by Sophie Lark
We all troop out to the shooting range south of campus. It’s a miserable walk over, and even worse when we have to lay down on the frozen earth to set up our sniper rifles.
The shooting range is just a field, at the end of which you can see a row of metal targets in human shape. Or at least, once you’ve put your eye to the scope you can see them. They’re nothing but faint silver gleams to the naked eye.
Ares is acting as my spotter for the first round, and then we’ll switch positions. Anna is off to my right, spotting for Chay. Dean isn’t in this class, thank god.
I feel bad for the girls laying on the cold ground in their short plaid skirts and bare knees. Anna is wearing tights instead of socks, but she’s still shivering with her arms wrapped around herself.
“Wind speed eight to twelve,” Ares tells me, checking the anemometer.
I make the necessary adjustments, then gently squeeze the trigger, keeping my eyes open the whole time. I see a spark as my bullet grazes the edge of the target.
“A little to the left,” Ares says unnecessarily.
“I know,” I grumble.
Next to me, Chay gives a little whoop of triumph as she hits her target dead center.
Once I’ve hit the target four times, Ares and I switch positions. I stand up, shaking out my cramped legs.
Anna is still waiting her turn, hopping in place to try to stay warm. Her lips are turning blue. Without thinking, I strip off my pullover and thrust it into her hands.
“Don’t be silly,” she says, teeth chattering. “You’ll freeze in a t-shirt. I’ve got my blazer on.”
“Your blazer isn’t doing shit,” I tell her gruffly.
She looks up at me—the first time we’ve made eye contact in several days. It’s the first time we’ve stood this close in weeks. I see a familiar glint of gold on her neck—the superfine chain with the tiny moon pendant I gave her so long ago when we were only kids. She’s still wearing it.
“Are you sure you won’t be cold?” she says in her low, clear voice.
In that moment, with Anna standing only inches in front of me, her blue eyes fixed on my face, I don’t feel cold in the slightest. Actually, I’m flooded with warmth. The wind feels like nothing anymore.
“I’m sure,” I say.
“Well . . . thanks, then,” she says. And she smiles at me for the first time in a long time. She pulls the sweater over her head. It’s so big on her that she looks like a little kid with her clunky boots and her wind-blown hair and her big blue eyes looking up at me. It’s incredibly endearing.
I have to turn away abruptly before I say something that will only humiliate me.
“You okay?” Ares says, as I resume my position next to him.
“Of course,” I say, gritting my teeth against the cold.
The warmth of Anna has already faded away, and I can tell it’s going to be a miserable thirty minutes to finish this class.
“You want my sweater?” Ares says, trying not to grin.
“No,” I say. “And shut the fuck up.”
Ares chuckles as he presses his eye against the scope. “There’s the Leo I know and love.”
20
Dean
I thought I’d snared Anna, and it would be a smooth progression from our first date to me taking full possession of her.
Instead, a most unwelcome and perverse thing begins to happen.
The more I tighten my grip on her, the more she tries to slip away.
It’s not conscious on her part. But I can see that any time I try to get closer to her, she pulls away. She never rejects me outright. But she’s always dancing away from me, just slightly out of reach.
It’s a constant effort to keep her away from Leo. It takes foresight and planning.
I knew he’d try to do something for her birthday, so I got up early and staked out her dorm.
Sure enough, he came strolling up with a hothouse orchid right before breakfast. He left it outside her door, probably thinking she was still asleep, though in actuality she was in the cathedral across campus.
As soon as he left the Solar I ran up the stairs, grabbed it, and chucked it down the garbage chute, pot and all. There was no card. Pity—I wanted to see exactly what Leo would dare to write.
I’d gotten her a box of handmade toffee from the sweet shop in the village. Anna thanked me, but she didn’t try it.
She’s been spending more and more time with Chay and Zoe, which makes me feel that she’s deliberately avoiding being alone with me. At the same time, whenever Bram or my other friends join us, she slips away as if she can’t stand to be around any of them.
That part might be genuine—Bram is abrasive as fuck, and in some kind of vendetta with Chay. They despise each other, and our two groups can’t coexist in the same space for five minutes without a fight breaking out between them.
It probably has to do with the fact that neither of them has a filter between their brain and their mouth.
Today we’ve barely crossed paths on the commons before Chay says to Bram, “Did you notice I beat your score on the range today?”
“It’s a fuckin’ tornado out there,” Bram replies, his face sour.
“And yet I managed to make eight headshots,” Chay smugly informs him. It’s not as windy inside the castle walls as without, but she still has her arms crossed over her chest with her hands clamped under her armpits.
Anna comes hurrying through the gates as well, head ducked down so she doesn’t see us until she’s almost running into us.
“How about you?” I say to her. “Were you setting records, too?”
Anna looks up, startled. I realize that she’s wearing someone’s sweatshirt. Someone very large, because the sleeves hang down over her hands and the hem comes down lower than her skirt, so it looks like she’s naked underneath.
I already know without asking who it belongs to. The pink in her cheeks isn’t just from the cold.
That jealousy I thought I’d conquered comes roaring up inside of me like a fire-breathing dragon. It wasn’t dead—only sleeping.
“No,” Anna says. “It was too cold.”
Even with that sweater on? I want to say, but I bite back the words before I let slip how angry I am.
I hate that she has classes with Leo when I’m not there.
I hate that she has eighteen years of history with him.
I hate that Leo Gallo was ever born.
“I need to see you tonight,” I say to Anna abruptly.
“I . . . I’ve got homework,” she says, not quite meeting my eye.
“I need to see you,” I repeat. It’s not a request.
Anna does look at me now, her thick black lashes sweeping up like a fan, and ice pale eyes piercing right through me.
“Alright,” she says at last. “I’ll meet you after dinner.”
She takes Chay’s arm, and they hurry off to their next class.
Bram cocks an eyebrow at me, unsmiling. His idea of handling a woman is bending her until she breaks. He thinks Anna has me wrapped around her little finger. And he might be right.
Anna has taken the soul out of me. She’s holding it tight in those slim, pale hands.
It’s time for me to take something from her.
21
Anna
I felt like I was making progress in moving on from Leo. I’ve been able to attend classes with him without a sick feeling of dread every time I walk into the room. I’ve genuinely been having fun with Chay and Zoe. And I’ve even been relaxing a little with Dean—trying to focus on him as a person, without constantly comparing him to Leo.
The only problem is that I’m not sure exactly how much I like Dean.
There are things about him that attract me, certainly. His intelligence, primarily. His discipline. And his intense interest in me is of course flattering.
But other things I don’t like. No matter what he says about the hierarchy of Heirs and everyone else, I simply don’t like his elitism. Even in the mafia w
orld, there are two kinds of bosses: those who lead by fear, and those who lead by loyalty. I know which one I want to be. I don’t think Dean falls on the same side.
Then there’s the constant pressure. I’ve told him a dozen times that I want to go slow, that I’m not ready to jump into a serious relationship. But he’s incessantly pushing me for more time, more interaction, and especially more physical contact.
That part is my fault.
It’s probably a mistake to date someone if I don’t want to fuck them. Sex is what any boy will expect.
And I’m not against having sex. I’ve never been against it. It’s just never felt right in the moment. It’s like there’s this barrier keeping me from taking that last, final step into adulthood.
I wish I could punch my ticket as casually as other people seem to do it. I’d honestly prefer if it were over and done with. I don’t know why I’m afraid of it, but I am. I don’t want it to mean something, but it does.
And then, on top of it all, right when I feel like I’m regaining a little equilibrium, Leo knocks me over again.
It was just a fucking sweatshirt. I didn’t even have to take it.
But it was cold, and Leo was looking at me with those amber-colored eyes that looked warmer than any flame, that seemed to light me up from the inside. Making me weak and melting.
I took the sweatshirt and pulled it over my head.
And oh my fucking god, it filled my whole lungs with his scent. Leo smells better than any human on earth. His scent is warm and sweet and spicy all at once. It gives me a head rush, it makes my heart pound and my skin throb.
I wanted to cry from how bad I wished I could stop feeling that way. But I have no control over it. My attraction to Leo is a supernatural force. It takes me over in an instant and wipes away months of progress.
Then I ran into Dean while I was still wearing that goddamned sweater, and I know he saw it. I was flushed and guilty, and he demanded that I come see him tonight, and I had to agree.
Now I’m on my way to meet him, wondering what the fuck I’m going to do about any of this.
It’s nighttime, past ten o’clock on one of the coldest days of the year, so the castle grounds are almost empty. The vast spaces between stone towers and walls look bleak and wind-blasted. Only the greenhouses are still bright and lush, their windows steamed up from the warmth of the plants within, and the verdant green visible through the foggy panes.
The black dome of the sky is dark and starless.
I feel low.
As hard as I’ve been trying to fight it, a deep depression has been taking hold of me.
This is something I’ve fought all my life. I’m afraid I inherited it from my father. Often, and not always for a good reason, sadness takes hold of me. I have to actively battle it, I have to try to focus on the things that are bright and stimulating and interesting in the world, or else depression wraps its tentacles around me and begins to drag me down.
My mother is the opposite. She has a bright shining joy inside of her that can never be extinguished. Because of that, she’s been the North Star for my dad—always guiding him back out of the darkness when it threatens to swallow him whole.
I’m beginning to realize that Leo used to fill that function for me. I didn’t know how dependent I was on him, because I saw him so frequently. I didn’t realize it was his cheerfulness, his irrepressible charm that was buoying me up day by day.
Now that’s gone, and my thoughts are taking dark turns, my dreams are becoming more violent and disturbing, and the things that usually make me happy aren’t having quite the same effect anymore.
Even dancing is losing its shine.
That’s the one thing I thought would never let me down. The one escape I could always turn to.
But this morning when I woke early and went to the cathedral and laced up my shoes, I felt heavy and dull. My movements were labored and lacking in grace. The music didn’t vibrate through my body the way it’s supposed to. The choreography didn’t flow through my brain like a river. In fact, I kept stumbling, unsure of what to do next.
I feel lost, and so alone.
I’m walking to the most distant corner of campus where the old icehouse sits. It’s a squat, stone hut, unused and far away from anything else.
That’s why it’s become the favored spot for students who want “alone time” with each other.
I know what it means that Dean ordered me to meet him here.
And it was an order. I could see that if I refused, we were about to have a serious fight. I just didn’t have the energy for that.
The door is unlocked.
I pull it open with a groan of un-oiled hinges.
Dean is already waiting for me there, as I knew he would be. He’s got a blanket, drinks, and snacks spread out on an old mattress, as well as several candles burning. Not all the buildings in Kingmakers have electric lights, especially those that aren’t supposed to be accessed at night.
He’s even got music playing, a remix of “Crazy in Love” I’ve never heard before. Not as cheerful as the original, it has a mournful and almost menacing sound that sends chills down my body.
Crazy in Love — Sofia Karlberg
Spotify → geni.us/freshman-spotify
Apple Music → geni.us/freshman-apple
The tiny blonde hairs on my arms stand up, and I can feel my nipples stiffening involuntarily, not from arousal, but from something much more uneasy.
I see Dean’s eyes sweep down the front of my thin blouse. He mistakes my reaction. His eyes gleam, and his tongue darts out to moisten his lips. He’s galvanized, the tendons standing out on his bare forearms where his shirtsleeves are rolled up to the elbow.
Without speaking a word, he closes the space between us in one swift stride. He reaches around me, yanking the door shut, and then pulls me hard against his body.
Already I’m panicking, my heart stuttering in my chest, my whole body shaking. My hands are clammy cold, and I feel the sick sinking sensation I always had to endure in our scuba classes, when I would drop down, down, down to the bottom of the pool, the shimmering surface of the water fading away overhead, impossibly far out of reach.
I don’t know what I’m doing.
I don’t have my North Star anymore.
Dean seizes my face between both of his hands. He holds me there, forcing me to look directly into his eyes. There’s a kind of madness shining there. I feel like I’m falling into it, losing all control.
He kisses me ferociously. He’s biting my lips, sucking the breath from my lungs. I stand there, letting it happen to me.
He rips open my blouse, the buttons pinging off the stone floor and rolling away in all directions. Then he grabs my bra and tears it open too, my breasts bouncing out in the chilly air.
I make a sound something between a gasp and a sob.
Dean pushes me down on the mattress, the abrupt movement snuffing one of the candles, so the room is almost dark, lit by only one faint, guttering flame.
He’s kissing and grinding against me, pinning me down so my body sinks into the mattress like it’s quicksand, so I can barely breathe, let alone move.
I can feel his cock, harder than iron, battering against my thigh with only his trousers between us, because my skirt has already bunched up around my waist.
He’s not going to stop tonight, I know that already.
I know he’s barely been holding himself back all along.
If I want this to stop, I have to tell him right now.
“Dean—” I start, but he clamps his hand down over my mouth.
“Don’t,” he growls.
He shoves his other hand down the front of my underwear and starts rubbing me again, trying to force me to reach his level of arousal, trying to lure me into doing what he wants me to do through sheer physical coercion.
It feels good. Whether I want it to or not, it does.
But it doesn’t make me happy. Instead it fills me with a kind of sick, sinking
panic. I feel trapped and desperate. I know what Dean’s trying to do. He wants me. He thinks if he takes my body, he’ll own my heart and soul, too.
But they already belong to someone else. I’ve tried to ignore it, tried to deny it, tried to kill it even. It doesn’t work. It will never work.
I grew up with Leo. He shaped me every day of my life. I never learned how to love anyone but him.
I wrench Dean’s hand away from my mouth.
“I can’t do this, Dean,” I cry. “I still love him. I tried to make it go away, I swear I tried every day. But it won’t. I can’t stop.”
He looks down into my face, and I see his jaw working, his upper lip twitching. A Möbius strip of emotions whirls across his face.
I expect him to rage at me. Or kiss me again.
I could never have guessed what he does next.
He rolls me over on top of him so I’m straddling him. Then he blows out the last candle, plunging us into darkness. All I can hear is the low, insistent beat of the music, and my own thundering heart.
“Pretend I’m him,” Dean says.
“W-what?”
“Pretend I’m him,” he repeats, his voice low and insistent. “I want you, Anna. I need you. If you can’t forget him, then don’t forget him. Picture him while you fuck me. Pretend it’s him you’re riding. Call out his name while you cum all over my cock. I don’t give a fuck, as long as I have you.”
It’s insane.
And yet . . . I am tempted.
I’ve had this longing inside of me for so long. I can’t kill it, and I can’t do anything about it.
If I do what Dean asks . . . at least I’ll have a moment of relief.
Who knows. Maybe it’s what I need to exorcise this fixation once and for all . . .
I lean forward to kiss Dean, my bare breasts pressing against his warm, hard chest.
Before our mouths can meet, I smell the clean scent of his skin. It’s fresh and pleasant. But it isn’t Leo.
I jump off of him as if I’ve been electrocuted.
