by Katie May
“Fucking hell, Elias,” I pant. “My short legs can’t run this fast.”
“Then don’t run,” he answers simply.
“I wouldn’t need to run if I wasn’t being stalked,” I point out, and I swear his lips thin ever so slightly.
“How many times do I have to tell you? It’s not—” He pauses abruptly, and his frown deepens. “Fuck, it is stalking.”
A laugh escapes me unbidden. “You just now realized it, Sherlock?”
“Hey, cut me some slack,” he jests lightly. “This is the first time I’ve ever done anything like this before.”
“Stalk a girl?”
“Attempt to woo one,” he answers bluntly, and when his eyes slide to mine, I find that I can’t look away. I don’t want to. His square jaw is clenched, the stubble on it more prominent than I remember it being, but I find that it suits his unapologetic, forceful personality. There’s such raw power held in his tightly compacted body. Fiercely strong and primal, and at the same time, exceedingly gentle. He always seems to hesitate when he’s with me, as if he’s choosing each and every word carefully. Considering what I know about him, I imagine that he is.
So when he claims he’s trying to woo me, he means it.
I push down the eager butterflies trying to crawl up my throat as I force my gaze away from his. I can never seem to think straight when he stares at me like that—with eyes that reflect desperation and need. I have only so many defenses around my heart, and they’re already beginning to crumble. With one eloquent look, he’s bombing the carefully constructed walls and slaying the fire-breathing dragon guarding the entrance.
“I think you’re doing it wrong,” I manage to choke out, quickening my pace.
He doesn’t speak the remainder of the trip.
When I pull up to the address Mariabella gave me, Elias waits until I’m through the front gates and knocking on the door before he pulls away.
I’m still confused over my interaction with Elias when Mariabella opens the door, one hip cocked to the side. Like me, she changed into a pair of loose sweats and a sweatshirt, her blonde hair still hanging around her shoulders like molten gold.
“Hey, what took you so long?” she demands as she pulls on my arm, dragging me inside.
“Sorry. Don’t have a car,” I mutter absently as I glance around the foyer with wide-eyed wonder. If I thought Nana’s house was big, this is something else entirely. I didn’t get to see the exterior—given that I was so eager to escape Elias, I barged right inside—but I can tell that Mariabella’s family isn’t lacking in the money department.
The white tiled floor is polished so meticulously, I can see my reflection. A three-tiered chandelier dangles from the ceiling, illuminating everything in a white-gold light. Numerous vases rest on small, decorative tables that sit against the walls, all lined with framed portraits. Two staircases connect above in a gorgeous mezzanine overlooking the foyer. Everything appears modern and new and so incredibly shiny, my head hurts just looking at it. I’m afraid my mere presence will tarnish it.
“You don’t have a car!” Mariabella’s shrill voice pulls me out of my musings as I turn towards her in alarm. She has one hand on her hip as she glares at me. “You bitch! I could’ve given you a ride. Why didn’t you…? Ugh! I’m mad at you right now.”
I smile sheepishly and take a step forward, before stopping myself and glancing at my shoes in dismay. Is this the type of place I have to walk around barefoot in? I’m pretty sure I didn’t step in a mud puddle or anything, but I don’t dare bring even a grain of sand into this perfectly cleaned house.
“Sorry. But I don’t mind the walk.”
Mariabella huffs before stalking towards the left staircase, her Mary Janes clacking against the floor. Well, I suppose that answers that question.
“Well,” she begins, “if you need a ride, I’m always free. Don’t ever hesitate to ask.” She pauses abruptly on the staircase, drilling me with a look over her shoulder. “Seriously, P, I mean it.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Don’t call me P. It makes me think of taking a whizz.”
“That’s gross,” Mariabella deadpans as we walk down a creepily-pristine hall. Seriously, how does a house even become this clean? She pauses at a door on her right, poking her head into a tiny office where a small woman sits at a desk. “Mom! I’m home. And I’m with a friend.”
“Karsyn?” her mother asks, turning to face us. I can see where Mariabella gets her beauty from. Her mother is a petite thing, with golden locks framing a delicate, almost elfin, face. “You know the rules—leave your bedroom door open at all times.”
“It’s not Karsyn,” Mariabella says with an eye roll and a blush, giving me a look that says, “can you believe her?”
But inside, my stomach muscles clench together like I’ve just run ten miles without stopping to drink water. It’s a painful sensation that has me rubbing at my abdomen absently.
Because the thought of Mariabella and Karsyn alone in her bedroom together…
I shake my head, attempting to violently clear the images that thought evokes.
“Oh.” The woman removes a pair of glasses and offers me a warm smile, standing from her chair to extend her hand. “I’m Lydia.”
“Peony,” I introduce.
“Peony…that’s a strange name,” she muses, and Mariabella groans.
“Mom! That’s so freaking rude!”
“It’s okay,” I say around a breath of laughter. To Lydia, I explain, “My mom went through a…phase.”
Nothing else needs to be said.
I’m pretty sure if I had siblings, they would’ve been named Daffodil, Sunflower, and Tulip.
Not normal flower names like Daisy or Rose. Oh no. Even when I was a baby, Mom harbored resentment for me.
“Well, have fun, girls! I’m just going to be getting some work done in here.” The last sentence is said pointedly at her daughter, a reminder to remain quiet. Mariabella pantomimes zipping her lips shut and throwing away the key, and a wry smile curls up Lydia’s mouth.
“Come on,” Mariabella says to me, pulling me away from her mother. I wave goodbye at the friendly woman, who once more closes the door to her office. “Let’s get ready in my room.”
Mariabella’s room is exactly what I would expect from her—an explosion of pink. The walls are painted a creamy white, decorated with Polaroid pictures, and more pillows cover the pink bedspread than I’m sure she knows what to do with. Besides that, there’s nothing that really tells me who Mariabella truly is. Sure, there are numerous pictures of her and her friends, but where are the embarrassing stuffed animals? The tattered baby blanket she kept since she was young? The clothing she hadn’t bothered to place in the hamper? The room seems too clean to belong to a teenage girl.
As Mariabella moves to place her backpack on the bed, I peruse the pictures taped to the wall. There are dozens of her and her cheerleading friends, a few of her and her parents, but only one of Karsyn. It’s that one I focus on, seeming to be taken when he wasn’t looking. He’s wearing the red and black letterman jacket required of all football players, but his face appears younger. Sadder, almost. Pensive. His gaze is faraway and distant, and his hand is lying loosely on his knee. I can almost hear the staccato as his fingers thrum against his jeans, belting out an unfamiliar tune.
“So, do you want to get any homework done, or do you just want to hang out?” Mariabella asks, pulling my attention away from Karsyn’s photo. I move to stand beside her, shrugging off my backpack and placing it by my feet.
“No homework.” I shake my head once. “It’s the weekend, and I’m schooled out.”
She chortles. “Ugh. You’re right. We can work on our project for Bio another time.” Her eyes glimmer suddenly, and she pats the spot next to her on the bed. “Sit. Let’s talk.”
“How much time do we have before we have to get to the game?” I move to do as she instructed, perching awkwardly on the bed beside her. At the coven, I didn’t have a lot of
girlfriends. No one to braid my hair or do my nails or gossip with. It was just me and Uriel, but we were never the type of friends who did any of that stuff. Instead of braiding hair, we pulled it. Instead of doing our nails, we scratched them down each other’s backs. And our mouths were used for more important things.
I probably tasted every inch of that fucker’s skin, but I can’t remember if we ever truly sat down and just talked.
“So…” Mariabella purposefully drags the word out, and I can feel my brows tilt downwards.
“So?”
“First week. Spill. How was it?”
“It was exactly how you would expect the first week to go in a new school.” I attempt to choose my words very, very carefully. So far, I don’t think Mariabella remembers me from middle school. But then again, I don’t remember her that well either. She was always just there, with a gaggle of laughing girls, never joining in on the bullying but never stopping it either. It’s not a complete surprise that she wouldn’t remember me. I don’t think we ever said more than two words to each other.
“You and Emmett seem to be getting along really well,” she presses, and despite her light tone, I can hear the curiosity brewing like a kettle seconds from boiling over.
“Are you asking me if we’re fucking?” I jest teasingly, and she immediately makes a face.
“Ew. Don’t need that visual, thank you very much, but yes. I suppose that’s what I’m asking.”
I shrug my shoulders once. “He’s cute. And funny. And entertaining. But…”
“But…?” she queries.
“I don’t want to date,” I finish firmly. Because I would much rather spend my time planning ways to destroy your boyfriend and his ex-best friends. But you know, semantics.
“Ever?” Mariabella asks, sounding genuinely disappointed, and I can’t help but smirk. I have no doubt Emmett put her up to this line of questioning. Those two seem really close, despite the apparent animosity between Emmett and Karsyn.
“I just got out of a long relationship,” I fib…at least, half-fib. That is true, but it’s not the reason why I’m swearing off dick.
“Oh.” Mariabella places a manicured finger against her pink-painted lips. “What happened?”
“Enough about me,” I say with a nervous laugh. “Let’s talk about you. And Karsyn.” I nod towards the lone photograph on the wall. “How long has that been going on?”
Now it’s her time to look awkward, and I watch with macabre glee as she fidgets uncomfortably. “About a year or so.”
“That’s a long time for a high school relationship.” Is my heart pounding in my chest? Are my hands sweaty? What the hell is going on with me? For a brief moment, I legit fear that Mariabella poisoned me somehow. That’s the only explanation for the crippling pain that rushes through me at her innocent statement. A pain that steals the air from my lungs and makes my heart stutter to an abrupt halt.
“Yeah.” Her voice is intentionally vague, and I have a feeling she doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. My mind plays back the fight I witnessed between the two of them. Did they breakup? No, that can’t be it. Karsyn sat with her at lunch again today.
But maybe they’re no longer the fairy tale couple they’d have everyone believe.
“Is your hair color natural?” she asks, and I’m honestly not surprised by her abrupt change in topic. She begins to comb her fingers through a strand of my silky white hair. “Because I’m so freaking jealous.”
“All natural,” I admit. “And it’s funny, too, because my mom has black hair and my dad was a redhead.”
“No way! Really?” She wraps a strand around her finger before releasing it with a heavy sigh. “I hate my hair.” She pulls disgruntledly at one of her blonde ringlets, watching as it straightens out before bouncing back into place, stopping just beyond her shoulders.
“I love your hair,” I say quickly, grabbing the brutalized strand and giving it a slight tug. “It’s super pretty.”
She blushes, ducking her head and staring up at me through a fringe of thick lashes.
“Really?” she asks, and I detect a hint of self-consciousness in her voice.
“Cross my heart and hope to die,” I promise, drawing a X with my finger over my chest. She flashes me a brilliant smile before clapping her hands together gleefully.
“I’m going to have Marsha put a pizza in the oven for us, so we can stuff our faces while watching Vampire Diaries.” Mariabella pauses. “You like VD, right?”
“Damon is…” I fan myself dramatically as she queues up Netflix on the television in her room.
“You can have him,” she says dismissively, and I stare at her, affronted.
“Don’t tell me you’re a Stefan fan? I don’t know if our burgeoning friendship can survive this.”
After binge-watching the show and debating which brother is better for Elena, Mariabella turns off the television with a yawn, dumping her empty pizza plate onto the floor in the process as she stands.
“We have to get ready for the game. You still have your uniform to change into, right? Those things are so fucking uncomfortable. Honestly, I hate having to wear them to school. Can we talk about chub rub?” Mariabella says now, unashamedly wrenching her sweatshirt over her head so she’s standing in nothing but a thin white bra. I eye the connecting bathroom warily. I’m beginning to trust Mariabella, I honestly am, but there are some things I’m just not ready to share.
The scars on my arms being one of them.
“Can I use…?” I point towards the open door, and her brows furrow in confusion as she finishes pulling off her pants.
“Oh shit. Did I make you uncomfortable?” She stares down at her scantily-clad body with a blush darkening both of her cheeks. “Sorry. I tend to not really think things through.”
“You’re fine,” I rush to reassure her, not wanting things to already be weird between us. If I were any other girl, changing in front of my friend wouldn’t be an issue. But I’m not any other girl. I’m a bag of jagged glass, each shard repeatedly drawing blood until I’m nothing but a husk of who I once was. “It’s me.”
“You’re self-conscious,” she muses, and I suppose she’s half-right. “I don’t know why. You’re freaking gorgeous.” The last part is said almost as a grumble, as if she’s pissed at me for it. “But sure. You can use the bathroom.” She slides her bra off as she reaches for the top of her cheerleading uniform, and I feel another pang of that dreaded self-consciousness she mentioned as I stare at her breasts. Mine are big, a size D, but hers are so fucking perky and perfect, it’s just not fair. They’re literally a perfect pair of breasts, and the sudden image of Karsyn leaning forward to kiss one of her rosy pink nipples pops in my head.
And I want to fucking gag.
I tell myself it’s because Mariabella is my friend and Karsyn is a trashy human being. That I hate Karsyn with a passion capable of setting this world on fire. I tell myself that until I’m blue in the face, but I’m not sure if I believe it.
“Peony?” Mariabella asks with amusement, and I realize that I’m staring at her boobs like some sort of creeper. This time, it’s my cheeks that turn crimson as I all but run into the bathroom, slamming the door shut.
I need to get over this…this infatuation I have with Karsyn Alder. It makes no logical sense whatsoever. But then again, my reaction towards all of the Devils doesn’t make a lick of sense. I should hate them—and I do—but my body wants them in a primal, carnal way.
My hands clench into fists as I take a deep, fortifying breath.
I’ll get over this…whatever this is. And then, I’ll destroy the charming Devils once and for all.
We have to arrive at the high school at five-thirty PM for check-in, despite the game not starting until seven. We leave the locker room as a team, walking the paved pathway until we reach the stadium.
Like everything else at the high school, it’s rich and superficial, with a parking lot easily able to hold five hundred cars. The stadium has f
our concession stands, two on either side, and the football field itself consists of artificial green grass. When we arrive on the track field, a level below the bleachers, I’m shocked by the crowd already in the stands. It seems that football is a popular sport here.
As the rest of the girls huddle together around Helen, I allow my eyes to drift over the assembled students and parents. Almost all are wearing our school’s colors and waving ridiculous flags around their heads as they cheer for a team that hasn’t even arrived on the field yet. Seriously, who comes to a high school football game two hours early? These people do, apparently.
My gaze lands on Lucas sitting in the center of the bleachers, his eyes intent on me. It feels as if he’s put me between two panes of glass and is studying me beneath a microscope. I feel naked and vulnerable and, honestly, a little frightened. I can’t help but think that he’s here for a specific reason—to destroy me.
Girls surround him, each one more beautiful than the last, but he doesn’t pay them any attention, despite their repeated attempts to claim it. His eyes remain fixed on me. Only me. That ice-blue gaze almost feels searingly hot, and the irony of that statement isn’t lost on me.
Cassian sits a few bleachers away from him, hands curled into fists and looking unbelievably sexy in his leather jacket. Back in middle school, he always wore Ray-Bans and skinny jeans—whatever was in style at High Groves Middle School. But just now, he looks like a rocker bad boy with his buzzed black hair, dark skin, and penetrating gaze.
And two rows behind him is none other than the teacher slut herself. Mrs. Town is cuddled into the side of a thirty-something-year-old man who looks to be the size of a NFL linebacker. Despite her attractive husband, Cassian’s broad back holds her gaze, as if she’s wishing for him to fuck her even now, in direct view of her oblivious husband. A husband who’s currently smiling at her as if she holds the moon and stars in her tiny, cheating hands.
With a wicked grin pulling up my lips, I glance pointedly from Cassian, to Mrs. Town, and then back to Cassian. When his eyes narrow, hands balling into even tighter fists on his dark blue jeans, I wink. And I swear something akin to heat flares to life in his eyes, and he stares at me like Mrs. Town stares at him—as if he wishes to devour me whole.
