Page 124 of Snake

His smile inches up. “Why...looking for you, Miss Jackson.”

The way he says my name makes my skin crawl. He plucks the matchstick from his lips, tossing it over his shoulder before running that hand over Moxie’s flank. I move my knee back, keeping away from his touch, but there’s only so far I can go without falling off the saddle.

He tips his head back, unsettlingly vibrant green eyes peering up at me. He’s handsome, in a rugged way. Not the way I prefer. I like my men sleek and beautiful. This oaf looks like his preferred method of wooing a girl is dragging her back to his cave by her hair.

“You’re prettier than they said you’d be.” He’s openly leering now, those eyes dragging over my body like he’s picturing me sprawled naked under him.

My stomach lurches in sudden panic, but I reel in my fear with iron will.

Fuck. This.

I kick at the guy’s grinning face, but he steps back so quickly that my leg soars through the air without making contact.

Balance gone, I tip to one side. Clawing at the saddle and the reins doesn’t help—I had too much momentum behind my attack.

The guy could have caught me. I’d have punched and kicked and struggled, but he could have saved me. Instead, he lets me fall to the ground. My ass thumps onto the frozen soil so hard that my teeth clack together and all the air whooshes out of my lungs.

Moxie whinnies, and I almost land under one of her hooves as she side steps in panic. But thank God for all my years playing volleyball, because I have just enough strength to shove myself up onto my feet before the horse can trample me. I’m not fast enough to outrun Mr. Hick, though. I barely make it to the first tree before he grabs my hair and slams me into the trunk.

I only have time for a gasp of pain before he flings me around and presses me against the rough bark. His hand is still in my hair, and I realize I have my fingers locked around his wrist like a fucking idiot.

When I punch him in the guts, he grunts. And then he grabs both my wrists and locks them between my breasts before leaning in.Now he’s too close for me to kick. I could try to head butt him, but as if he’s reading my mind he leans back again, studying me at arm’s length with that same hungry look.

I scream.

Just for the hell of it, of course. I know we’re too far away from the Academy for someone to hear me.

“Strong lungs,” he muses, giving me a more considering once-over. “They said you’d be feisty.”

They.

“Who sent you?” I mutter, doing my level best to stop my lips from trembling. I needn’t have asked—I know the answer before he opens his mouth.

“The Serpents.” His black eyebrows quirk up, another smile stretching his mouth. “They send their regards, by the way.”

I struggle even though I know it’s useless. Then I call him a motherfucking asshole, even though I know he doesn’t care.

He just watches me with a rapt gleam in his eyes, like he’s imagining all the fun things he can do to me out here in the middle of nowhere. Not in a hurry, though. Which means he knows he’s got all the time in the world. And Moxie, the peanut-brained whore, is calmly chewing on a nearby shrub. She got a fright when this ogre appeared, sure, but she’s definitely not panicky anymore. Which means...

“You work at the Academy,” I say slowly, forcing myself to make eye contact. His gaze is strangely hypnotic, and I can’t figure out why.

I hate things I can’t figure out.

“Clever one, aren’t you?” The side of his mouth crooks up. “But not very observant.”

My mind scrambles, but I can’t say if I’ve ever seen this man before. “What’s your name?”

“Oh, princess, you wouldn’t know it,” he grates, and his grin seems to suggest he’s okay with that.

“So I’ll just call you ‘oaf’, then?”

He tsks me, dark lashes framing his eyes as he narrows them to slits. “They said you like calling people names. That’s not a nice thing to do, is it, Miss Jackson?”

“I’ve seen your face. I don’t need your name to report you to--“

“It’s Max. Max Alexander.”

I lick my lips, drawing Max’s eyes. I don’t like the way his gaze feels when it touches my mouth. “Alexander? Are you from out of town?”

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