Page 57 of Tempest

Tempest’s amusement vanishes. He stands, leaning over the table. “This isn’t the place for you.”

“You don’t get to make that decision for me.” I’m tired of people telling me what to do.

“Don’t I?” Tempest angles his head. “Tell me, how did you sleep last night?”

I can control my breathing, but the numbing in my face, the rush of blood to my cheeks, gives Tempest all the information he needs.

He smiles with the devil’s satisfaction.

“There are two reasons people come to this school,” he says. “The first because they’re lucky enough to get in and claim an exclusive, private education.” Tempest rounds the table toward me. The backs of my legs hit my chair, and the scraping sound that follows only fuels his desire to scare me.

“The second,” he continues, a soft, beckoning lilt to his tone, “is because they want to see if all the ghost stories are true. The hauntings, the horror, the torture. Do you hear the screams through the trees, princess?” He stalks closer. Scrape, scrape, scrape of the chair legs as I retreat. “Are you privy to the ghosts that scratch their nails across walls and imprint their death faces on fogged glass? I’m told Sarah Anderton’s frozen expression is a particularly traumatizing one. But you’d know all about trauma, wouldn’t you?”

“You’re sick,” I manage to say through trembling lips. “All I want to do is get my life back. Get the education I deserve. I’m not hurting you—I could be invisible to you if you let me.”

He’s close enough to drag a finger down my cheek. Cold, calloused, and too close to my lips. “That is the opposite of what I desire.”

The back of my head bumps against the wall. Tempest corners me, one palm resting against the wall beside my head and his thumb dragging across my lower lip.

He dips his head, and I’m able to see the flecks of gold in his green eyes. Fool’s gold. There is no true shine within him. “If the other night taught you anything, it’s that I like to toy with you. You’ll continue to be my plaything until the day you can’t take it anymore. There are plenty of schools that’d take pity on a sad story such as yours. You don’t need TFU to get a decent education.”

“Clover’s here.”

“I’m here,” he growls. His hand moves from my mouth to my chest, cupping my breast through the thin fabric of my shirt, flicking my nipple.

I gasp, arching instinctively.

Tempest leans into my ear. “Where you go, trouble follows.” Flick. I swallow a moan. Tell myself not to close my eyes. “The night Mila died should’ve proved to you we are not meant to be a group of friends. ”

And just like that, ice water splashes over the heat.

“You left my sister and me in peace for two years. We had a wonderful life without you.”

Tempest pinches my nipple. Hard. Yelping, I grip his wrist to pull him away.

He palms my sore breast and pushes me into the wall. Not violently, but firmly, as a warning. “Keep it that way. Don’t make me go through all this effort to show you what you already know: you’re not strong. You never were.”

Hot tears build up in my eyes, blurring Tempest into a cruel painting. An artist with a savage hand created him. “You have no idea what I’ve fought for. I’m not crazy. I didn’t hallucinate that night. You have no idea who—I know what I—”

“What?” Tempest peers closer at me, a firm line to his lips. “You know what, Ardyn?”

The door to the classroom swings open, a large body filling the doorway. “Tempest? You coming?”

I sag under Professor Rossi’s calm voice. An irony, for sure—relaxing under the interruption of someone else who makes me uncomfortable. But when faced with Tempest’s cruelty, it’s the lesser of two evils.

Rossi looks between us, suspicion turning his eyes into slits. “Everything all right, Miss Kaine?”

Tempest steps back, shoving his hands in his pockets like he hadn’t been using them for seduction and sadism. “Ardyn had a question. I was answering it.”

“I’m sure. Don’t let this boy intimidate you, Miss Kaine.” Rossi’s hand drops from the doorknob. “He’s one of the smartest students I’ve ever had the honor of teaching, but he also has a very stupid way of showing it sometimes. Come with me, Callahan.”

My eyes widen as Tempest does what Rossi asks without question. After an insult like that, the Tempest I remember would be snarling by now and threatening Rossi’s job. My attention lingers between them, as if trying to find the thread that connects them.

“You’re fair game now, princess,” Tempest says through the side of his mouth as he passes. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

It’s not until the door shuts behind him and I’m sure I’m alone that I allow my knees to give out and curl up into my knees, ashamed and confused, my nipple throbbing with pain and…

… need.

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