The Bully (Kingmakers)

by Sophie Lark

  Already my feet are sprinting up the ramp and I’m looking around wildly, trying to find her.

  She isn’t at her desk. I have to run all the way up to the topmost level, to the last and most distant table. Then I find her slumped over a pile of books, her head on her arms.

  Her shoulders shake with near-silent sobs.

  I sit down next to her, putting my arm around her.

  She knows it’s me without even looking.

  She turns toward me, letting me encircle her in my arms, letting me hug her, though I’m not supposed to.

  “I can’t find it,” she sobs. “I’ve looked everywhere.”

  I don’t know if I’ve ever seen her cry.

  It scares me.

  She never breaks. She never gives up.

  She’s the bedrock in my life. If that rock is splitting apart . . .

  “If I can’t find it—”

  “You WILL find it,” I tell her, hugging her with all my might.

  “If I can’t—”

  “You WILL. When have you ever failed to do something?”

  She laughs, the tears still gleaming on her cheeks.

  “There was one time.”

  “Yeah, well there won’t be another. You won’t fail. You can’t.”

  She lets out a long sigh, leaning heavily against me. She looks exhausted.

  “It’s been so long. What if it’s all for nothing?”

  I hold her by both shoulders so I can look her in the eye.

  “Then we kill them all,” I say.

  13

  Dean

  Cat stays overnight in the infirmary.

  I was only able to sit beside her for an hour before Professor Howell came and hollered at me for not reporting back to him, then booted me out of the infirmary and sent me out to the field to clean up the mess left from the competition.

  Due to the interruption of the Sophomore tower delaying our team, the Seniors retrieved their flag first, and the Freshmen second. It doesn’t matter—we still beat the Sophomores and secured our place in the next round.

  By all accounts, Lola Fischer threw a tantrum over her elimination, blaming Cat for their loss.

  I’d like to fucking strangle her for sending Cat up there in the first place.

  By the time I help the grounds crew haul off every last scrap of lumber, it’s fully dark and too late to try to visit Cat again.

  When I return to the infirmary in the morning, Sasha tells me that Cat left early so she could clean up and attend class as normal.

  I track Cat down between first and second period.

  She looks relatively revived, other than the scrapes and bruises all down her arms, and the bandage on her forehead. Her uniform is nicely pressed, and I can’t help but notice her leather collar peeking out from the neck of her blouse. The sight gives me a Pavlovian thrill.

  “Why didn’t you come find me?” I demand. “I was worried about you.”

  Cat smiles. “I figured we’d see each other tonight.”

  “You want to meet me in the Bell Tower?” I say, in an undertone because I don’t want the passing students to overhear. “I thought you’d take a few days off.”

  “I’m fine,” Cat says. “I don’t need any days off.”

  My pulse quickens and I feel my cock swelling, aroused by the fact that Cat isn’t using her accident as an excuse to avoid me. She wants to meet me tonight.

  “Nine o’clock?” I say.

  “Of course.” Cat nods.

  Then, to my astonishment, she winks at me and heads off to class with a flirtatious little flick of her skirt.

  It occurs to me that when I first met Cat, I mostly observed her while she was stressed or scared. Often due to my own behavior toward her. Now that she’s relaxing a little . . . she’s actually quite playful.

  I like it. She’s teasing me and even flirting with me, like she’s trying to get a rise out of me.

  If she wants to poke the bear, I’m happy to show her how beastly I can be.

  All in good time, however. I don’t believe she’s fully recovered. I’ll have to be careful tonight, even if the sight of her in that plaid skirt and collar has already whipped me into a fever pitch with hours yet to go before I’ll see her again.

  I’m in such a mood of anticipation that I don’t immediately snap Vanya Antonov’s neck when he deliberately slams into me in the hallway of the Keep.

  “Watch it!” I say, more annoyed than infuriated.

  “It’s you who better watch yourself, Dmitry,” Vanya sneers, as Silas and Bodashka join him in crowding around me. “It’s your fault we placed last in the challenge. If you hadn’t been distracted by your little pet—”

  “Say one more word and I’ll knock your teeth down your throat,” I snarl back, getting right in Vanya’s face, not giving a fuck that it’s three-on-one in the otherwise deserted hallway. I’ll fight all three of these assholes and every other friend they’ve ever met.

  “Where do you get that arrogance, Dmitry?” Bodashka hisses. “When your father’s a gargoyle and your grandfather’s a fucking disgrace?”

  I switch my attention to Bodashka, seizing the front of his shirt and pulling back my fist to execute my threat on his face instead.

  Until I hear the sharp sound of someone clearing their throat.

  Vanya and Silas step back, as if they weren’t just about to leap on me from all sides.

  “Let go of him,” a low voice orders.

  Snow’s hulking figure fills the hallway. Slowly, I release Bodashka.

  “Get to class,” Snow commands the other three boys.

  Sullenly, they obey—not without Silas making a derisive hissing noise as he passes me, and Vanya muttering, “We’ll finish this conversation later.”

  Snow watches them out of sight, then says to me, “Aren’t you getting enough practice already, Dean?”

  “Might as well hit Bodashka as the heavy bag,” I say. “They’re equally useless at fighting back.”

  Snow shakes his head at me, but I think I see a hint of amusement in that frosty stare.

  “You’re late again,” Snow says.

  “I know,” I sigh. “I’ll miss Chemistry.”

  “Why don’t you come with me, then,” Snow says.

  “Where are you going?”

  “Conditioning,” Snow grunts.

  He’s already dressed in the gray sweat shorts and white t-shirt that form our standard gym uniform. Since that’s what he wears every day, I hadn’t thought anything of it.

  “I’ll have to change,” I say. I don’t want to fuck up my trousers and sweater vest.

  “Meet me outside the gates,” Snow nods.

  I hustle back to the Octagon Tower to change, then run across campus to the heavy stone gates that allow exit from the castle grounds. I’m already starting to sweat by the time I meet up with Snow. He gives me no rest, immediately breaking into a steady jog across the field.

  That’s fine with me. I’d put my stamina up against a racehorse. I can fight, fuck, or run for hours.

  I fall into pace beside him, impressed as always that his fitness matches that of a man twenty years his junior.

  “I met your wife,” I tell him.

  “I know,” Snow says.

  I picture Snow and Sasha convening in the apartments attached to the infirmary. Telling each other all the events of their day.

  What would it be like to share all that had happened to you with another person, instead of keeping it locked inside yourself?

  “She’s very beautiful,” I say.

  Snow chuckles. “The most beautiful woman in the world. And yet, that’s only my tenth favorite thing about her.”

  I don’t know how to respond to that. I’m not used to men speaking of their wives that way. It’s very sentimental, for someone as stern as Snow.

  We’re crossing the field, heading south toward the river bottoms. I’ve run all over this island, usually alone. It’s pleasant to jog with someone else. I’ve t
rained with Snow enough times that there’s no awkwardness between us.

  “Sasha told me you were very concerned about your friend,” Snow says.

  I can’t tell from his measured tone if he’s implying anything.

  “I thought Cat might be seriously injured,” I reply stiffly.

  “It’s good to care about someone,” Snow says.

  “It’s not like that.”

  “You don’t care about her?” Snow says, turning his head to fix me with that cool stare.

  It’s impossible to lie to him. He sees everything, from my smallest mistakes to the rebellious thoughts in my head.

  “Maybe I do,” I admit. “A little bit.”

  “That’s good,” Snow repeats. “Love is not weakness.”

  “I don’t love her.”

  “Love is not just for a wife,” Snow says.

  I’m not sure what that means.

  We jog on in companionable silence.

  I shower in the Octagon Tower, heading back to my room with a towel wrapped around my waist. I pass Leo going in the opposite direction, likewise wearing a towel.

  He grins. “Hot date tonight?”

  I frown back at him. “Why do you say that?”

  He shrugs amiably. “Post dinner shower—that’s usually the reason.”

  I suppose that means he has a date with Anna himself, but I don’t think he’s trying to rub it in my face. Honestly, I don’t care. I already have my head full of plans, and I’m thinking about only one girl.

  “Hey, I wanted to thank you,” Leo says.

  “For what?” I ask suspiciously.

  “Well, for all the work you put in on the challenge, for one thing.”

  “We came in third.”

  “Made it to the second round, that’s all that matters.” Leo shrugs. “But mostly I wanted to thank you for helping Cat.”

  “Why would you thank me for that?”

  I bristle at the idea that I was helping Cat for Leo, as if she belongs to him. I helped her for my own benefit, if anything.

  “Miles is gonna marry Zoe,” Leo says, as if stating the obvious. “So Cat is family.”

  “Oh,” I say.

  “Well.” Leo grins and gives me a friendly parting nod. “See ya around.”

  “See you,” I say.

  It’s the least-aggressive encounter Leo and I have ever had together. One might almost call it pleasant.

  I don’t know when I stopped hating him. I didn’t mean to. The realization slowly came over me that hating him wasn’t getting me anywhere. It was a festering rot, eating away at me from the inside.

  That’s not to say we’re friends. But I don’t seem to have the energy to burn with fury in his direction. Not with boxing five days a week and Cat in the evenings. My focus has shifted.

  I hurry back to my room, having no intention of being late.

  I dress and comb my hair in front of the mirror hanging on the wall.

  Bram lounges on the bed practicing tricks with a battered deck of playing cards. His black hair has grown all the way down past his shoulders. I don’t know if he’s cut it once since Freshman year. The scar across his eye makes it look like he’s squinting in a suspicious way. Which he usually is.

  “Where are you going?” he demands.

  “Out,” I say.

  “I gathered that. Where?”

  “Gonna study,” I say vaguely.

  I look at my reflection, stone-faced. I resemble my father. Which means I probably look like my Aunt Yelena, too. They were twins, after all.

  I wonder if Leo sees his mother when he looks at me.

  Probably not, since it was hate-at-first-sight with both of us.

  But perhaps there was an alternate reality where we could have been friends.

  I’ve been plagued with thoughts of what could have been, all my life.

  How do people accept the one and only path they find themselves on?

  No one else seems to suffer this endless anger at the hand fate has dealt them. Not even Bram, who looks like he’s about to push Mufasa off a cliff.

  “I’ll come to the library with you,” Bram says, tossing down his cards and making as if to get up from the bed.

  “No,” I say rudely.

  Bram scowls. “What’s the deal with you lately?”

  “You’re the one acting strange,” I say dismissively. “Pretending like you study.”

  Bram is still throwing a few choice curses in my direction as I grab my bookbag and exit our room, without him tagging along.

  I don’t mind bringing my books. Cat and I do study sometimes, when we’re finished with our other activities. And despite what she said, I’m not sure how many other activities there will be tonight. She can’t be more than half-healed.

  Still, once I’ve climbed the fire-blackened steps of the Bell Tower, carefully avoiding the gaps in the stone, I set up my portable speaker so we’ll have music, and I light the dozen half-melted candles.

  Do It for Me — Rosenfeld

  Spotify → geni.us/bully-spotify

  Apple Music → geni.us/bully-apple

  Then I pull out my contracts textbook, settle myself on the pile of cushions I stole from the Keep, and begin to read. Only two weeks remain before end of term exams. I still intend to place first in my year. It will take all my focus to beat Anna, not to mention Ares, Isabel, and the other academically-inclined Juniors.

  I’m so absorbed in contract law that this time Cat does manage to sneak up on me unaware. Her stealthy shadow crosses the curved stone wall and she stands before me, firelight dancing on her glistening black curls. Her skin glows copper bright and her dark eyes shine.

  “There you are,” I growl. “Why are aren’t you naked yet?”

  Obediently, Cat begins to strip. Once she’s down to her socks, I order, “Leave those on.” I’ve come to like those knee socks even better than full nudity.

  “Turn around,” I say.

  Cat rotates slowly on the spot, assuming that I want to examine her.

  And I do—but not for the usual reason. I’m tallying up every cut and bruise on her slender frame, assuring myself that there’s no crucial injury I hadn’t yet seen.

  Cat spins gracefully on the ball of one socked foot. Her naked skin has a rosy glow, as if she’s some unearthly creature summoned from the fire. A fire sprite bewitched and put under my control—until I loosen the collar from her neck.

  “Come here,” I say in a low voice.

  Cat sinks down to her knees and crawls over, keeping her eyes fixed on mine.

  She’s become so much more comfortable around me that she really does move as sinuously as a cat. She lays her head in my lap, curling up next to me.

  “Stroke my cock while I read,” I order. “Don’t put it in your mouth.”

  I want it in her mouth, of course, but I’m taking my time.

  Cat plays with my cock using both hands, like it’s her toy. She strokes the shaft gently with her fingertips, then cups my balls and gently tugs. She dances her fingers around the ridge separating head from shaft, and rubs light circles around the tip.

  Her touch is exquisite. She’s very good with her hands, probably from all her time spent painting and drawing. I’ve seen her sketchbook—she’s quite talented. But what I told her was true—she would have been wasted at art school. The more I get to know Cat, the more I see that her talents are far more varied than charcoal and paper could fulfill.

  I keep studying. Cat’s touch makes the words float through my brain, light and ephemeral. My eyes unfocus from the page, and instead I watch the flickering candlelight, my whole body warm as that flame.

  “Don’t speed up,” I order, leaning back against the cushions.

  Cat continues stroking her hand up and down my shaft, increasing neither the pace nor the pressure. Her hands are delectably soft, and her touch gentle. The pleasure increases even though the pressure doesn’t. I feel right on the edge of climax, but it’s not quite enough to tip me ove
r the edge.

  “Just like that . . .” I groan. “Don’t change a thing.”

  Cat continues to stroke me, steady and unhurried. In fact, she seems to be enjoying the sensation of the smooth skin of my cock against her palms almost as much as I am. Her eyes are half closed, her breathing steady.

  She sighs. Her warm breath against my cock makes me shiver. The orgasm begins.

  It’s no ordinary orgasm—I feel the waves of pleasure, and the deep satisfying sensation, but not the accompanying contraction of my balls. I don’t actually ejaculate. It’s just the climax, no cum comes out.

  I groan all the same from how good it feels. My head lolls back and my toes curl up.

  When it’s over, Cat examines her hands, mystified.

  “Did you . . . cum?” She asks.

  “Yes,” I say.

  “But . . . where is it?”

  “I don’t know,” I reply. “Keep going. Same pace.”

  Cat keeps stroking my cock, just as light as before.

  In the aftermath of the orgasm, her touch is almost too intense. Each stroke of her hand seems to run over bare nerve. But it’s still intensely pleasurable, and I begin to experience that sense of building again, as if the orgasm reset and is starting over. My cock has stayed hard the entire time—in fact, it might even be stiffer now than it was before.

  “Keep going,” I moan. “Exactly like that.”

  Cat obeys. She seems intensely curious to see what will happen. We’re both in uncharted territory.

  Sure enough, the climax builds and builds until it tips over once more, Cat carefully maintaining just the right level of stimulation. In fact, this time she squeezes the head of my cock slightly harder as I cum, which increases my pleasure without forcing the ejaculation.

  Tremors run down my body in waves.

  “What in the fuck is that?” I say, as my whole frame shakes.

  “You’re like a girl,” Cat laughs. “Having multiple orgasms.”

  “If this is being a girl, then sign me up,” I say. “Do it again.”

  Cat sits up so she can adjust her angle. This time she cups and strokes my balls with one hand, while lightly jerking off my cock with the other. She’s pulling my cock so it’s pointing downward instead of standing out from my body. That feels even better and makes me harder than ever as the blood rushes down.