The Bully (Kingmakers)

by Sophie Lark

  “Nah.” Chay shakes her head. “Don’t bother. This thing works alright and it’s balls cold outside—you don’t want to walk all that way.”

  “You got a date for the dance?” Anna asks Rakel.

  “Sort of.” Rakel shrugs. “I told Joss Burmingham I’d go with him. Just as friends, though,” she hastens to add.

  Joss is in our Interrogation class.

  “You didn’t tell me that!” I cry.

  “Because there’s nothing to tell,” Rakel says, with a surly scowl. “I don’t like him or anything.”

  “God no!” Anna says. “We would never suspect you of liking someone.”

  “Ares and me are going as friends, too,” Chay tells Rakel. “Just so neither one of us is a third wheel to Anna and Leo.”

  There’s an awkward pause as everyone looks at me out of the corner of their eyes.

  I know what they want to ask, and I’m already blushing.

  “I’m going with Dean,” I admit.

  “Like an actual date?” Chay says, raising an eyebrow.

  “Uh . . . I think so,” I say.

  Rakel knows I’ve been out every single night this month, so she has a pretty good idea that Dean and I have been seeing each other regularly. And from the state of my hair when I get home, I also think she knows what most of our previous “dates” consisted of. She looks even more skeptical than Chay.

  Only Anna smiles at me encouragingly. “You know, Dean’s been acting halfway human lately. Maybe he’s grown up a little. Haven’t we all?”

  “Maybe . . .” Chay says slowly. “But you know, you can’t turn a wolf into a puppy.”

  “That’s alright.” I shrug. “I don’t want him to be a puppy.”

  All the girls spend an hour or more on their hair and makeup, Anna unleashing a torrent of curls from their wrappers and Chay twisting her reddish-blonde hair up in a sleek chignon. Rakel puts hers in a spiky faux-hawk that makes her look more Viking than ever.

  I wear my curls parted on the side and smoothed down into waves, a bit like one of Chay’s pin-up girls. My gown is a simple crimson silk, and I paint my lips the same shade.

  The other three girls look utterly stunning by the time they’re done. Rakel’s dress is an electric violet color, short and punky. Chay’s wearing a long white sheath with a panel down the back that looks like a cape. And Anna is dressed in black as usual, so gauzy and transparent that she floats along like an ethereal witch.

  I feel plain next to all that beauty.

  And I’m strangely nervous to spend an evening with Dean outside of the Bell Tower.

  Is he actually planning to talk and dance with me tonight, like a normal couple?

  I put the leather collar around my neck as usual.

  It’s a lot more noticeable with the low cut of my gown. I see Chay eyeing it, but for once she doesn’t demand an explanation.

  There’s a knock at the door. Anna answers, stretching up on tiptoe to kiss Leo.

  “You’re too gorgeous,” he says. “I’m not gonna make it through the night.”

  “I’ll resuscitate you,” Anna laughs.

  Ares stands just outside the doorframe, darkly handsome despite the fact that his suit is neither as expensive nor as well-fitting as Leo’s. He holds out an elbow to Chay, who links her hand through.

  Chay had a crush on Ares once upon a time, but it’s clear from the platonic tone of their greeting that no lingering romantic interest remains. I don’t think it was ever there on Ares’ side. Actually, I thought he might have feelings for Zoe before Miles came along, but Zoe swore up and down that was never the case.

  “He never flirted with me one time,” Zoe told me.

  “Yeah, but he was at the library with you constantly . . .”

  “Well,” Zoe had said, giving me a mysterious look, “if you want to know my secret theory . . .”

  “Always,” I laughed.

  “Once we were climbing the stairs of the Library Tower and my shoelace came undone. I stopped to tie it, and Miss Robin thought Ares came in alone . . .”

  “And?” I said, giddy with the thrill that always comes over me when I learn a piece of information I’m not supposed to know.

  “Well . . . she didn’t say anything strange. But it was the way she talked to him.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Just so . . . familiar.”

  “Oh.” I had shrugged, disappointed. “He’s in there all the time, just like you.”

  “I suppose,” Zoe said stubbornly. “It just seemed so . . . intimate.”

  “You think they have a thing for each other?”

  “I don’t know,” Zoe was losing confidence in her theory, realizing the flimsiness of her evidence.

  “She’s a lot older than him,” I said.

  “But she’s so beautiful . . .”

  I had shaken my head, dismissing Zoe’s idea.

  But I’ve thought of it plenty of times since—almost every time I’ve seen Ares or Miss Robin. They’re both so reclusive, and so carefully contained. Just the sort of people who could hide a secret affair. It does seem impossible that someone as handsome as Ares would resist so much willing female attention from his fellow students without a very good reason . . .

  “I told Joss I’d meet him in the Grand Hall,” Rakel says, snapping me out of my speculation. “You want to walk over with me?”

  “Sure.” I nod. “I’m meeting Dean there, too.”

  We cross the long expanse of crunching, frosty grass separating the Solar from the Grand Hall. Dozens of students in their dress clothes likewise hurry in the same direction, some paired up as couples, and other bunches of males left without a date in our gender-imbalanced school.

  I spot Dean waiting outside the doors, instantly recognizable with his pale skin and hair ghostly white against his ink-black tux.

  “Go on ahead,” I say to Rakel.

  She passes through the doors into the hall, while Dean pulls me to the side so we can speak in relative privacy.

  “Sorry I’m late—” I begin.

  “Never mind that,” Dean says. “Why are you wearing that?”

  He’s looking at the collar around my neck.

  “I thought . . .”

  “The month is over. You can take it off.”

  “Alright,” I say hesitantly. I reach behind my neck to undo the buckle, fumbling with the cold-stiffened leather.

  Dean turns me around and deftly unbuckles the collar with his much-stronger fingers.

  My neck feels cold and naked without it. I’ve worn that collar almost constantly this last month. Dean slips it in his pocket. I feel strangely rejected, as if he’s taken something from me.

  “Our deal is done,” Dean says, his purplish eyes fixed on mine. “You held up your end of the bargain. And your secret is safe. I’ll never speak a word of it to anyone. In fact, you don’t have to do this tonight.” He nods toward the pale golden light leaking out of the heavy double doors. “We can go inside, part ways, and never speak again, if that’s the way you want it.”

  “Is that what you want?” I ask, looking up at him, his face like marble in the moonlight.

  He flinches and I see it—the crack in his armor. And the real person beneath.

  “No,” he says quietly.

  “I don’t want that either,” I say, slipping my hand into his. “I want to dance with you tonight.”

  “Good,” Dean breathes. “Because the way you look in that dress—I couldn’t stand to see you dance with anyone else.”

  My heart is beating faster than it ever has before—even in Dean’s and my most vigorous moments.

  I think we’re about to walk inside together, but Dean holds me back a moment longer.

  “I did get you something,” he says, his breath frosting on the air.

  He reaches into his breast pocket and takes out a flat velvet box.

  “I don’t like to take something away without giving something in return.”

  Dean
opens the lid.

  I see a glimmering ruby on a spider-fine chain. Dean lifts the necklace aloft. The pendant hangs suspended from his fingers, the stone as rich and dark as a droplet of blood.

  He drapes it around my neck, the necklace already warm from his body heat.

  “It suits you,” he says softly.

  “You like how I look tonight?” I ask. This is my first time dressing as a woman, not a girl—sultry, sophisticated. I didn’t know if it worked, or I only look ridiculous.

  “Cat,” Dean says seriously. “There’s no one more beautiful than you.”

  My heart soars up all over again, and I can’t help saying, “So . . . is this a new version of the collar?”

  Dean tries to hide his smile. “If you want it to be.”

  We enter the Grand Hall, decorated for the holidays with fresh fir boughs that fill the air with the smell of pinesap and deep, cold forest. A fire roars in the massive hearth, offset by the two double doors standing open.

  Almost every student at Kingmakers is crowded in here. The Christmas dance is the only official school party of the year, and no one likes to miss it.

  Even the Chancellor is in attendance, dressed in a tuxedo that looks more like a smoking jacket with its velvet lapels. I have a deep-seated loathing for him, after the way he executed Ozzy’s mother. But I can’t deny his powerful magnetism that draws the eye of everyone around.

  His black eyes gleam as he chats to Professor Lyons, the Arsenic Witch, dressed fittingly in a gown of poison green. Behind her, my Combat teacher Professor Howell is sharing war stories with the expert in Environmental Adaptation, Professor Bruce. Literal war stories, I’m sure, as Professor Howell fought with the Israel Defense Forces and Professor Bruce was a SEAL.

  “I don’t see Miss Robin,” I say to Dean.

  “No surprise there.” He shrugs. “I almost never see her outside the library.”

  “She usually comes to the dance, though,” I say, disappointed. For all Miss Robin puzzles me, I like her very much. And a tiny part of me wanted to see if I could catch her admiring Ares in his suit. Or vice versa.

  “Snow came,” Dean says, sounding pleased. He points out the new boxing teacher, with Dr. Rybakov on his arm.

  I’ve heard plenty about Snow from Dean, who intensely admires him, and a little more from Sasha, who tended to me so kindly after I fell on my head at the Quartum Bellum. But I’ve never actually seen him in person.

  He is, quite frankly, terrifying. Tall and brutal-looking, with several scars on his face and a nose that likely retains little resemblance to its original shape. Add to that a granite jaw, closely-buzzed graying hair, and frost-colored eyes.

  Even his suit can’t conceal his rough and brutish physique. The set of his shoulders, the way he walks—everything about him says “street.”

  By contrast, Sasha Rybakov looks like she just put her name on a wing in the Guggenheim. She’s elegant and refined, her blonde hair sleek and shining, her pale blue gown in faultless good taste.

  “Cat!” she says, waving and coming over at once. “How are you feeling?”

  “Better than ever.” I grin.

  Snow claps Dean on the shoulder. “Glad to see you taking a night off.” Then to me, “And this must be Cat. How come it’s taken me this long to meet you?”

  “I’m not a good enough fighter to be in your class,” I say.

  “I don’t know about that.” Snow smiles, closing his massive hand gently around mine. “Dean looks beaten into submission. The man’s wearing a bow-tie.”

  “So would you be, if I could find any that fit that neck,” Sasha laughs.

  Dean doesn’t seem to mind Snow’s teasing. In fact, he puts his arm around me and says, “Cat’s a brilliant programmer. And an artist.”

  I struggle not to let my jaw fall to the floor.

  Is Dean . . . bragging about me?

  “I dunno about brilliant—” I stammer.

  Snow says, “You must be. Dean’s nothing if not honest.”

  A smile passes between Dean and Snow, of understanding, and perhaps a little embarrassment on Dean’s side.

  Then Sasha says, “I hope you two have a wonderful night.”

  She gives my arm a friendly squeeze, and she and Snow carry on, to be waylaid a moment later by the Chancellor.

  Awkward silence falls between Dean and me. I don’t want to presume anything, but that felt a lot like Dean introducing me as his girlfriend.

  Grabbing my hand, Dean says, quickly, “Should we dance?”

  “I’d love to.”

  He pulls me into the space already crowded with swaying students.

  Crimson and Clover — Joan Jett

  Spotify → geni.us/bully-spotify

  Apple Music → geni.us/bully-apple

  I look into Dean’s face and I can’t believe how open and relaxed he looks, his arms around me, his body swaying us both with that effortless grace he possesses.

  He’s smiling.

  Dean doesn’t smile very often. When he does, it makes him handsome on a level that should probably be illegal. So good-looking that it honestly scares me. It makes me wonder how I can be dancing in the arms of this boy who’s always seemed more god than man to me.

  “What are you thinking?” I ask him, half-fearful.

  “I was thinking how different you look. You’re fucking gorgeous, Cat. The most gorgeous woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “Oh, come on—” I’m personally acquainted with several of the actual most gorgeous women at this school.

  “You are!” Dean says ferociously. “Cat, you came here a scared kid. And now look at you—I wouldn’t even recognize you. You’re dark. Devious. And absolutely fucking stunning.”

  I bite the edge of my lip.

  I’m not used to thinking of devious as a compliment. But it’s clear Dean means it that way.

  And in truth . . . the qualities I aspire to have indeed changed since I came to Kingmakers.

  I’m not trying to be humble or gentle anymore. I don’t believe in “turn the other cheek.”

  Maybe I do want to be devious.

  Maybe I already am.

  I look up at Dean, and he looks down at me. The music spirals down on us, crimson and clover, over and over . . .

  I know Dean is twirling me around, but I feel like the room is spinning around us instead, as if we’re the center of the world, the absolute axis.

  Dean takes my face in his hands and kisses me.

  We’ve kissed a thousand times in sex.

  But never once like this, out in the open . . . as two people, falling in love.

  17

  Dean

  Christmas morning I lie in my bed, thinking of the night before.

  I danced with Cat long past midnight.

  I held her in my arms, and spun her around, and dipped her, and never took my eyes off that beautiful face.

  Cat had never looked more captivating.

  That scarlet silk gown clung to her figure, shimmering in the firelight. The pendant rested on her collarbone like a throbbing heart. Her hair lay in sleek shining waves, her eyes looked up at me like burning coals.

  She honestly intimidated me.

  Cat has changed so much, and I don’t think she’s finished.

  I feel like I witnessed the birth of a star, a creature that will burn brighter and brighter until she eclipses us all.

  Our agreement is over.

  I no longer feel like I own her.

  But I still want to.

  When the party ended, I walked her back to the Undercroft.

  I put my coat around her bare shoulders, because the night was as cold as I’ve ever felt at Kingmakers.

  Our breath rose up in smoky plumes.

  We paused outside the old wine cellar, looking at each other. I was thinking it was the first night in a month that we hadn’t fucked each other. And yet . . . it might have been my favorite night together, despite how much I had enjoyed all the others.

 
I touched her face gently. Then kissed her once more, softly, carefully, as if it was the first time.

  As I kissed her, I felt something cool against my face. Snowflakes drifting down, light as featherdown.

  When I pulled back, I saw them resting in Cat’s hair and in her thick black lashes, like a hundred tiny frozen stars.

  “I’ve never seen it snow here before,” Cat said in wonder.

  I put out my hand and caught one perfect flake on my fingertip.

  Cat brought my hand to her mouth and let it melt against her tongue.

  I grabbed her and kissed her again, much harder.

  I only released her when a crowd of Spies came along, wanting to descend down to their rooms.

  Among them I saw Lola Fischer, tipsy on punch, leaning heavily against Dixie Davis, who had refused to wear a gown to the dance and was dressed in a tux instead.

  “Look at the two lovebirds,” Lola said, grinning at us maliciously.

  I watched her pass, silent and irritated.

  For all that Cat has grown, I don’t like the idea of anyone holding a grudge against her. It makes me want to keep her right by me, and not let her out of my sight.

  “Do you want me to walk you to your door?” I asked her.

  Cat shook her head, slipping my jacket off her slim shoulders and handing it back.

  “Don’t worry,” she murmured. “I’m not afraid of Lola.”

  I’m not either. But I still watched Cat enter the dark yawning staircase with a feeling of unease.

  I want to see her again today.

  It’s the first day in ages that I’ve been completely unencumbered, not a single paper to write, no studying to do. Exams are over. I’m not even training with Snow, as he’ll be spending the day with Sasha, probably calling New York to speak to their two children.

  As I think of him phoning his son Zane, the talented boxer on his own rise to fame, I feel that old spark of jealousy. But I crush it down at once. Snow has been good to me. I have no right to envy his son.

  Besides, I’m much more interested in seeing Cat today than I am in receiving a phone call from my own father.

  I shower and dress, trying to stay quiet because Bram is still snoring in his bed, then I head down to the dining hall to see if I can intercept Cat.