh.
“Lord Peregrine-Ashford, I’m not sure what you’re trying to accomplish here. But I have no interest in interfering with Lady Lockhart’s partner.” She kneads her fingers. “And I don’t think you should either.”
The implications of what she’s said sticks me like a blade .
“Why is that, Tyne ?”
She exhales, shaking her head slightly. “The consequences of challenging him would far outweigh anything you could ever do to me.” Tyne’s habit rustles as she moves in her seat. “You shouldn’t get involved.”
Something cold slithers through my chest.
It’s not fear.
It’s disgust.
I’m not a man who has his requests declined.
Not at this school, not ever .
I hold her gaze for a moment longer. But Tyne is unyielding, as immovable as the stone sculptures in The Headmasters’ Memorial Garden.
“You’ll regret this, Tyne.”
She turns her attention back to the papers she was marking. “Good evening, Lord Peregrine-Ashford.”
Her dismissal is clear.
My anger flares. There are very few things I hate more than a commoner who thinks we’re on equal footing. I swipe my hand over her desk—the papers, her folders, the desk lamp crash to the floor, the lamp shattering.
Tyne is horrified.
I give her a smug grin.
“Perhaps you’re too young to know,” I hiss. “But you never dismiss someone of a higher rank than you are.” I lower my eyebrows, stretching my spine to my full height. Her lip trembles as she sits in my shadow. “A century ago, you would’ve been executed.”
She says silent, as she should.
I walk out of her office coolly even though my blood feels like molten lava—turning into something much more dangerous.
I roam the campus like a restless wild animal.
I need something, anything , to get rid of this feeling.
Using Eden as a salve is out of the question—if I tried to fuck her in this state, I’m certain I’d kill her, which isn’t exactly advantageous right now. A fight with Lucian would attract too much attention.
Then I spot a much easier mark.
Vivienne.
She’s walking down the hall outside the student common room, her dark hair swaying down her back with each step, her posture sharp and confident. Irritatingly so.
She doesn’t notice me, and I don’t give her a chance to.
I grab her by the throat and shove her into the nearest empty classroom. She shrieks, her book bag tumbling from her shoulder, spilling its contents. She hits her back on one of the desks with a sharp thud.
There’s a moment of disorientation, then there’s fire in her eyes.
Good.
Now you know what I feel like.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” she shouts, struggling to regain her balance.
I grin, laughing. “Who taught you to use language like that Ms. Carlisle?”
She’s got her hand balled up at her sides.
But I don’t need to shout at her. Instead, I take a step closer, lowering my voice to a dangerously soft cadence. “Is this your plan, then? ”
Vivienne glares, rubbing her back. “What?”
I smirk, but inside I’m burning up.
“I told you to stay away from Eden,” I hiss. “So, you’re using Lucian, now?”
It took me a while to piece together—but why would Lucian have a sudden interest in Eden, if not for a seed planted there by one of his closest friends? Marita wouldn’t have the gall, which only leaves Vivienne. She’s Eden’s roommate after all. I have no idea if she knows what happened last night. And if she doesn’t know, she must at least have some suspicions.
Her mouth falls open. “I’m not doing anything.”
“Bullshit.”
She laughs mockingly, shaking her head. “You are so fucking fragile. Lord Peregrine-Ashford, ” she mocks. “You attack me with no evidence, because of what? I don’t see how your fuck ups are related to me.”
“Careful, Vivienne.”
She doesn’t back down. “You can’t handle the fact that Eden is talking to another man? Are you scared she’ll see you for the psychopath that you really are?”
My chuckle fills the room.
I pace a bit, talking myself down from exploding on her. At the end of the day, she’s close with Max’s sister. He and I are closer than brothers because of The Order.
But that doesn’t mean I can’t be angry.
Vivienne stiffens.
There’s a tinge of uncertainty in her glare.
I move closer to her when I’ve finally restrained myself enough to speak again. “You have no idea what the fuck you’re getting into, Vivienne.” I take a deep breath. “If Lucian is your way of fucking with me, it’s not going to work out the way you hoped.”
She swallows.
I lean in just enough for my voice to drop to a whisper. “You shouldn’t throw stones when you live in a glass house. I figured Lucian would have taught you that.”
She flinches, her expression shifting into something akin to fear.
Good.
She understands exactly what I mean.
I grin, satisfied, and turn on my heel.
Vivienne doesn’t follow me, doesn’t even bite back with that sharp tongue of hers.
I don’t look back.
I won’t stop walking.
Not when I step out of the empty classroom. Not when I hear Vivienne cautiously leaving the classroom, breathing heavily. Not when the corridor stretches ahead, long and dimly lit, the lamps flickering with the lazy buzz of old electricity.
I figured that it would make me feel better.
But the rage is still there—simmering, seething.
Yet I feel like I hold it in a little better…for now.
I roll my shoulders back, exhaling through my nose. The smirk clings to my lips as I think of Vivienne’s flinch. That’s all I needed to see.
That one second of hesitation.
The chink in her armor.
She won’t push me any further .
My hands relax at my sides as I turn the corner and step into the courtyard—the cold night air hitting my skin like a shock. The sky is starless, the clouds swallowing the light whole, pressing down on Augustine’s stone towers like an omen.
Pausing for a moment, I admire the scene.
It’s fitting, I think.
After tonight, Augustine will be enveloped in my fury. The bite of the cold air settles my nerves a bit, but the rage lingers still. Lucian doesn’t know who he’s challenging, but he’ll learn.
Everyone who gets in my way always does.
I’m going over my game plan in my mind when my phone buzzes.
Eden:
Where are you?
I smirk.
Good girl.
She’s worried. Thinking about me. Needing me.
I let her wait a bit before responding.
Silas:
Come outside .
My mindless roaming has brought me close to the girls’ dormitory. I stand in the pathway, girls streaming past me toward the dorm. I get longing glances, open stares, and the occasional whispers and giggles.
Last semester, maybe those things would have mattered to me. Any of these girls would give anything to call me theirs, if even for a night.
But I only care about Eden now. She dominates my thoughts. Her well-being is what guides my actions. And our future? I’ll do anything to secure it.
Eden:
Where?
Silas:
The courtyard.
I stand beneath the stone archway, the flickering lanterns casting long shadows across the courtyard. Time ticks by—the campus growing emptier by the second as everyone drifts back to their dorms.
Eden always takes a while to show up whenever I text her. But whenever I see her, I can always tell why—she’s always dressed in something modest and alluring, her skin smelling like freshly baked sugar cookies .
I straighten, my boxers suddenly feeling a bit too tight. Just the thought of her is enough to get me hard. That never happens to me. I watch the path leading from the girls’ dormitory with intense scrutiny.
A few more minutes pass.
Then she appears.
Eden steps into the open space, her knee-length coat cinched tightly at the waist, her auburn hair wrapped up in a bun atop her head, refracting the dim light. Her steps are hesitant at first, scanning the courtyard—until her eyes land on me.
She hurries toward me, her pace quickening.
Eden’s kitten heels click as she’s pulled towards me. She doesn’t even realize that she’s being pulled toward me by something she doesn’t understand.
The unconscious pull is the inevitability of it all.
I love it.
She stops just short of me, her lips parted slightly. There are words swirling in her mind, a question on her lips that she can’t bring herself to ask. Eden looks like she’s searching for reassurance, for some sort of permission.
I tilt my head. “You missed me, didn’t you?”
She skitters to close the distance between us, swallowing thickly. Her fingers twitch by her sides, a blush coloring her cheek. I close the last bit of space between us.
“You did.” I lift her chin, forcing her to meet my gaze.
A breath shudders past her lips.
She nods.
I smirk, trailing my fingers down her throat, pulling the high collar of her dress down to see the bruises I left there last night. They’re still fresh, and my heart starts beating a feral rhythm. I want to give her more, until she has more bruises than plain skin.
I want to break Eden into a million tiny little pieces.
And then have her beg me to put her back together.
She tenses ever so slightly then relaxes into my touch.
“I’m sorry for how I acted today,” I say. I’m not. I wish I had acted worse. “I felt that there were some things left unsaid between us.”
Despite my soothing words, I step closer to her—crowding her until she has nowhere to go but sink into me further. She doesn’t pull away.
She can’t. But from the twinkle in her eye, I know that’s the furthest thing from her mind. My poor girl, still probably confused if she did something wrong, if she jeopardised our relationship. I have a strong need to reassure her, but I don’t.
“I think so too,” she gives me a small smile. “But maybe not words.”
Then she tilts her head, baring her throat for me.
It’s not a silent surrender though. “Go on,” she says, a sultry edge to her voice that I’ve never heard—or noticed—before. “I know it’s all you can think about.”
My smirk widens, molding her body to mine so she can feel my need for her bulging through my pants. I’d take her right here if I could.
I press a slow, deliberate kiss against the bruises on the skin of her throat, relishing the way her breath stutters, the way her fingers curl in the fabric of my coat. Eden is the perfect woman—soft in all the right places, intelligent and from good breeding, and most of all, malleable. Any man who wants her will have to pry her from my cold, dead hands.
And even in the afterlife I will still possess her.
My fingers slip beneath her coat, squeezing her waist .
I kiss her properly this time.
There’s no urgency, no rush. It’s deep and all-consuming, soul-searing; I kiss a line up from her neck to her lips, coaxing a small, breathless sound from the back of her throat. Her body’s pressed against mine like she wants to disappear inside me. She kisses me back with everything she has, her hands moving from my chest to the back of my head. Threading her fingers through my hair.
I groan into her mouth.
Fuck.
Eden shudders when I tilt her head back even more, trying to suck her soul through her throbbing, parted lips. She moans into my mouth. My self-control is non-existent. Maybe I should take her right here…
The sound of footsteps in the distance snaps me back to reality. No, we’d need more privacy. I don’t want anyone even catching a glimpse of what belongs to me.
I break the kiss, smirking against her lips.
She looks up at me, dazed.
“You should go back inside, love,” I murmur.
She doesn’t move, her eyes brimming with want. I chuckle, brushing a wayward strand of curly hair behind her ear. My fingers lingering against her skin.
“Kiss me a little more?”
Her petite voice begging for more is almost enough to do me in.
Almost.
She did a lot to upset me today. I can’t give her what she wants. It will set the wrong example. She’ll start thinking that there are no consequences for her actions.
“You’re mine,” I remind her. “But I’ll give you what you want next time. I’m still a bit upset about what I walked in on in the library.”
She frowns. Her eyes are brimming with want. The look on her face, the yearning? It’s like a drug shot straight into my heart. I let her go. She’s reluctant to do the same, but I peel her hands off me. Eden takes a step back, and then another, her eyes still locked onto mine as if I’ll disappear the moment she blinks or turns away.
I won’t.
I’ll always be here.
Watching.
Waiting.
We stare at each other for what feels like forever—need, desire, and want all coiled into a thread of electricity holding us together. Neither of us wants to break the tension. Eden finally forces herself to turn and leave.
I watch as she disappears into the courtyard.
The moment she’s out of sight, my countenance falls.
The rage reappears, stronger than ever—curling around my ribs like a vice. Maybe it’s because I know what Eden tastes like, feels like, sounds like in our most intimate moments that gets me so feral. Those things belong to me.
Only I should ever know them. I’ll deal with every problem that interferes with making Eden my bride. Be it Lucian, Vivienne, or anyone else.
Eden is destined to be the next Duchess of Surrey.
The Spirit decreed it.