Defiant Prince: An Enemies-to-Lovers Romance (Black Rose University Book 1)

by A G Henderson

  She shrugged and I could tell it was bullshit. Her shoulders were tight. Tension lined her mouth. I was almost positive she was rubbing her knee with her other hand.

  “That’s it?” I repeated. “You’re sure you didn’t kill his dog or something and you just don’t remember?”

  “Lord give me strength,” she muttered.

  “What was that?”

  “Nothing. And we never had pets, so I couldn’t have possibly killed his freaking dog. The closest I ever got to domesticating an animal was the geese I used to feed near the lake.”

  Why was that so easy to picture? Like it was brushed on the canvas of my mind, I could see her sitting on the pier where we’d met, feet in the water, tossing breadcrumbs to anything that looked hungry.

  Whatever act of rebellion that colorful sleeve of tattoos on her arm was supposed to be, underneath it all, she was still the same girl who’d started a conversation with a complete stranger.

  Emily Brennan was good.

  It was just one more reason she didn’t belong here. This town ate people alive, and the only way to survive was to become someone unrecognizable.

  It was one more reason I needed to keep my hands to myself.

  “There has to be something else,” I said, tapping my finger against the table.

  She ignored me, her focus on the menu and her phone. Emily looked at the menu and typed. Menu. Phone. Rinse and repeat.

  “What are you doing?” I smirked, already sure I had a good idea.

  “For someone who was in such a hurry to get rid of me, you sure ask a lot of fucking questions.”

  I laughed, surprising myself with the suddenness of it. Then I leaned across the table and yanked her phone from her before she could react.

  “Hey!”

  I took one look at the screen and handed it back, enjoying the sparks in her eyes. “Were you going to translate the entire menu one item at a time?”

  She snatched the phone and hid it away. “How else am I supposed to know what I’m ordering?”

  I shook my head and lifted a hand. Another waiter appeared at the table, hands behind his back. His focus landed on Emily’s chest—emphasized by the tight dress—and got stuck there.

  My pulse spiked. No matter how hard I tried to get it under control, it kept climbing. When Emily folded her arms over her chest with an eye roll, I was completely fucking done.

  “Estás despedido,” I growled. You’re fired.

  He managed to blink. Shock settled in and his features paled. “Señor Muerte, por favor.”

  My fist clenched and I leveled him with my harshest glare. “Vamos.”

  He scurried away, tail tucked between his legs. Emily made a noise and my glare swung towards her, daring her to say something.

  What she ended up saying was, “If you knew Spanish, you could’ve just said so.” She slid the menu towards me. “What has chicken on here?”

  I relaxed by degrees as I explained her options. She listened closely, strawberry blonde waves that smelled like vanilla falling into her face. When my hand twitched with the urge to tuck them behind her ear, I stood.

  Penance, I told myself, turning my back.

  “Hey, Ro,” she called out, offering up a cheeky grin when I swung my head over my shoulder. “Thanks.”

  I didn’t respond.

  I didn’t know how to react to what my nickname on her tongue did to me.

  The owner stopped me before I made it back to my table. Edward Mendoza had gone to school with my parents, but he wasn’t inner circle. He knew what he risked by putting his hand on my shoulder and he did it anyway.

  “Is there a problem?” he asked, giving me a curious stare. “Why do I have a waiter hyperventilating in the break room?”

  “Have your people keep their goddamn eyes to themselves and there won’t be a problem.”

  His attention went to Emily and returned to me. I hated the assumptions I could see building behind crinkled eyes. People didn’t know anything about me, and I liked it that way.

  I wasn’t made for the throne Mom and Dad—this whole fucking town—wanted to put me on.

  I liked being in the background, unknowable and unnoticed until it was too late.

  Death worked in mysterious ways, and there was nothing mysterious about the spotlight.

  Edward clapped me on the shoulder before letting go. “The same way you Tarots keep your hands to yourselves?”

  Fucking Erik.

  Steel straightened my spine, and my voice came out deadly soft. “Tread carefully,” I told him, aware of how much of a hypocrite I was being. “You might be a friend of the family, but the guard has changed.”

  I kept walking. Baron made room for me to slide into the booth again.

  His stare was openly curious.

  Erik’s was challenging.

  Chrom looked more pleased than a pig rolling around in its own shit. “What’s good with your imaginary friend?”

  I frowned. “What?”

  “The only way you can have a conversation with no one is if they’re imaginary.”

  “Fuck off,” I grumbled, reclining in the seat.

  Our food arrived just in time to shut everybody up. Once we were done, Baron launched into the issues we were having with another local business, the position we needed to fill after banishing the professor, the list of favors and debts owed to us by the people of this town.

  People who had called upon the Tarots for an intervention in their destiny.

  They asked, so they would receive. Then they’d owe us because that was how it worked. What we needed to determine was who’d be better for each task.

  Me. Death.

  Chrom. Strength.

  Erik. The Fool.

  Baron. The Magician.

  We each had our strengths and no weaknesses. It was why we never failed.

  I listened, memorized, added input.

  And if I wound up stealing the occasional glance at Emily Brennan when she said grace over her food, licked red sauce from her lips, or closed her eyes to enjoy the flavor of something she was tasting, I told myself it was because she sat directly in my line of sight.

  Liar, said a long-buried voice.

  For the life of me, I couldn’t silence it as easily as I used to.

  11

  Emily

  “What’s the deal with the whole Tarot thing?” I asked Renata while we ate in the student hall, halfway through the first day of classes.

  Fending off my own curiosity was exhausting, and it didn’t seem like there would be a better time. The gaggle of girls Renata had introduced me to in the dorms had wildly different schedules, so it was just the two of us at a table together.

  She lifted her orange juice to her lips before answering, and I caught the slightest whiff of the alcohol she’d poured from a flask earlier.

  I thought it was strange to be drinking this early in the day, but it wasn’t a topic I felt comfortable bringing up. She didn’t act like she had a problem. That didn’t stop me from making a note about it anyway.

  “I forget just how new you are,” she purred. “It’s quite adorable.”

  “Are you going to tell me or not?”

  I’d pegged her right in the mean girl department. The thing was, it was almost like she couldn’t help herself. Catty comments, haughty looks, and a general I’m better than you and I know it completed the Renata Fontana package.

  She was a hurricane to be weathered when it first touched down. But eventually, you’d reach the eye of the storm and have a brief respite from the worst of her attitude.

  “You chose a good time to ask.” Renata dabbled her lips with a napkin. “You’ll get the fully interactive course in just a minute or two.”

  It weirded me out how accurate she was.

  Barely a minute passed before two beefy, football-looking types slid their chairs back and stood. The entire hall went quiet, cueing me in to the fact that something was going on, even before the footballers grabbed a long tabl
e and pulled it to the center of the room.

  Like this was a rehearsal they’d done a thousand times, Ambrose and the others appeared from the double doors at the front of the hall. They marched in like they owned the place. Which—according to that lady from the shop—they basically did.

  Still, it was one thing to own the school. It was another to so blatantly flaunt their status. And that was exactly what they were doing.

  I’d gotten their names from Renata after my run-in with them over the weekend. So I recognized the imposing figure with a cocky smile that was Chrom as he led the way straight up the center in a t-shirt that barely fit his mass.

  Baron came through next, eyes hidden behind his glasses, but I knew they didn’t miss anything. He kept his hands in his pockets, the picture of feigned disinterest.

  A bit of time passing hadn’t prepared me for seeing Erik again. The single glance I spared him—taking in the smirk he wore and the wink he flashed at every attractive girl he walked by—was enough to make my heart want to drop out of my chest.

  I didn’t understand how he could be so casual about ignoring me.

  I’d been prepared for us to fall out again because we always did. Nothing had prepared me for being completely overlooked.

  Then Ambrose caught my eye and I forgot all about my issues with my brother.

  The current object of my ire and confusion had on another black t-shirt. This time he wore black jeans and boots as well. If not for the tanned, muscled skin on display, he would’ve looked like the grim reaper made of flesh and bone for the glacial stare he wore.

  Of all of them, he was the only one that didn’t seem to be enjoying the little show they were putting on. If anything, he looked angry. I thought I could almost feel the brush of his irritation against my skin when his eyes found mine in the crowd. Then he looked away and the feeling was gone.

  “Where’s the marching band?” I whispered to Renata.

  She offered up a small smile, watching the four of them closely while they made their way to the table and sat atop it. “You’re joking, but it wouldn’t be a bad idea. I asked if they wanted a herald to announce their presence once.”

  “Really? To their faces?”

  I felt positive that people opposing or challenging them was rare, if it ever happened at all.

  “Oh yeah.” She smiled. “You should’ve seen the look on Chrom’s face. Snapping a picture would’ve gotten me about a billion likes and retweets.”

  I could only shake my head at that. Social media never made much sense to me. I knew what I looked like just fine. Why would I want to take two dozen pictures of my face throughout the day just to search for the best one to share with the world?

  That same world got enough of me as it was. I wasn’t keen on sharing any of the pieces I actually had a choice to hold onto.

  Baron stood on the table. The footballers were quickly joined by their buddies and they formed a shield between the Tarots and the milling, eager crowd. Not everyone had surged towards the congregation, but enough had to where all the seats near Renata and I were now empty.

  “One request will be heard,” Baron said, raising his voice over the chatter. “One destiny will hang in the balance. One will be chosen...” He paused, letting his gaze sweep the room. “...or they will not. Who here believes they deserve to change their fate?”

  The shield wall made a lot more sense when the crowd surged forward, talking at once. They looked mindless and desperate to break through and get to the Tarots. Bodies got shoved against each other hard enough that I could hear the impact and I frowned.

  My frown deepened when one of the guys forming the shield pushed back against his section, shoving people to their feet where they had to scramble to avoid being stepped on.

  “What the—” I got to my feet and Renata caught me by the arm.

  Her eyes were deadly serious when I looked at her. “Don’t interrupt.”

  “But—”

  “Do you want to stay at this school?” she asked me plainly. “Because if you do, then you better ask yourself what you’re thinking of doing right now. They say the word and you’re gone.”

  “It can’t be that simple.” My statement felt weak, especially since I sat down a moment after uttering it. “They can’t possibly have that much power.”

  Hell, who would even trust Erik with that kind of influence? The brother I knew was an expert at looking out for himself. Since he was still a complete dick, it seemed that aspect of his personality changing in the time we’d spent apart.

  “However powerful you think they are,” she whispered, a dark emotion flitting across her features too fast for me to name it, “know that you’re not even in the ballpark. Now keep your ass in that seat before you mess up and take me down with your sinking ship.”

  “This isn’t right,” I told her, and myself, and anyone who might be willing to listen.

  God, if he was really out there? I doubted it, but nonetheless, I hoped someone kept the people I’d seen fall from breaking anything.

  To ignore the pit in my stomach as the chaos continued to unfold, I watched Ambrose instead.

  A terror, Dad called him.

  Seeing the bored look on his face, that warning made a lot more sense.

  He leaned forward, steepling his fingers beneath his chin like this meant less than nothing to him. Someone finally stumbled into the ring, having broken past the wall of impromptu guards. The rest of the crowd stopped pushing and backed away, faces solemn.

  I sat up in my seat so I could see the guy getting to his knees before the Tarots.

  Ambrose stood. Silence descended once again. It was as if the screaming from before had never happened. I could hear the frantic beat of my heart in my chest, waiting for whatever dreaded deed I was about to witness.

  My mind flashed to the blood I’d seen on his knuckles.

  “Rise,” Ambrose said softly.

  The guy—short, with messy hair and a wrinkled shirt from being amid their madness—slowly got to his feet.

  “Thank you,” he said, a reverent note to his voice that sent a chill down my spine. “Thank you so much.”

  Chrom moved to the guy’s right side. “Nothing has been decided.”

  Erik took the left. “Your fate is now in our hands.”

  Baron completed the cross at the guy’s back, standing close enough he could almost whisper in his ear. But he didn’t. He spoke in a normal volume when he said, “What would you ask of destiny?”

  Are they always this dramatic?

  That was what I was going to ask Renata. Except she predicted that something smart was about to come out of my mouth and clapped a hand over it instead. Ambrose noticed, and it became harder to breathe with those fathomless, dark eyes on me.

  He didn’t look away as a small, folded piece of paper landed in his outstretched palm. I wished he would. A few too many heads were turning my way, searching for what held his attention.

  Grateful for the chance to break free from Ambrose’s searching stare, I met the curious eyes evenly. Even though what I really wanted to do was duck my head and vanish.

  I meant what I’d said. This place was a stepping stone, a pathway to everything I’d dreamed about, and nothing more.

  I didn’t want to be noticed—much less popular.

  And Ambrose? The Tarots?

  Anything that involved them would garner too much attention.

  Which was why I grabbed my bag, told Renata I would catch up with her later, and fled the student hall before curiosity could put me on the wrong side of their so-called destiny.

  I wanted nothing to do with it, and I wanted nothing to do with him. No matter how the sight of those sharp features made my stomach do cartwheels.

  “So glad you could join us, Miss Brennan.”

  I froze in the doorway of my film studies class, still struggling to catch my breath from the near sprint I’d done to get here. The first-day curse was in full effect, and I’d left my bag in the class
before this after walking halfway across campus.

  Backtracking had cost me more time than I had. Despite how I’d basically sprinted from one side of campus to the other, I was still a few minutes late, seriously out of breath, and my knee throbbed with displeasure.

  I knew I needed to stop pushing so hard. Every time I overexerted myself, my leg let me know that it was one bad day away from me needing a cane. But that wasn’t why I stood in the doorway like a statue.

  It wasn’t because of the squinty-eyed man behind his desk at the front of the room either.

  The lights were low. A projector screen hung from the ceiling. People pointed and giggled at the crazy, flustered girl starting off the year on the wrong foot.

  They barely registered compared to the sight of Ambrose sitting in the very back row, deliberately slouched in a way that somehow made the standard-issue desk look like a throne for a defiant prince.

  You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

  I squeezed my eyes shut and opened them again.

  He was still there. Silent. Watching. Amused?

  I only had the tilt of his head to go off of, but I could sense it.

  Our teacher sighed. “You were already late. If you’re not going to be joining this class, you know where the door is. Otherwise, come in and sit down so we can get started.”

  In a rare moment of cowardice, I actually considered taking him up on that offer. What the hell was film studies going to do for my future anyway? Was I going to give in-depth explanations on what the colors orange and blue represented in movies?

  Worst case scenario, I could take the class again next semester.

  That had to be a better option than risking more continued exposure to a guy who brought out the worst in me, all the while making me wish he wasn’t so damn frustrating so I could let him pin me against a wall and use my body to unleash that pent up anger I occasionally saw simmering below the surface.

  I wondered how rough he would be.

  How dominating and unrelenting.