Page 78 of Knight

“C’mon, get up,” I say, reaching in my pocket for my phone and calling Henry. We told him we wouldn’t be needing him today, but I was wrong.

“Rowland?” he says my name like he’s surprised. Hell, I am too. “What the fuck are you doing?” Even in the cold air, I can smell the strong scent of alcohol. Only Damien would be able to get away with speaking to the headmaster like that.

“I’m getting you home.” Rattling off instructions to Henry, I throw his arm around me.

“Don’t want to go to Cabo with your fallback?” he snorts.

“Apparently not.” Accepting my fate, I’m owning my decision. “We’re spending Christmas together.”

When he’s on his feet he looks at me and I meet his droopy gaze. “Don’t,” he says. “I’m not partial to tradition. If you come with me it won’t be the Christmas you’re thinking of.”

“With you? I don’t expect it to be.”

Seventeen

“Morning, Medusa.”

Damien’s voice wakes me, reminding me of my most recent choice.

I’m spending the holidays with the devil.

Something cold hits my chin and I sit up. We’re in the living room. Fell asleep here after school when I realized Damien wasn’t making it up the stairs.

I’m not sure what time it is. I can tell it’s still dark since there’s no light peeking in, but Damien has the black curtains closed.

“Ready for Christmas with the King?” Cold hits my chin again and when my vision stops blurring, Damien’s standing beside the sofa. He’s holding a square glass bottle in his hand.

Scotch.

“Christmas is in a week,” I groan, pushing hair out of my face. Damien has his own bottle in another hand, cap already off. He’s in a black silk robe, hair wet like he got himself a shower. And damn, does he look good. “Are you still drinking?”

“Are you still surprised?” He tosses the bottle next to me on the sofa, it bounces against the cushion before it settles. “Thought you wanted a Christmas with the King. If so, you’ll have to keep up.”

“What time is it?”

“You ask way too many questions, Rowland.”

“No. Actually, I don’t ask enough. Not like you’d tell me.”

“Not like you’d trust me.” He pulls a joint from his ear.

“Trust is earned, Damien,” I groan, sitting up.

When Damien dozed off around five, I stayed up, my mind swirling with thoughts. Dread. Did I make the right decision?

“Well, let’s start building that trust,” he says, taking a swig from his bottle and walking out the room. “Take a shot and meet me in the kitchen.”

Without another word, he walks away. And yeah, I do need a drink.

Pulling the cork out, I take a look around the room. A bottle of water sits on the black marble coffee table next to a piece of bread. They remain there from last night and that reminds me, Damien sent Isobel home for the holidays yesterday. At least he’s nice to her in his drunken stupor.

I’m still in my uniform, a heavy black blanket around me that wasn’t there before. Throwing it around my shoulders I walk through the dark living room, across the foyer and into the kitchen. Damien’s playing some punk rock I don’t recognize before I’m floored when I see what’s in front of me.

Damien’s transformed his usually bare kitchen into some sort of picnic. Candles flicker all over the room, on the counters, on a big rug on the floor that wasn’t there before. Also on the rug sit brown bags, more bottles of alcohol, candy and chocolates. It’s romantic. Romantic for Damien, anyway.

“What’s all this?” I ask, eyeing the candles, I see how close they are to the rug. Fire has already caused enough trauma in my life.

“First meal of Christmas break,” he says this as if I should know before he takes a seat on the rug, lighting a joint with the flame of a candle. “Now are you coming or am I gonna smoke this on my own?”

---