Page 30 of Brutal Prince

Guess you’re not this teacher’s pet after all, Briar.

Veroza adjusts his spectacles. “Since you’re already an expert in this subject matter, tell me what kind of psychologist would describe depression as the result of an unconscious process where anger is turned inward as a result of repression?”

My eyes go wide. Holy crap. This must have been some of the stuff covered when I was inabsentia. My smile inches up. Yeah, Briar, what kind of—?

“Psychoanalytic,” Briar replies woodenly.

Mr. Veroza seems momentarily at a loss for words but as he opens his mouth, Briar cuts him off.

“Psychoanalytics consider depression a result of the unconscious activity of the mind.”

“Yes, well, very good.” Veroza shifts on his feet before lifting his chin in defiance of Briar’s intellect. “Now, please pay attention.”

As soon as Veroza turns his attention away, Briar lets out a low chuckle.

I don’t know why, but despite how ominous that sound is, it kinda makes my insides go all gooey. Maybe it’s just because he’s proven he can actually read and regurgitate a textbook, I dunno.

And I don’t care.

Briar isn’t smart, he’s cunning. Like a wolf. Which means he’s set his eyes on me as prey.

For some insane reason I can’t begin to fathom, the thought sends an illicit thrill through me.

* * *

I’m still scribblingdown a few pithy notes from the blackboard when the bell rings to signal the end of the period.

Briar’s been surprisingly quiet for the rest of the lesson, even when Veroza went into the hall for a few minutes to take a phone call. I haven’t dared look around once — even when I saw movement behind me — because I don’t want to catch feels again.

Briar walks past my table, but pauses right by the door.

“What? I snap, when Briar just keeps looking down at me.

“I was just imagining something.”

When I look up and see the suggestive smile playing on his mouth, I grimace. “You’re disgusting,” I say, gathering my things so I can stand and get the hell out of here.

“Because I can’t wait to see what you’re wearing under that skirt?”

My eyes go wide. I snarl and stand in a rush, lunging around my desk. Briar’s hands go up in mock surrender, a deep laugh bursting from him.

I don’t get very far. Where I was picturing my hands around his throat, throttling him until he begged for mercy, I instead trip up and fall face-first to the ground.

I’d been moving so fast, my lungs are knocked clean out of air. Gasping like a beached fish, I twist onto my side and stare down at my feet, which for some reason forgot how to move.

My shoelaces are knotted together.

Everyone still inside the class bursts into laughter. I push onto my knees, glaring up at Briar. He steps closer, grabs my chin, and tilts my head back so far my neck clicks.

“See? Everyone bows to the prince,” he murmurs, those words meant for my ears alone. He rakes ice-blue eyes over me. Where he touches me, my skin tingles.

I tear my chin free and fall back. Moving awkwardly, I get my feet in front of me and start undoing my laces.

It had to be him of course. And someone must have seen him do it — we were sitting right in front — but no one said a word.

The laughter fades as students leave. Briar stays to watch me working furiously at the knots, as if proud that he did such a good job.

Mr. Veroza appears, brow wrinkled. “Ms. Virgo? Everything all right?”

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