LUCIAN
I catch myself checking out the Umbra bitch as she sits in front of me with balls of steel, giving almost as good as she’s getting. Something close to regret niggles at me when I think about how different things would be if I met her anywhere else but here.
We would have been strangers, and I would have fucked her against a grimy wall in a club. Her thick hips would have been draped around my waist as she panted and pleaded against my neck before I shoved her down to her knees and fucked her mouth. Thinking about her fat lips wrapped around me while she gazed up at me with those defiant doe eyes makes my dick harder than the last time I got off.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she sneers, but I can see she’s uncomfortable. She may not think she’s easy to read, but she’s fucking transparent.
“Maybe I’ll have to find out for myself.” Some night, when you’re fast asleep, thinking you’re tucked safely into bed and nothing could hurt you, I will.
“Doubtful,” she boasts. Evidently, she has no clue what I’m capable of.
“I showed you mine,” I taunt her.
Surprising me, she admits she’s here because it’s better than where she came from. I’m still waiting on those details, but my source has been slow to reveal any information. At first, I thought he was holding out on me because he was worried the Umbras would suspect he was the leak, but now I’m not so sure.
When she asks me to forget about her and treat her like everyone else, I have to clench my teeth to keep from reacting. If only it were that fucking easy, but she had to show up here looking like sweet innocence wrapped in sin and buck against every-fucking-thing I’ve laid out. I hate everything about her almost as much as I hate her fucking family.
“Why do you think I’m here?” she asks.
“It doesn’t matter. You being here at all is a problem.”
“Why?” Her head tilts to the side with curiosity. Why is she so frustrating?
“Because there are only two kinds of people, Charity. The ones under me, and the ones against me, and I haven’t figured out which one you are yet.”
She breaks eye contact with me and scans the Union. I knew we attracted attention as soon as I sat down, but it seems as if she’s just now noticing my audience.
“Maybe that’s because I’m neither. I am not your enemy, and I’m not your subject.”
The only other option is family, and that’s the last thing she is.
She reaches for her laptop, showing signs of leaving. I think about stopping her but decide to let her think she’s getting away from me without my dismissal.
“I need to get to my next class.” There’s a pleading tone in her voice I would bet she’s not even aware of.
“I’m not stopping you.” The second she leans forward to pick her bag up off the floor, I speak loudly enough for everyone watching to hear. “I know you’re used to fucking as a form of payment, but I’m not interested. Don’t touch me again.”
I see the hurt and embarrassment flash in her eyes before she averts her gaze from mine, and I like it, but what I like even more is watching her ass sway from side to side as she walks away with her chin tipped in the air with defiance.
NOVA
Telling myself that putting up with this crap is worth it over and over again isn’t quite cutting it after the debacle in the Union. I try to focus on the professor during class, but I feel like I’m back in eighth grade and everyone just found out that Julie went down on Ricky in the band room closet. Somehow, he was cooler after, but she was called all kinds of names and treated like a pariah. I don’t know which was worse—the girls and their slut shaming, or the boys acting like Julie would be willing to go down on them too.
I hear all the chuckles at my expense, as well as the mock whispers calling me desperate and insinuating that I’m willing to do anything for money, and it sucks, but I try to comfort myself with the knowledge that the taunts will pass, just like they did for Julie…two years later.
I don’t rush out of the room when class is over in hopes of avoiding some of the other students in the hall, but it’s pointless. When I exit the room, there are several stragglers lingering there, and I’m not at all surprised to find they all seem to be waiting for me or to witness something they think is going to happen. I glance around, looking for Morningstar, since he’s not an easy one to miss, but come up empty.
Unfortunately, his existence can be felt even without him actually being present. The king has spoken, and it seems to be open season on the new girl. The hostility I sense from the hateful glances are enough to have me wanting to get the heck out of here and grateful it’s my last class of the day so I can.
I keep my face relaxed as I pretend not to notice the people gathered around, even though it seems orchestrated. If I said I wasn’t a little nervous walking through the gauntlet of students, I’d be lying, but I wonder if that’s not part of the tactic to keep me on edge, wondering what could happen. Morningstar definitely seems manipulative enough for those kinds of mind games, and the girl from my earlier class said they couldn’t touch me. Unfortunately, I don’t know if I can believe her.
Just when I start to consider that maybe I was overthinking the reason for the crowd, I feel someone right behind me almost breathing down my neck. I don’t speed up my steps or move to the side, because that would let them know they are getting to me, but man do I want to.
Three steps later, my foot lifts much higher than it should when the person syncs their steps with mine and shifts their foot under my heel, causing me to stumble forward. Thankfully, I don’t fall, but my bag does slip down my arm and hit the ground with a nasty thwack. Damn it, my new laptop better be okay.
Streams of people move around me when I stop to haul my bag back up my arm, making it impossible to know which of them tried to trip me. I mutter an acerbic, “Grow up,” anyway.
“You okay?” a guy asks from just over my shoulder, so I have to turn to see him properly. He has several inches on me and gorgeous, dark auburn hair and a face to match. He looks to be several years older than me and way out of my tax bracket. He is what I expected of Morningstar. He’s dressed in dark slacks and a white button-up that seem simple enough, but his clothes speak of wealth. It could be the fabric, the tailored cut, or just everything about him. Whatever it is, he oozes money.
Even without all that to take into consideration, I’m skeptical of why he would ask me if I’m okay. “Fine,” I answer, trying not to be too rude, but my tone conveys irritation I don’t bother hiding.
His eyes roam over me, and he’s not even trying to be subtle before he says, “Derry Quade,” in what I’m guessing is an introduction.
“Nova Devlin.”
His head tilts to the side as he asks, “You didn’t keep your mom’s name?” proving he already knew who I was.
“No,” I reply slowly. It’s still pretty much the social norm, and it certainly was nineteen years ago, to take your father’s name, so I’m wondering why he’s even asking.
“But you’re an Umbra.”
“So they tell me.” I start to walk away.
“One of the founding families,” he continues as if I need the reminder, then he steps up to keep pace beside me.
I shoot him a quick glance, but it’s pointless. He seems just as baffled as to why I’m not using the family name as I am about why it matters to him that I’m not.
“Morningstar will still fuck with you, but most of the others will back off if you throw your weight around a little.”
I do a double take at the side of his face. Was that an insult about my size, or just a reference to having a founding family name? “And be like him? No thanks.”
Derry’s brows rise in what seems like surprise. “Not a fan?”
“How could that be surprising?” I shove out the door, not really expecting a response from him, but he continues to trail behind me.
“Most girls don’t care how he treats them.”
“Despite what he would have everyone believe, I’m not desperate for anything, let alone his attention. I would rather he forget I exist.”
That stops Derry in is tracks, or maybe it’s the fact that I’m heading to the parking lot and not showing any signs of slowing because I parked in the boonies, but he’s no longer keeping pace with me, which is just as well. The disdain I heard when he said Morningstar’s name is enough to let me know he doesn’t like the bully any more than I do, but I’m not one to ally with the enemy of my enemy just because.
As the warm breeze lifts my hair and cools my sun warmed skin, I allow myself to entertain the idea of cutting my losses and disappearing from the island and all the drama that comes with it, but it feels like cowardice, like I’d be letting them push me away from opportunities I wouldn’t otherwise have without this place and the school, and I can’t let it happen.
As I slip into the plush leather seat behind the steering wheel of my new car, I acknowledge that pride may be inherited. That, or I’m already letting this place influence me, because I don’t want to give any of it up, which is terrifying.
LUCIAN
Getting her schedule from one of the girls who works in the office was easy. A simple demand was all it took, because she knew I wasn’t asking. She would have handed over anything with a smile, but that schedule leaves me wondering what the fuck is taking Umbra so long to find me standing next to the car her supposed family bought her.
I don’t know why that pisses me off, but for some reason, it does, though everything about her bothers me. I’m tempted to etch my name in the black paint, but movement at the door finally pulls my attention away.
I push off the car when I realize she’s not alone. Derry, the carrot-topped Quade motherfucker, is at her side, standing a little too close. He should fucking know better. I already put word out that the new Umbra bitch is off-limits, and that includes the other founding families. He can have her when I’m done with her for his scheming and plotting bullshit…if I decide to let him.
Derry’s head lifts as if he can sense me eyeing him, and he keeps his loafered feet planted on the sidewalk instead of following her farther to her car, but it doesn’t matter, because he already fucked up.
Once she realizes he’s no longer chasing her, she shakes her head from left to right, sending her long hair spilling all the fuck over, then she struts through the parking lot like she owns the damn place, even in her ripped Vans and faded shirt. Another spike of something hot and covetous has me clenching my fists. It pisses me off that I want her for anything other than to use her against the Umbras.
I slip between the cars before she can see me with a new target in mind. Apparently, Derry needs a reminder of who runs Cadieux, and it sure the fuck isn’t a Quade.
