by Alley Ciz
“You’re such a smartass,” I say around a laugh.
“You love me anyway,” she responds with a shoulder shrug, but again she’s missing some of her familiar sparkle.
“Tess, you’re in charge of making sure Savs takes it easy,” Carter instructs, knowing full well she will keep me in line.
“As you wish, Your Majesty.” Tessa slides her left leg behind her right and dips down into a curtsy, going as far as lifting the hem of her I’m not a book worm, I’m a book dragon tee like it’s the skirt of a ball gown.
Carter shakes his head, and I think he mutters something like “Fucking Dennings” as he stalks to the fridge for a bottle of blue Gatorade.
Tessa preens, as she does any time someone compares her to Kay, and I leave the two of them to banter back and forth, walking over to the terrarium that houses Merlin King.
The dude lives like his surname, Carter having spared no expense when having the habitat designed for his ghost morph boa constrictor. The whole structure is about four feet tall and ten feet long. Carter spent a small fortune on top-of-the-line equipment to maintain proper temperature and humidity for his precious reptile. Personally, I think if MTV were to do a Cribs: Pet Edition, Merlin’s digs would be at the top of the list.
Half of the base level is a water feature for Merlin to drink from or soak in, the landscaping sloping gradually until it reaches the deepest section of eight inches.
In the opposite back corner is one of the two hides—essentially cave-like structures Merlin can, you guessed it, hide in—this one a badass blackened skull. I always thought it looked a little like Skull Rock from Peter Pan, and if you look close enough, you can see a pirate’s flag etched into the side. Honestly, I shouldn’t have been surprised. Tessa pretty much confirmed that’s what she was going for when she gifted it to Carter a few Christmases ago. Her mom loved the story of the boy who never wanted to grow up when she was alive.
There’s a middle layer that hangs halfway over the base level that houses the second hide. Unlike the skull, this one looks more like a plain rock, but the hole in the top allows Merlin to make his exit that way should he choose, and my big dork of a brother likes to say it’s like Excalibur being pulled free.
As aesthetically pleasing as all those features are, none of them have the reptile I’m searching for.
It isn’t until I scan the giant replica of a T-rex skeleton that spans most of the terrarium’s width and height that I find my query coiled around the bleached bones.
Snakes are both deaf and nocturnal by nature, but when my eyes meet his shiny black ovals, Merlin raises his head, his tongue popping out to scent the air.
After confirming with Carter he hasn’t been fed too recently and is able to be handled without the risk of wearing his last meal—I’ve dealt with enough mice today, thank you very much—I unhook the latch and reach inside.
Sensing my body heat, Merlin slides his narrow white head over the flat of my palm I have open for him. I love how I can feel the slight bump of his scales while he remains smooth to the touch.
As he works his way up the length of my forearm, I reach in with my other arm, making sure to support the heft of his body with my free hand. At six years old, Merlin is considered an adult. He’s five feet long and roughly seven pounds, definitely making handling him a two-handed job.
Calm instantly washes over me from holding Merlin. Leo once joked that he’s my emotional support animal, which only spurred Cisco to add how I of course wouldn’t have anything as stereotypical as a dog to calm my nerves—they did nickname me Savage, after all.
Once Merlin is comfortably coiled around my arm, his body wrapped above and below the bend of my elbow, head resting on the ball of my shoulder, tongue peeking out and tickling my jaw, I straighten and head for the couch.
“I swear he likes you more than me,” Carter grumbles, cupping a hand under Merlin’s head and letting him slither around the back of it before pulling away.
“Don’t hate.” The shoulder shimmy I do prompts Merlin to move across them and down my opposite arm, popping up to check out Tessa next to me.
“Maybe if you took a shower and washed the stink off from your workout, your snake might like you better,” Tessa tosses out while lifting her phone for a selfie of the two of us and Merlin and posting it to her Instagram with #snakefie.
“This is true.” Merlin goes from one hand to the other, continuing to travel along my body until he settles back into his original position coiled around my arm, this time with his head resting over the flat of my stomach. “They are sensory animals, Cart. You’re just jelly he thinks I smell better.”
“Brat,” Carter teases with a kiss to the crown of my head, then he jogs up the staircase two steps at a time.
“I know just what to watch while we work on your calculus.” A picture of Leonardo DiCaprio kissing Claire Danes fills the flat-screen, and Baz Luhrmann’s version of Romeo & Juliet starts to play. My mouth twists to the side, and Tessa’s booming laugh washes over me. “What?” She shrugs, trying to act all innocent when she’s anything but. “This is your life now,” she says with a hand extended toward the ’90s version of the Capulets and Montagues battling at a gas station.
“You’re ridiculous.” It’s meant to come out as a complaint, but I can’t muster conviction behind it. Tessa is a dreamer, a hopeless romantic thanks in part to the romance novels she’s addicted to. Plus, I’ll deal with all the razzing in the world if the end result is the return of Tessa’s normal perkiness.
“Fine”—she blows out a breath, the fringe of side bang covering her eye fluttering from the force—“I concede that it’s not a familial feud, but what’s new with your Romeo?”
I hit her with an eye roll, but the action doesn’t have the impact it should given Kay’s penchant for it. “Jasper is sooo NOT my Romeo, T.”
“Mmmhmm.” She rolls her lips over her teeth, utterly unimpressed by anything I have to say. “You know what they say? Famous las—”
In an instant, the atmosphere shifts, Tessa’s words cutting off as she sucks in a breath that sounds like she’s choking on them. It’s the only warning I get before a finger pokes me in the jugular.
Tessa’s touch and shout cause me to jolt and Merlin to startle, the muscles of his long body tightening around my arm and constricting the blood flow.
“Savannah! King!”
I smother a chuckle at Tessa full-naming me with not my full-name. A little thing like that, especially now when I’m forced to use the name I despise so often, is just one of the many reasons I love this chick so fiercely.
“Is. That. A. Hickey?” Her finger pokes the offending mark with each word. I choose to ignore her in favor of running a hand down the length of Merlin’s white and gray scaled body in hopes of getting him to relax. It takes a bit, but eventually, I’m able to wiggle my fingers to help restore the circulation.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Deny, deny, deny. “I burned myself with the straightener this morning.”
“Bullshit.” Her deep midnight blue eyes sparkle, the couch bouncing as she pops around, tucking her feet beneath her body. “It’s from him, isn’t it?”
“Isn’t Not My Romeo the name of a book you made me read?” I fall back to one of my earlier comments, hoping for a distraction.
“Yes, by Ilsa Madden-Mills, one of my one-click authors.” Her hair goes flying with a sudden and vicious head shake. “Stop trying to distract me with fiction, Savannah King.” She waggles a finger at me. “Answer the question.”
There’s no use avoiding it any longer. If anyone is capable of getting the truth out of me, it’s Tessa Taylor. For one, we don’t lie to each other. I may try to shield her from some of the more…unsavory dealings Carter is involved in, but we don’t out-and-out lie. For another, she has one of those faces that make it impossible to lie to.
So I don’t.
I spill all the details about my day, starting with the mice in my locker, contin
uing with the same petty bullshit I deal with daily inside the halls of Blackwell Academy, and finally ending with Jasper and his macho bully posturing. A part of me is tempted to admit that I didn’t necessarily hate it, but if I give Tessa an inch, she’ll take that story and send it to the sky in a basket toss.
“Ugh…” Tessa flops back against the couch, her arms folding over her face with a heavy sigh. “If I didn’t love you so damn much, I’d hate you right now.”
“What? Why?”
“You’re living out my bully-romance-loving dreams, Sav.” She leans forward, and a hand reaches out to cup my shoulder, giving me a small shake while the other comes up to cover her heart like she’s about to say the Pledge of Allegiance.
“You read too much.”
“Maybe.” The casual way she snuggles back into her corner and gives a sexy young Leo her full attention has my internal warning system blaring Danger! Danger! “Then again”—she slides me a sly grin—“PF said the same thing to me, and now look at her and Mase.”
Fuck me that’s not a good sign. If Tessa could see the writing on the wall when it came to I-prefer-to-live-out-of-the-spotlight Kay who is now shipped so hard with her hotshot football-playing boyfriend that their ship name is a constant viral hashtag, what the fuck does that mean for me?
CHAPTER 13
The sight of Tinsley standing on the stone entrance steps to BA, worrying the hem of her uniform skirt in her fingers, has my brow furrowing as I step out of the Bentley with a thank you to Daniel.
“Couldn’t wait for your caffeine fix today?” I pull her caramel latte from the carrier and pass it off. Having a chauffeur take me may not have been how I thought I would be driven to school for my senior year, but the perk of having Daniel pick up Espresso Patronum before doing so is one I could get used to.
“Umm…” Tinsley glances back over her shoulder, but there’s no one there.
“Tins?” My steps are cautious, hesitancy bleeding into my movements at her uncharacteristically waiting for me before school.
Is it Friday yet? For reals, how is it only Thursday? This week has been one thing after another. It started with the mice on Monday before they doubled down on that message, filling my locker with mouse feed on Tuesday.
Yesterday’s attempt was probably their most creative. The pink papers printed as mock “pink slips” with the words Samantha’s Pussy typed across in thick black bold lettering fluttered around me like oversized confetti the first time I swapped out my books, and Jasper and his cronies offering me pens throughout the day to sign them was a nice added touch.
Why won’t Jasper just leave me alone? He acts like my being here, in “his” school, is a personal insult. It’s not like I want to be here.
Ugh. What’s today going to bring?
“Just”—another look backward—“come on.” Tinsley hooks her arm through mine, sticking close to my side as we enter the building.
She ignores each of the side glances I send her way, her gaze locked resolutely ahead. The nibbling of her lower lip ticks my nerves up another level, as does the way I can see her lipstick is worn as if she’s been doing so for a while.
When we turn the corner for the senior hallway, the small crowd gathered in front of the area where my locker is located has my chest tightening in a way that has me subconsciously checking my pocket for my inhaler.
Something is most definitely up. “Tins?” I ask again. I hate being blindsided.
“I sure hope your badassery extends to larger rodents, Savs.” The use of the shorthand of my “real” name has my steps halting and my eyes cutting sharply to her. Since the first day of school weeks ago, Tinsley has never once let my Royal identity slip. This must be bad.
One of the onlookers spots us and elbows their neighbor, and shortly after, the full weight of the crowd’s attention is on us. The volume of the whispering increases, and more than one phone is turned our way.
I ignore them. On a good day, I don’t have the patience for petty bullshit. And today? It is not a good day.
Through a gap in the bodies, I can make out…something attached to the outside of my locker, but I’m still too far away to make out precisely what that something is.
“Tinsley?” My grip on her tightens, the exhaustion I’ve been dealing with all week washing over me in another wave.
“Let’s just say I think the kings”—there’s a tiny quirk to her lips at the use of that particular classification—“went with a more literal approach to the role Jasper thinks you play when it comes to the Royals.”
Huh?
Guess there’s only one way to find out what she’s talking about.
Keeping my movements slow, I do my best to radiate an air of calm I certainly don’t feel and free myself from my link to Tinsley. Head held high, chin tipped up, shoulders rolled back and away from my ears, I push through a set of gawking freshmen and don’t stop until I’m the one directly in front of my locker.
Nailed to the metal door, the shiny flat heads visible through the pink of the tails where they’re attached, are two rats. The one in the top corner has a miniature crown placed crookedly and secured by an ear on its head. The other, placed on a forty-five degree angle from it, has a checkered flag tied to one of its tiny pink feet.
An envelope with my name written in fancy calligraphy is stuck in the vents at the top. Without paying any mind to the dead rodents in my sightline, I step close and work the corner free. Beneath the pads of my fingers, I can feel the high quality of the fibers by the thickness of the paper.
Tuning out the questions now flying at me, I flip the envelope over, and I shit you not, there’s a genuine wax seal stamped with the crest of BA securing the flap closed.
I’ll give them an A-plus for presentation, that’s for sure.
I break the seal with my thumbnail, the wax cracking with a jagged line through the middle. Card stock embossed with gold foil rests inside. Unlike my name, this note is a hard black scrawl.
Careful, Princess.
You should know better. Race rats don’t survive long. Eventually, your tenure will come to an end…
He didn’t sign it, but he didn’t have to. The use of his preferred name for me gives him away. Plus, really…who else would go to as much trouble?
I don’t have the patience for this bullshit. Tessa is back to acting weird, and when I reached out to our friends still at BP with her, it was like I was getting the runaround. I don’t like it. I hate that having to come here every day makes everything about my old life feel like exactly that—like something in the past.
Tinsley shuffles her way closer, and I hold up the notecard for her to read. She sucks in a breath through her teeth, her not-really-brown eyes flaring as they trace over the words. “Oh my god,” she whispers. “Should you call your brother about this?”
I’m shaking my head before she can finish asking. The only thing that would accomplish would be bringing the wrath of Natalie down on him when he inevitably did something stupid. And he would do something stupid. Why else do you think I haven’t told him about what’s been going on here? This isn’t something I can’t handle myself. Besides, veiled threats don’t scare me. Losing my brother? Yeah, that does.
I make quick work of the dial, wanting to confirm nothing is waiting for me…inside.
CHAPTER 14
The buzz from this morning’s festivities still hums through my bloodstream as I take my seat in the cafeteria. Posture slouched, elbow hooked over the corner of my chair, knees spread wide, I observe my kingdom.
All around, students whisper and point at the screens of their phones. It’s music to my ears. The soundtrack of my reign. Proof of my control over the sheep.
Pictures of selfies taken with the dead rats have already made the rounds on Snapchat, Instagram, and TikTok, all thanks to a trend started by yours truly. My only regret of the day? That I wasn’t able to get one with Samantha before the rodents were removed.
I was positive this would be enou
gh to pull a reaction from her, but nope.
Fuck! What does it take to push her over the edge?
The more maddening question is: Why do I care to know?
After almost a full school week focused on putting Samantha in her place by pushing her buttons, it might be time to change tactics. She has invaded my thoughts like a bad case of crabs, infecting each one with images of what she would look like when I fuck her.
Bent over, plump ass in the air.
Legs spread, wet-ass pussy on display.
Eyes streaming tears as she chokes on my dick.
Each one hits me with the force of a defenseman checking me into the boards, the pressure building behind my zipper enough to have me adjusting my junk and shifting in my seat.
A lazy, amused smirk plays on my lips as I keep my half-lidded gaze on the entrance to the cafeteria, anticipation pumping sure and strong.
“Gentlemen.” The voice of one of the culinary technicians drags my attention off the ping-ponging table-to-doorway gazes of my classmates and to the female in the white chef’s coat standing behind a rolling cart with silver domed dishes. “Can I interest you in today’s chef’s special?”
Where’s Samantha when you need her? This would have been the perfect teachable moment. Because this—being served by the staff instead of needing to retrieve our lunch—is one example of who we are to this school.
“What’s on the menu today?” Banks asks, already lifting one of the domes by its pointy handle.
“Ratatouille.” She reveals the dish closest to her, waving a hand over the round white ceramic bowl filled with neat circular rows of white, red, and black sliced vegetables.
My earlier smirk blooms into a full-blown smile, and a deep bark of laughter escapes at the irony. I can’t wait to offer some to Samantha and hold up two fingers.
Unlike me, the guys start to dig in immediately, only pausing when Samantha and Tinsley finally make their appearance.
