Forbidden, Tempted Series (Book 1)

by Selene Charles

  “No, I was tailing the worker that was tailing her.”

  She sucked in a breath. “They’re following her outside of school?”

  Cain cracked his knuckles. “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m going to find out. From now on I want someone guarding her constantly. I’ve got Eli watching the apartment tonight.”

  She tucked black strands of hair behind her ears and nodded. “Okay.”

  Chapter 15

  “Queen Mother.” The worker Aswang genuflected, crawling forward on her knees, keeping her eyes pinned to the cold cement floor. The wash of moonlight spilling through glass windows played upon the cool grays and light blues of their impenetrable hive.

  “Arise, my child.”

  The queen’s dulcet voice never failed to make the worker’s heart sing and her body tremble. She looked at her hive mother with a mixture of adoration and worship.

  The queen’s fine brow lifted in inquiry.

  “I’ve received reports tonight.”

  “And?” The queen tapped her long manicured nails on the makeshift throne of iron and animal skins. Her lily-white thigh peeked from the corner of her blood-red gown, but her face was covered as usual by a mask of shimmering gold and turquoise.

  “We believe we’ve found the rager’s weaknesses.”

  Blood-red lips curled up into a sickle-shaped smile before she said, “Good, but make certain. You only have one chance to strike while he’s unawares.”

  The worker nodded her head three times. “Yes, my queen.”

  “Follow them, scare them, but do not harm them. Yet.”

  “Yes, my queen.”

  “Remember the Order,” the queen said with a sneer, “has dictated the school as neutral ground—that will be your best place to strike.”

  “Are we close, my queen?” The worker dared to feel hope for a moment, a curling ball of excitement coursing through her shriveled veins, making her remember what it felt to be alive.

  “Freedom will be ours soon, my dear Aswang. Now go.”

  The queen clapped her hands and the worker genuflected once more, crawling backward on her belly and breathing a sigh of relief as the abrasive texture of the cement helped scrape the flaking skin off her arms.

  Soon this nightmare would end. Soon sides would be chosen.

  Chapter 16

  Cain hadn’t lied to her that night.

  A week had rolled by. Then two. Three. Four. Now it was a month and a half later, and they’d barely spoken two words to each other since that night.

  Yes, he’d basically promised he’d go back to being cold and distant, but after all the touching and laughing, she’d hoped that maybe he’d forget in the morning.

  But he hadn’t.

  He wasn’t such a jerk. Just distant.

  And she couldn’t honestly decide which was worse. She knew he was still watching her. Sometimes she’d catch him in the halls, by her locker, or at the lunch table. But he never smiled and he never said hi.

  It bugged her that the night they’d spent together she hadn’t gotten to ask other questions. Not the least of which was why in the world he covered his eyes with glasses when they were so blue and nice and did crazy things to her insides.

  And she shouldn’t still care. But that night she’d caught a glimpse of the real guy and she’d liked him. A lot.

  One good thing had come out of all the mess though. She and Rhi and Janet and Abel had grown really close. They were always hanging out at her place, or occasionally she was even at the circus. Watching them perform, amazed all over again by how cool her friends were.

  Things could be worse.

  She rolled her eyes as she popped out of bed, slamming her fist on her annoying alarm clock to get it to shut up. Dragging her feet, she got in the shower, washed her hair and body, and gave serious consideration to the thought of pulling out her funkiest outfit in some sort of childish expression of her annoyance with Cain.

  Which was all kinds of stupid since they weren’t a couple. Never had been, and apart from that one night, he’d pretty much acted like he didn’t have a clue she existed.

  But wow, the way he’d touched her hair, her face, her thumb. Her heart tilted just thinking about it. Which was why it was getting harder and harder to see him and pretend that night had never happened.

  But her mom had always told her that when you feel your worst is when you should look your best. And her mom had never been wrong.

  Flint grabbed her makeup, threw on some bronzer and a light coat of eye shadow, and called it good. Then she grabbed a hunter-green sweater, skinny jeans, and a pair of bejeweled slip-on sandals finished her outfit. It was starting to get chilly outside now. Mid-October in Tennessee was much different than California, but she’d cling to the last dregs of warmth as long as she possibly could. Glancing in the mirror, she hardly recognized herself. Her eyes looked even more slanted this morning, thanks to the eye shadow, and her cheeks—always so pale—now glowed a warm red.

  Shoving her homework and books into her book bag, she ran to the kitchen and frowned when her dad wasn’t around. She’d kind of hoped to maybe talk with him about Katy. It’d become obscenely obvious that they were close and getting closer every day.

  It was hard on her, his relationship with Katy, but she loved her dad, which meant she was going to give them a fair chance.

  As much as it hurt, she also needed to let go of the past. No matter how much she wanted it, her mom was never coming back.

  With a quick peek out the window, she spied the bus and, grabbing a banana, ran out the door.

  “Bye, Dad!” she called, knowing he probably hadn’t heard her as he had a tendency to sleep like the dead on his days off.

  Getting on the bus, she sat down, surprised to see Janet waving at her from three rows down.

  “Ja?” she grinned curiously and went to sit down with her.

  “Decided to start the sleepover early.”

  “Sleepover? I thought were just gonna hang after school. Paint toenails.”

  Janet shrugged, her bright pink shirt and leopard-print tights making a bold statement. Not that Flint had a clue what that statement was, but it was daring. Though Janet did kind of look adorable with the cat’s-eye glasses, a sort of retro throwback to the fifties.

  “Do you mind? My folks need to work through a tough routine tonight. I’ve got my part squared away, and I think they sort of wanted me out of their hair.”

  Flint laughed. “No, I don’t mind. What about Rhi, she’s coming, right?”

  Janet shrugged. “We could ask her.”

  The rest of the ride was spent talking about nail colors, which helped Flint to ignore the mass riot of butterflies swarming her gut the closer they got to school.

  She had no idea how to act with Cain today.

  Not one clue.

  It would seem like a no-brainer that the longer he ignored her, the easier it would be for her to forget him, but it wasn’t. Each day felt harder and worse than the last.

  Walking with Abel down the hall hadn’t helped either. He was quiet this morning, distracted and not paying much attention to whatever it was she was saying. Which honestly, she wasn’t even sure what she was talking about at this point. Something to do with history and nail polish. Maybe?

  Finally she spied her class, and her pulse ratcheted up a notch. What he might be wearing today flitted through her mind, and then the thought of what did it matter anyway. Black, black, and more black.

  Steeling herself to enter, she squeaked when Abel shook her arm. “Did you hear me?”

  “Huh?” She jerked guiltily. “Sorry, spacing out. Didn’t study last night and I’ve got a nasty feeling Mr. Wickham’s gonna slam me with a pop quiz today.”

  He chuckled, showing off his deep dimple, and she quirked her lips in response.

  “Said, there’s a new superhero movie coming out this Friday. Do you want to come with me?”

  “Yeah, be f
un.” She shrugged.

  “Okay.” He adjusted his book bag and then nodded.

  And now that she wasn’t in her head so much, she took a good look at her friend. Lifting her hand, she touched the spot under his eye. “You been sleeping okay lately? You look terrible.”

  He pulled away from her fingers. Not in a mean way, but he definitely wasn’t wanting to be touched. She dropped her hand.

  “I’m fine. Just... it’s a thing. Anyway, gotta get to class. Later.”

  But when she turned back around, she picked right up where she’d left off. Stomach dipping and diving, knees weak with nerves.

  She shouldn’t have worried. All the anticipation, the queasy stomach, the butterflies that turned her legs to jelly... none of it mattered, because when she walked into class determined not to look at him, he wasn’t even there.

  Flint stood in the door for a second, being bumped into as other kids took their seats.

  Mr. Wickham raised a brow. “Ms. DeLuca, are you going to stand there all day or take a seat?”

  “Yeah,” she muttered glumly as the adrenaline that’d beat through her all morning suddenly plummeted to the ground. Angry, frustrated, disappointed, she dropped into her seat and took out her book.

  Ten minutes passed and she could barely remember what Mr. Wickham was babbling about. Cain had told her she should stay away. At the time, she’d really hoped he hadn’t meant it. But each day it was becoming more and more clear. Whoever she’d met there at the storm shelter, that wasn’t the real Cain. The real Cain was the guy she saw day in and day out. The one who pretended she didn’t even exist.

  She frowned, nibbling on the inside of her cheek.

  He’d taken her to a shelter, talked to her, touched her hair, teased her about the clothes and the towel. How could someone act so different and it not be real? How could he have looked at her the way he had and it all be a joke?

  Maybe none of it had happened, and it was just a weird, sick dream her brain had played on her.

  Shaking her head, she decided it was time. Two months since the day they’d met. It was obvious. He’d meant what he’d said. She needed to stay away and forget him. That’s what he was doing with her.

  Whatever had happened that night, it would never happen again. She really needed to stop obsessing about a guy who clearly wasn’t into her.

  Determined not to slip into the C+ range in class, she listened to Mr. Wickham, but after two sentences he lost her at “The chemical makeup of zinc is...”

  Just as she was getting ready to slip into full-on zone-out, Cain walked through the door and her heart beat so hard it hurt. Flint pretended not to see him, focused her entire brain on trying to look like she was actually hearing a word Mr. Wickham said.

  But Cain looked delicious and he was wearing blue—distressed denim jeans with a black button-down shirt. His hair looked wet, like he’d just slipped out of the shower, and the thought made her tingle. He was wearing his sunglasses.

  “Cain.” Mr. Wickham held out his hand for the note Cain dropped into it. “Just in time for the pop quiz.”

  She had no problem groaning along with the rest of the class at that.

  Cain walked past her, and she tried to pretend like she wasn’t sucking in air just to catch a whiff of his woodsy cologne. He dropped into his seat and Flint looked down at her book because she felt his eyes on her.

  For the first time in weeks, she knew he was looking at her.

  His breathing was even as he stretched out his legs, and from the corner of her eye she saw his boots and couldn’t help but study them. Biker boots, they looked sturdy and had rings going up the side.

  She swallowed hard and started tapping her pencil on her kneecap.

  “Princess,” he whispered and she hated herself that just the sound of his deep voice made her body hum and burn.

  Almost disbelieving, she turned to glare at him, battling the sudden antagonism she felt for all the weeks of silence. Knowing if she continued to look at him, she’d do something stupid, she looked back down at her book.

  “What?” she hissed.

  He didn’t answer, which of course forced her to look up.

  Cain was wearing a smug grin. “Hi.”

  She wouldn’t have been more shocked if he’d punched her.

  “Excuse me. Are you talking to me? Why?”

  His grin curved higher.

  “Ms. DeLuca, do I need to keep you after class today?”

  Mr. Wickham was all frowns and she rolled her eyes.

  “No.”

  “Good.” He crossed his arms, leaning back against his desk. “Then put your book away. It’s time for a quiz.”

  Ignoring Cain’s hot stare, she shoved her book into her bag.

  “You gonna talk to me?” he asked, and again she had to wonder how Cain always seemed to get away with murder. He wore glasses, dressed like the Unabomber, and talked in class, none of which ever seemed to get him in trouble.

  But the second she opened her mouth, Mr. Wickham was all over her. She huffed and crossed her arms. Mr. Wickham passed out the tests.

  “I like your sandals,” Cain said, leaning in so close his scent of pine and spices overwhelmed her senses. “Looks like something a princess would wear.”

  Hissing, she turned to give him a snappy retort, but his face was within inches of hers, his lips so close she felt his breath brush against her own.

  “What are you doing?” she whispered as she dug her nails into her leg to help ground her and force her to remember kissing Cain would be bad.

  Very, very bad.

  She licked her bottom lip. “You told me to stay away from you.”

  He nodded. “I know.”

  “You ignored me for weeks.”

  “I know.”

  “I hate you.”

  His smile was slow. “I know that too. But it’s not working.”

  Pulse thumping like a rabbit on crack, she waited for him to laugh and say “just kidding, loser,” but he never did. He just continued to stare at her and her throat squeezed tight.

  A shadow fell over them. Mr. Wickham glanced down at her. Flint pulled back with a jerk; Cain, looking cool as a cucumber, settled back in his seat and took the sheet of paper, getting to work.

  Flint stared at the strange symbols on the white sheet and still couldn’t believe he’d said that. Maybe she’d misheard him.

  And for a second it’d really seemed like he was going to kiss her.

  Couldn’t be.

  She rubbed cold fingers across her still-tingling lips.

  She’d been leaning in, ready to do it, forgetting everything he’d done to her, everything he’d said before. Forgetting for a second that Cain wasn’t a nice guy, just a jerk who liked to yank her around, make her forget that not all guys were like Abel or her dad.

  “Five more minutes, class.”

  With a sigh she scribbled the first things down that came to mind, knowing she’d be lucky to get a C.

  She was right—she got a D.

  Chapter 17

  The day had sucked. Flint knew as she wound the combination on her locker that she really needed to study tonight and wondered if she’d be able to get out of girl’s night. She opened the metal door and was rummaging around for her last book of the day—English Lit—when a soft-spoken voice made her pulse jump in her throat.

  “What’s your name?”

  It was the strange girl with the bloodshot eyes from the cafeteria. Flint hadn’t seen the girl in weeks. Actually, most of the kids from that table had been absent recently. And it hadn’t even been something she’d noticed until the girl came up to her now.

  Up close, the girl looked a lot older than she had before. Her eyes were still completely bloodshot, the veins big and red and looking like they pulsed with blood. Her skin was cracked along her hairline and peeling on her nose.

  Flint swallowed her immediate gag reflex. “What’s yours?”

  The girl blinked, but it was a strange s
ort of twitch that seemed more reptilian than human. It made Flint take an involuntary step back.

  “Tamara.” The r sounded like a snake’s rattle. “What’s yours?” She wasn’t smiling, didn’t even seem all that friendly. Which was bizarre, not to mention totally creepy and just plain weird.

  “Umm, it’s Flint.” She hugged her giant tome of a book to her chest and pushed her hair behind her ear. Refusing to give into her fear, she asked, “What do you want? Why do you keep looking at me during lunch?”

  Tamara just stared at her, eyes wide-open, almost doll like in that she hardly blinked. And again that sensation of yuck crawled over Flint’s skin.

  “You look like someone I know.” Her words droned—there was no life, no scale or pitch to the tenor of her speech. It was flat and breathy.

  Flint frowned when Tamara attempted to push a strand of her pixie-cut hair behind her ear. Not because there wasn’t enough hair to do it, but because the motion seemed forced.

  Flint’s nose curled when a sickly-sweet scent drifted toward her. Like sour milk, it made her want to gag. Tamara’s eyes zoomed in toward Flint’s neck.

  “Oh, Fliiiint.” Janet breezed up, throwing her small arm around Flint’s shoulder and then eying Tamara with a scornful glare.

  For a second, Flint could have sworn she’d seen color flicker in her friend’s dark eyes.

  Tamara didn’t say anything, just turned aside and walked away, leaving Flint with a serious case of the heebie-jeebies and the oddest desire to bleach her eyeballs.

  “What was that all about?” Flint whispered, shuddering as she stared over Ja’s shoulder at Tamara’s slim retreating form.

  Janet waved a hand. “Chick’s on meth or something—you see the way she peels. Eww. Anyway, you ready for chick flicks and nails?”

  Earlier she’d have been tempted to say no, but now she was grateful and eagerly nodded. “Yup, though I gotta warn you, I sob at chick flicks. Just sayin’.”

  Janet laughed and steered Flint away from the lockers and toward class. “Not to worry, I’m a world-class sobber myself.”

  As they were headed to class, Flint spied Cain turning the corner and she couldn’t help but wonder if he’d been staring at her again.