“Where’s building A?”
Malek stops, throws a glance at me over his shoulder. I can see the tilted smirk of his lips, wolfish and playful. “Saint can walk you.” A moment later, he disappears from the room.
Slowly, robotically, I turn to the final male left in the room.
Tattoos accentuate just how pale his hard chest is, whisking lines that smoke down his arms and sneak up his neck. A single religious cross marks the space between his collar bones at the center of his throat, the tip of the ink reaching up to spear the underside of his jaw just lightly.
Saint. His name is Saint? What the fuck kind of vampire has the ironic ass name of ‘Saint’? This one, apparently. And I don’t particularly enjoy the way he stares at me. Like I’m a snack he means to devour.
Is he going to take a chomp out of me? He looks as if he’s contemplating the thought, what with the perturbingly sensual way his tongue darts out across his lower lip and the way he won’t stop staring…
Judging by the collectors assortment of crosses decorating his wall, I’d say those are not going to aid me.
All I have to protect myself is me and my quiet Prod.
So nothing. I have nothing.
Well, fuck.
Four
Saint
She’s nervous. I can hear her heartbeat from here, the way it thumps like the trapped, frightened wings of a baby bird within a cage. Does she think I’m going to bite her?
How cute.
I’ll let her believe what she wants, let her believe the worst of me because it’s just too fucking fun to watch the way she squirms nervously in my presence. The poor thing has no idea that I’m not even the worst of the bunch. That honor goes to Phoenix.
A harmless vampire like me is the least of her concerns.
She stares a moment longer, as if by staring she can somehow predict just how dangerous I am to her, how out of control my Prod is. We’re all new here, but she seems to be newer than most. Unseasoned. Like she’s never grown up surrounded by the magically mythical and deadly dangerous. I wonder just how true that is. A dark part of me just can’t help but want to test her. Push her.
Break her.
My eyes graze lazily up her figure, stopping at the pulse jumping at her delicate throat. Her long dark hair is in the way, some dark strands tucked tightly into the collar of her leather jacket, but I can still see the frantic beating of it.
It almost makes me wish I liked the taste of blood.
Her calm, controlled exterior doesn’t match the drumming blood that’s calling to me beneath her smooth untouched skin.
Not a scar on her. Beautiful, perfect, unmarked in every way.
I don’t know why that’s such a thrilling thing to think about.
“Class is about to start.” I smile slowly and she stiffens at my words, glaring at the pointed look I give her uniform at her feet. “You should change so we make it there on time.”
I should take my own advice, but I can’t bring myself to care about anything: this academy, the classes… nothing matters. I was dumped here because no one wants to deal with me, but the teachers have to because my family funds this shitty place.
So I can arrive at whatever time I want, and anyone who has something to say about it can get fucked.
But pretty little Izzy, she should get changed, slide out of that jacket and glide that short khaki skirt right up those long legs, the soft curves of her thighs, up over her pus—
“What about you?” she interrupts the delicious trail of my thoughts.
Hmm, cute how she has a tiny dark freckle placed on her upper lip. She is rather pretty, the type of girl who doesn’t quite realize how alluring she is. Who seduces without meaning to in the subtlest of gestures. In the way she bites her bottom lip, in the soft flicking of the dark strands of her hair. In the sassy cock of her hip. In the well placed position of that cute tiny freckle.
Cute. Pretty. Not sexy. She’s attractive in a way you know she’s delicate.
And this place. This place will fucking break her.
I smile in response and slowly unfurl my limbs from the bed, taking extra care to stretch and work out the kinks in my joints. I can feel the way she watches me as I hop from the top bunk and make my way over to our shared closet.
Tiny little thing on the outside, but blessed with witch magic to fit an endless amount of identical clothes. Because instead of investing time and magic in a dormitory that’s not rat infested, they use it on stupid shit.
Like luxury closets.
It’s nice to see that my parents’ money is being used to its fullest.
I hook my fingers into the waistband of my boxers and yank them down. A strangled gasp sounds behind me as I step out of them. When I stand up and turn, it’s with a raised brow at the new roommate’s blushing face and the way she tries so very hard not to look down at the jutting ridge of my erect cock.
It’s a need, really. I physically need to make her uncomfortable just to see who she really is. Nothing tells you what someone is actually thinking like slapping your dick out on day one.
Gotta see how we measure up, if you get my drift.
“Is it necessary to flaunt your dick around?” She rolls her amber eyes and presses her fingers to her temple, covering her eyes out of pure annoyance. It doesn’t matter one bit when she’s peeking through the spaces between her fingers. She could get a better look if she just faced it head on. Literally. I’m right here.
“You make everything so much sweeter.” I wink. “And in the spirit of fairness, you should probably undress as well. I showed you mine after all.”
“Pervertido,” she says in a flat irritated tone.
I don’t speak a lick of Spanish, but I’m pretty sure she just called me a pervert. Never has an insult sounded so sexy.
What else can I get her to call me?
My cock twitches with a pulsing feeling at the thought of all the dirty names those lips could call me.
I feel the same way, I feel the same way.
I turn away from her cruel, sweet words. “Might as well get used to it.” I reach for my own uniform to start pulling it on. “It’s hot as hell in here all the time, and clothes are overrated. Are you dressed yet?” I can’t keep the smile from pulling at my lips.
I can practically hear her growl at me. “Don’t turn around! We share a room, not my body.”
Yet.
She prohibited I look, so of course I casually do the opposite. Slowly, so I don’t startle her, I turn and watch the swish of fabric fall as she bares herself to me.
Her body is all sinuous curves, slim waist and wide hips, a curved ass that presses tightly against black panties, partially hidden behind all that long hair. Holy Mother Mary, she’s not wearing a bra, this fact made known as she flicks her hair over her shoulder to bare her unblemished, smooth back.
She’s a temptress, and she captivates me entirely as she pulls the skirt up her long, gorgeous legs and shimmies into it. I never thought khaki could look so fucking sexy. On her it does. The hem of the skirt skims high on the backs of her thighs. If she bends over, I’ll be able to catch another glimpse of black lace.
If she were bare underneath…
I swallow hard at the drilling possibilities filling my head.
Izara shoves her arms into her shirt, buttoning it up furiously. Next goes the blazer and when she turns, she’s frazzled perfection.