Andrew stared at her in horror. “I – I – I don’t think I want to –”
“Andrew, I’m kidding. Put your heart back in your ribcage already. What did you want to tell me, anyway?”
He stared down at his chest for a few moments, as if wondering how to put his heart back in the right place. “Will Nick be the next one scouted, do you think?” he mumbled after a while.
Poppy chose her next words very carefully. “What makes you say that?”
Andrew didn’t reply. He merely locked eyes with Poppy and stared at her in silence.
How much does he know? Poppy wondered. She had reasoned for a while that Andrew at least knew something. Otherwise his snippets of information about other members of the club, as well as his willingness to help her organise scavenger hunts as a cover for exploring the area, made little to no sense.
She decided to take a massive, dangerous risk.
“…yes,” she said, very quietly.
Andrew smiled slightly. “Okay. Thank you, Poppy.”
And then he left. Just like that, Andrew got up and left her room.
Leaving Poppy to stare at her door in numb horror. She’d been expressly forbidden from telling anyone about what was really going on. She wasn’t supposed to hint or even vaguely suggest that things were not as they seemed. She was supposed to prevent people from doubting what was going on.
And here she was, having willingly confirmed whatever theory Andrew had, which only put him – and the rest of the club – in even more danger from Dorian and his clients.
Poppy burrowed beneath her duvet, feeling wretched and useless and reckless beyond belief. This summer, more than anything else, was teaching her that it wasn’t a trait she should be proud of. It was literally killing people, and now it might slaughter even more.
“I’ve made a huge mistake,” she mouthed, fighting an insurmountable urge to sob. “A huge, huge mistake.”
LILY JOHNSON
Fred
The club had truly gotten into the spirit to drink. Despite the numerous socials that Fred had taken part in, he had somehow never seen the members of the Outdoor Sports Society drink quite as much as they were currently consuming. Perhaps it was the weeks and weeks of sobriety preceding it. Perhaps it was the fact they were away from home and absolved of all their usual responsibilities. Perhaps they merely wanted to get as royally, sickeningly wasted as possible.
Fred suspected all three reasons were relevant in various proportions for every member of the club.
The one exception was Poppy King. Somehow this didn’t surprise Fred at all, though in any other situation her relative sobriety on such an occasion would invariably rouse suspicion from him.
But that was the thing: Fred was already suspicious of Poppy. He’d expected her to avoid alcohol.
He was determined to find out why.
Poppy
Despite trying to avoid drinking alcohol as much as possible, there was little and less Poppy could do when people handed her shots and expected her to drink the dubious-coloured liquids right in front of them. And so it happened that, by around eleven in the evening, Poppy’s relative clear-headedness was beginning to cloud over in a happy, alcoholic haze that was diminishing her desire to stay responsible and in control of her actions.
I’m in trouble, she thought, though for the first time in eight weeks she was thinking this not in direct relation to any of her club members getting eaten alive. Rather, it was very much to do with the hungry glances an achingly good-looking, dark-clothed Dorian kept throwing her way even as Poppy tried her damnedest to stay as far away from him as possible.
But he was making things difficult, finding excuses to join in every conversation Poppy was having as easily as she was knocking back shot after shot. Dorian constantly glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, making Poppy increasingly self-conscious and, subsequently, causing her to grab for the nearest alcoholic beverage before walking away.
I shouldn’t have worn this damn dress, she thought as she looked down at herself. Casey, Rachelle and Poppy had all gotten ready together, and it was only at their behest that Poppy dressed up at all. If she could have gotten away with it she’d have slung on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt and been done with it.
But no. She was in a slinky, silver-grey, button-down shift dress with delicate little straps that showed off her tanned shoulders and her collarbones, which were protruding out more than they used to. Poppy took it as a sign that she really had to eat more, otherwise she’d have no strength left to coordinate an escape from the hellhole that was Dorian’s facility.
Casey had covered every edge of her in highlighter, determined to turn Poppy into a shimmering, ethereal disco ball that reflected the lights Nate had rigged up to flash inside the social-area-turned-nightclub. It wasn’t a bad look paired with bare legs and heeled boots, if she was honest. But that was the problem. Poppy looked really good. Great, even.
And Dorian simply wouldn’t stop staring.
In truth Poppy thought Casey and Rachelle looked better than her. Casey was dressed akin to the kind of fashion bloggers who had thousands of followers on social media – backless, pale pink bodysuit and high-waisted, black leather skirt, paired with dark lipstick, perfectly straightened auburn hair, fishnet tights and chunky-heeled black boots. Rachelle, on the other hand, wore a leopard-print dress that would have looked tacky on Poppy but somehow looked magnificent on her best friend. She had curled her hair and swept it all over one shoulder, her neck and wrists adorned with gold jewellery.
Poppy ran a hand through her own hair as she carefully changed direction when she spied Dorian once more making a bee-line for her. She had left it long and loose, since it was usually in a pony-tail. She felt entirely unlike herself.
Except this wasn’t unlike herself. Up until eight weeks ago Poppy King had relished nights where she and Casey and Rachelle had fussed over what to wear whilst listening to ridiculous pop music and getting drunk on too much wine and vodka. She even loved the inevitable hangovers, when she’d crawl into Rachelle’s bed and they’d watch trashy T.V. and eat pizza and complain about how bad they felt.
It was something Poppy would never experience again.
She had to make tonight count.
When she reached Casey, her friend was surrounded by a gaggle of male club members all clearly very interested in her and horny as hell. Poppy was surprised that Patrick wasn’t one of them, though a sweeping glance of what was now a dance floor confirmed that Andrew had waylaid the man several feet away. He was talking in an animated fashion, which meant Poppy knew he must be talking to Patrick about engines.
She snorted in laughter.
“What’s so funny?” Casey asked when Poppy finally barged through to her side, signalling for everyone to leave them alone.
She shrugged, then pointed over to Andrew and Patrick. “I think someone is cock-blocking Patrick and he isn’t even aware he’s doing it.” Poppy was very happy about this, all things considered. Things being that Patrick was a monster that wanted to eat Casey. Or fuck her. Or both. Poppy really wasn’t sure.
Casey laughed. “Bless his soul. I suppose I should thank him.”
“How so?”
“Because I wanna go for Dorian tonight. Unless that’s a problem? You said it wasn’t the other night.”
Poppy struggled not to flinch. She wanted to scream at the fact she couldn’t protest, even though she had several very valid, very terrifying reasons for why her friend should leave Dorian alone.
But even that wasn’t strictly true. She could protest. All Poppy had to do was say she was interested in Dorian. That she was sleeping with him. One glance in his direction, however, was all Poppy needed to strengthen her resolve that she would never give him the satisfaction of using such an excuse.
He’d take advantage of the situation – in public and in private, Poppy thought with certainty.
Casey raised an eyebrow. “Poppy King? Earth to Poppy?”
“Shit, sorr
y,” she sputtered. “I’m just a bit drunk. I suppose you can go after Dorian all you want – if that’s what you do want. Though I’m fairly certain pretty much any guy in this room would happily get with you.”
“Nobody in the club counts. I could shag them back home.”
Again, Poppy struggled not to flinch. Some of them would never make it back home. It wasn’t something she could share with anyone except Dorian, and hell if she was going to talk to him about it.
But then she spied Andrew, looking slightly despondent because Patrick had finally managed to escape his clutches.
“I’m gonna make Andrew dance,” Poppy said to Casey before swiftly leaving her, though she saw her friend use the opportunity to immediately walk over to Dorian. Poppy couldn’t bear to watch so, with purposeful strides and a carefully constructed expression she grabbed hold of Andrew’s arm and pulled him onto the makeshift dance floor.
Andrew gawked at her. “What are we doing?”
“Dancing, obviously,” Poppy replied, slinging her arms around his neck as if they were slow-dancing, though the music playing was loud and frenetic.
“I don’t like this song,” he complained.
“So why are you still in the room?”
“Because…this might be the last time we’re all together,” Andrew said carefully, before crying out in surprise when Poppy pulled him in close.
“Who do you think should stay?” she murmured against his ear, aware that people were watching the two of them curiously. It wasn’t uncommon for Poppy to drag Andrew along with her to social events, of course, but the way she was dancing with him was far more akin to the way she danced with Nate.
Andrew seemed to hesitate. “Like, from everyone?”
“From everyone.”
“You.”
Poppy should have expected such an answer. It still hit her hard to hear it. She hid a grimace. “Apart from me. Apart from the board. Who do you think should be going home?”
He considered the question carefully as he looked around the dance floor with absolutely no subtlety whatsoever. Poppy caught Dorian’s eye despite herself, who was in the process of trying to back away from Casey.
He’d rejected her friend, that much was clear. Poppy was relieved for several reasons, though one of those reasons in particular she refused to acknowledge even as Dorian ran a hand through his perfectly tousled hair and flashed a grin her way.
“Lily Johnson,” Andrew said eventually, bringing Poppy out of her own head.
She blinked. “Why Lily?”
“She has a fiancé. She misses him. They’re getting married at Christmas. I think everyone would be quite sad if that didn’t happen.”
“That’s…rather astute of you, Andrew.”
“She won’t get crossed off, then?”
Poppy stepped away from Andrew, a frown on her face that she tried and failed to conceal. “You saw my phone, didn’t you?”
“I – I didn’t mean to,” Andrew stuttered, looking wildly uncomfortable. “Well, not at first –”
“Oh, god. Andrew –”
“Mind if I cut in?”
The pair of them swung their heads round to stare at Dorian, who had taken Poppy stepping away from Andrew as an opportunity to finally swoop in and steal her.
Poppy scowled. “I do, actually.”
“Good thing I don’t. Andrew, you look horrified. What did Poppy do this time?”
“I was teaching him how to dirty dance. I wasn’t finished.”
“Is that what that was?” Andrew asked, momentarily astounded. “I wouldn’t have thought being so close together would allow you to dance, but I suppose it wasn’t not fun…”
Dorian looked at the two of them rather quizzically, as if trying to work out if something suspicious were afoot. But then he smiled, took hold of Poppy’s hand as if it was the most natural thing in the world, and pulled her away.
“Can I not have one night of fun without you bothering me?” Poppy complained when they stopped by a corner of the dance floor. “You’re ruining my buzz.”
He laughed. “We can’t be having that. But I can’t be having you ignoring me all night, either.”
“I can.”
Dorian merely responded by snaking his arms around her waist and pulling her closer, though Poppy kept her hands up against his chest to prevent him getting too close.
“I know this was all a ploy to get me drunk, you know,” Poppy finally said after staying silent for a minute or so. “You’re not as clever and cunning as you think you are.”
As if in response, Dorian grabbed hold of one of Poppy’s hands and spun her around; when he brought her back in she was so surprised that her arms ended up slung over Dorian’s shoulders – a reflex reaction that she immediately regretted.
Dorian was too close now. Far too close.
“Is that so?” he murmured into her ear, finally answering Poppy’s jibe. His hands slowly but assuredly crawled down her back, sending shivers running through her that Poppy couldn’t throw away as entirely unpleasant.
To her right Poppy could see Casey firing betrayed glances her way. Poppy could only stare back at her apologetically, before reluctantly giving Dorian her attention once more.
“Does it matter that this entire night was a ploy to get you drunk?” he asked, seemingly genuinely curious. “Everyone’s having a good time. It was the right thing to do.”
“You don’t care about that, though.”
“Why should I?”
Poppy tried to pull out of his arms, disgusted, but Dorian merely tightened his grip on her.
“Sorry, I’ll be nicer.”
“I don’t want you to be nicer when it’s all bullshit.”
He pretended to look offended. “This coming from the girl who looked just about ready to jump into bed with me the moment she saw me? I was all fake niceties back then.”
“I did not –”
“You did. You absolutely, one hundred percent would have come to my bedroom that very first night if I’d invited you, had certain circumstances not gotten in the way.”
Poppy weighed her next words carefully. “And you’d have just…gone along with it? Knowing you were sending me to my death two weeks later?”
Her question finally broke through Dorian’s arrogant, carefree attitude. The easy smile slid from his face, and the muscles of his arms grew taut around Poppy’s waist. There was a look in his eye – a gleam, almost – that suggested he didn’t like what she had said at all.
“Clearly it was a good thing you fell, then,” he said, so quietly Poppy could barely hear him over the music.
“For you,” she retorted. “It would have been better for me to have died with the rest of my club, probably. At least I’d be dead by now instead of –”
“Don’t say that.”
“What, the truth?” Poppy slid a hand from Dorian’s shoulder to the back of his neck, twisting her fingers into his hair to pull his ear closer to her lips. “You don’t want me to tell you how I actually feel? You want me to stay quiet and let you live out the stupid fantasy in your head where I give in to the insatiable urge to fuck you despite everything you’ve –”
He kissed her. Dorian ran a hand up Poppy’s back to her head, pushing her insistently against his mouth as he kissed her so fervently she found herself allowing it to happen for several frozen, stupefied seconds.
She hated it.
She longed for it.
She pushed him away as much as she could.
“How dare you –”
Dorian merely kissed her again, harder and more desperately than before.
And then he picked her up, hauling Poppy over his shoulder before rushing away from the dance floor despite her protests, as Casey and Andrew and a shocked, angry Nate looked on. Dorian headed to the south exit that led to the meadow by the bottom of the cliffs, only stopping once they were outside and well out of earshot of anyone who might have been lingering by the doors.
When he
put Poppy down against the stone wall of the west wing she looked as if she might murder him. “What’s wrong with you, you son of a bitch?!” she roared. “I was literally telling you I don’t want anything to do with you and then you kiss me? What kind of stupid logic is that?”
His lips twisted into a smirk, though his eyes were serious. “The kind of logic that takes into account you’re with me for life. That takes into account how fast you make my heart beat, and how when you ignore me all I want to do is take you away from all your friends and lock you in my room. The kind of logic that acknowledges the fact I’ll always be a monster to you, but that you look so beautiful tonight I can’t help but hope you’re drunk enough to pretend that, for once, I’m just a man.”
Poppy didn’t know what to say. For what could she say? Everything Dorian had just said was atrocious. It was appalling.
But she was drunk enough to let him get away with it.
Almost.
She looked away from Dorian, rubbing a hand against her arm as a cool breeze blew around them. “You’re – Dorian, what am I supposed to do?” she finally asked. “You can’t possibly know what’s going on in my head, or how I’m dealing with the nightmare my club is in. You have my blood for life, and that won’t change. But anything else…you said it yourself. You’re always going to be a monster to me.”
“…you’re sacrificing Nick this week, right? Who are you saving?”
The sudden change in subject caused Poppy to look straight back at him. Dorian’s expression was just as serious as it had been before, betraying nothing about whether he was upset with Poppy’s rejection.
“Lily Johnson,” Poppy eventually said, very quietly, as if someone was hidden in the shadows listening in on their conversation. “She has a fiancé.”
Dorian nodded slowly and then, very gently, ran the back of his hand along Poppy’s jawline until he reached her ear. When he pushed her long, windswept hair over one shoulder she didn’t stop him.
“It’s Saturday,” he said, which was as close as Dorian had ever gotten to asking for permission to drink from her. He didn’t lean in until it was clear Poppy wasn’t going to protest.
Invisible Monsters Page 17
