Page 52 of Theirs to Rule

“You heard me,” I barked. “Are you fucking insane walking home by yourself? Do you want to get killed? Is that it?”

Her jaw dropped open in shock at my words. She shook her head, not even bothering to offer me a verbal response, then took off.

“Camille, fucking stop.”

Instead of obeying me, she broke into a run. I stared after her in disbelief. Was she seriously running away from me? This girl really was crazy. She was also slower than I was, so it took me little effort to catch up to her again and tackle her to the ground.

“Get off me,” she screamed, struggling against my grasp.

“Why? This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Drop. Dead.” She spat each word at me, her anger-laced eyes glistening with tears.

I stared at her. What the hell was her problem? Sure, I’d gone back to treating her like I couldn’t stand her but during our last encounter we’d agreed to do our art project together then I’d leave her alone. Something had happened since then to make her despise me and I was determined to figure out what it was.

“Let me go, Ty,” she growled, squirming away from me.

But I was stronger than her so her struggling accomplished nothing but getting me hard. It made me a bastard, but that wasn't news to anyone, least of all myself. The more she fought me, the harder I got, my cock pressing firmly against her thigh. Her cheeks reddened, like she’d just figured out I had a raging hard-on.

“This bringing back memories?”

“Not good ones, you sick son of a bitch,” she retorted. “The only person I need protecting from isyou.”

She stopped struggling, glowering up at me. Suddenly, all I could see was her parted lips. I felt her heaving chest pressed against mine, her nipples hard little knots poking into me. I remembered how she'd felt and tasted in my bed at the chateau.

Before I could comprehend what the fuck I was doing, I slammed my mouth down on hers.

The kiss was fierce, more a clash than a caress, fueled by anger and a raw yearning for what I couldn't have anymore. I groaned, the sound muffled by the press of our lips, each of usfighting for dominance in a battle where there were no winners, only survivors. My hands gripped her tighter, not willing to let go, not yet.

Pulling back slightly, I caught my breath, our foreheads still touching. "Heard you in the Dark Arts room," I muttered, the words edged with something dark. "If I'd known you liked it rough..."

Her response was a mix of shock and defiance. "You spied on me?" she accused, her voice rising.

"Really? You and Kage were giving a show to anyone who wanted to watch.”

She tried to shove me off, but I wasn't budging. Not until…

She kneed me in the balls. Groaning, I rolled off her, clutching my junk. Holy fucking shit, that hurt. I glared at her as she staggered to her feet.

“Fuck you, Ty. And fuck your stupid art, too.”

“Huh?” I looked at her like she’d lost her mind, because frankly, I was sure she had. “What the hell are you talking about, Camille? What art?”

“Don’t play dumb, you know exactly what I mean. You think I wouldn’t know that piece was directed at me? Well, message fucking received, Ty. Now fuck off and leave me alone,” she growled again, tears pooling in her eyes.

Lying on the ground, still clutching myself, I watched her storm off, her words echoing in my head. What the hell was she on about? My art? Directed at her? Slowly, I got to my feet, the pain between my thighs a sharp reminder of the night's turn of events. Fuck, that hurt.

The confusion gnawed at me as much as the pain. The Dark Arts stuff? I'd contributed, sure, but so had a bunch of other people. Her accusation felt like a punch to the gut, one that didn't sit right. I had to know what she meant. Quickly, I headed back to the party. Camille’s anger, the tears pooling in her eyes—it reminded me of when I’d first come to Crimsonvale, and she finally cracked after I’d been my worst with her. Pushing through the doors, the noise of the party hit me like a wave, but I barely noticed, my laser-sharp focus on getting to the Dark Arts room.

The room was crowded, bodies milling around and absorbed in the macabre displays. I scanned the art, searching for anything that could be linked to me, at least in Camille’s mind. Something that would explain her outburst.

And then I saw it—the bloody swan painting. It was grotesque, a brutal depiction that made my stomach churn. I'd seen plenty of dark shit, thought dark shit,donedark shit, but this was different. This was directed specifically at Camille in a vicious and personal way.

And I didn't do it.

Who the fuck would put something like that up and pass it off as mine? How would anyone know to do it?

Was it a prank? A warning? Or a threat?

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