Page 11 of Grave Intentions

Brad scrambles away, nearly tripping over his own feet. Pathetic.

“I didn’t need your help.” Lena slams her locker shut, glaring at me. Gone is that sweet little girl who used to follow me, trying to “save my soul.” Now she’s all fire and spite. Ever since she turned thirteen, things changed between us.

“Really? Looked like you needed it to me, princess.”

Her eyes narrow at the nickname. “Stop calling me that. And stop acting like my guardian angel. You don’t need to be my protector anymore, Talon.”

I step closer, backing her against the lockers. “No? Then why do I keep chasing off guys who have the hots for you?”

“Because you’re a controlling asshole who can’t mind his own business.” She tilts her chin up, defiant. The gesture sends a thrill through me.

“Better an asshole than a naive little girl who thinks she can handle everything alone.”

“Fuck you.” She tries to push past me, but I don’t budge.

“Such language, princess. What would Mrs. Wilson say?”

Her cheeks flush with anger. It’s intoxicating, watching her lose control like this. The fiercer she gets, the more I want to push her buttons.

“Get out of my way,” she hisses.

I lean down until my lips nearly brush her ear. “Make me.”

Her sharp intake of breath hits my ears like a drug. I pull back just enough to study her face, catching how her pupils expand in those mesmerizing hazel eyes. The hallway feels electric, charged with something dangerous and raw.

My body cages her against the lockers, close enough to catch the scent of her strawberry shampoo. The same cheap brand Mrs. Wilson has begrudgingly bought for her since she arrived. The familiarity of it twists something deep in my gut.

“Not so brave now, are you, princess?” I trace one finger along her jawline, then the column of her neck, feeling her pulse race beneath my touch. Her skin is soft, perfect. Everything about her is perfect.

She tries to maintain that fierce glare, but I see right through it. See the way her breath catches, how her lips part slightly. The darkness that lives in me calls to something hidden deep inside her, something equally as dark.

“I hate you,” she whispers, but there’s no conviction. Her eyes drop to my mouth for a fraction of a second.

“No, you don’t.” I lean closer, letting my breath fan across her face. “You’re afraid of how much you don’t hate me.”

Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, but she doesn’t push me away. Instead, she holds on like she’s drowning. Like I’m both the waves pulling her under and the life vest keeping her afloat.

The desire rolling off her is intoxicating. It matches the hunger that has eaten me alive ever since I became aware she’s not that little girl anymore—ever since I noticed how she’d grown into this fierce, beautiful creature that haunts my every waking moment.

I rip myself away from her, my hands clenched with the effort it takes. Every cell in my body screams to go back, to claim what’s mine. But she’s fourteen. Just fourteen. Reality hits me like ice water.

“Talon?” Her voice is small, confused.

I can’t look at her. Can’t trust myself if I do. My feet carry me down the empty hallway, each step feeling like I’m dragging lead weights. The exit sign glows red ahead, matching the haze of want clouding my vision.

The metal door slams behind me as I burst into the parking lot. Cold air bites at my face, but it’s not enough to cool the fire under my skin. I slam my fist into the brick wall, welcoming thesharp pain that shoots up my arm. Again. And again. Until blood trickles down my knuckles.

Four years. Four fucking years until she’s eighteen. The thought of anyone else touching her before then makes me want to burn this whole town to the ground. But I can’t touch her. If I do, I’ll destroy her. Turn her into something as twisted and broken as me.

My bloody hand leaves a smear on my bike handles as I pedal out of the parking lot. I don’t look over my shoulder. Don’t check to see if she followed me out. I just cycle, pushing myself as fast as I can, trying to outrun the memory of her pulse racing under my touch.

9

TALON

EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD

Three months later…

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