Page 9 of Burn With Me

“A Gods and Goddesses party?” I feel like a parrot just repeating every major line she says. “What the hell is that?”

Selene’s pale blue eyes focus on me with intensity and I know that no matter what my feelings towards this Gods and Goddesses party are—we’re going. She’s got that determined look. I glance at Hel, who seems to recognize it too. She sighs and shakes her head my way as if to say ‘it’s too late now. We’re goners.’

“It’s a party the students put on a couple of times a year,” Selene begins. “Once at the beginning of the year and another at the end. It’s like a welcome back and goodbye thing. Everyone dresses up as a God or Goddess and wears a mask.”

“A mask?” I scrunch up my face. “What’s with that? Halloween isn’t even for another few weeks.”

Selene rolls her eyes. “It’s part of the dramatics,” she says. “It’s just to blow off steam. You don’t actually have to wear a mask if you don’t want to, but most people do.”

“Rich kids are obsessed with masks,” Hel points out.

I turn my attention her way. “What do you mean?”

She sets her phone face down on the table and finally picks up her cup. “The amount of masquerades and masked events they have is overwhelming. Selene says it’s because of the dramatics, but not everyone is like that.”

Hel would know—she’s far more down to earth and less familiar with the expense of the elite. She’s only related to Selene by marriage and though they get along and are friends, Hel’s mom was actually a flight attendant before she married Selene’s uncle. Having money is not something she’s used to—even years later.

My lips twitch. “Alright, tell us then,” I offer when it’s clear she’s got something to say. “Why do you think rich people are obsessed with masks?”

Hel lifts her head and over the rim of her coffee cup, her dark eyes meet mine with a laser focus. “People who want to wear masks probably actually want to take them off.” I frown at that, but before I can ask what she means, she keeps talking. “Rich kids are constantly wearing masks. Not physical ones, but ones that hide who they really are.” My lips part, but she doesn’t stop there. “Rich kids are under constant watch—”

Selene scoffs. “The paparazzi aren’t—”

“I’m not talking about something as arbitrary as the paparazzi,” Hel says, cutting her off without hesitation. “I’m talking abouteveryoneelse.”

I stiffen, already suspecting where she’s going with this. Me. I’m included in everyone else, and I don’t want to hear her thoughts on my own masking. “Got it,” I say before she can continue. I turn my attention back to focus squarely on Selene again. Subject change needed immediately.

“How do you know so much about this party anyway?”

Selene bites her lip and shifts until she’s sitting back in her chair once more. “I just met someone who told me a little about it.”

“And would this someone be a guy?” I prompt, forcing myself to smile tauntingly. I can feel Hel’s gaze on the side of my face, but I don’t say a word, and thankfully, she doesn’t force her way back in. It’s one thing I sometimes hate and sometimes love about her—she picks up on shit fast.

Cue another eye roll from Selene, and a frustrated grunt as she crosses her arms. “So, are we going or not?” she asks, ignoring my question.

“Do we have a choice?” I ask.

She grins. “Not at all.”

“I do,” Hel announces, sipping her coffee.

Selene smirks her way. “No, you don’t. You’re going even if that means I have to stuff you in a dress myself and drag you down the street.”

Hel’s quiet, “Damn it,” has both Selene and I laughing our asses off.

Yeah, being at Hazelwood with these two is definitely better than being stuffed into a cold penthouse with Isaac Icari.

A sinister feeling creeps up my spine and even if I wanted to, I can’t stop myself from looking back. I jerk as a pair of familiar blue eyes meet mine.Fuck.Cold washes over me.

It’s as if I’ve conjured the man, himself, with nothing more than the power of my thoughts. I don’t know why I’m so surprised. I knew he would be at Hazelwood, but I just never really expected to run into him—and certainly not this soon. He’s sitting across the open greenery against a tall fountain with two guys, one of whom has a girl under his arm and a collection of piercings in so many places—his brow, his lip, all up and down his ears—that it’s a wonder he’s not a walking poster child for needles. The other, however, has a phone in hand and is completely attached to the screen, his face half hidden by the fall of dark hair against his cheekbones.

Unlike his posse, though, Isaac is completely focused on me—his gaze zeroed in and almost … haunting. I want to turn away, to show him that I’m not aware of him, but it’s too late now and I find that I can’t.

So, what do I do? I stare back like a fucking crazy person. I match his intensity with as much of my own as I can muster and glare his way. I don’t know what this is—intimidation tactics or something else—and I don’t care. I don’t fucking bow, and showing vulnerability is not something I’ve been taught. Not after years of my mother’s manipulations.

His lips twitch in amusement and he leans over, his mouth opening as he says something to his friends. Though I can’t hear it, I know it’s about me because, in the next second, the two guys he’s with follow his gaze and their eyes lock on me as well.

Fuckity Fuck.

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