Page 73 of Angel Lost

My stomach knots as I think about Kai’s misgivings toward his stepmom.

How consensual is consensual? Reye was being bribed: her compliance for her brother’s safety.

What if she’s not the only one?

Chapter Twenty-four: Lorelei

I pick my first victim carefully. A first-year with an ethereal look. I’ve noticed her before, thought she might be like me: an outsider. Her wide eyes take in everything, but she’s quiet, staying on the fringes. She moves lightly, always on the cusp of disappearing, of slipping into shadows.

“I’m Lorelei.” I thrust my hand toward her. She shifts almost imperceptibly away, ignoring my outstretched fingers.

“I know who you are,” she says. She turns as if to leave and I grab her by the wrist. She startles. It’s not done here, not ladylike, to invade another’s space.

“And you are?” I ask.

She stares at my hand on her. “Poppy,” she says slowly. “Aether Poppy.”

“You don’t look like a Poppy.”

She snarls, showing her teeth, the incisors slightly sharper than is natural. “No one here could pronounce my name. The dean chose Poppy. So now I’m Poppy.”

“Try me.”

She ducks her head, and for half a second, I think she’s going to pull away. “Nhyxchirael,” she mutters, the consonants blurring into each other.

“Not going to lie, I might butcher that. So, can you teach me? Or do you have a nickname?”

She shoots me a grin. “Nyx is fine. But not where the rest can hear.”

I nod, releasing her wrist.

“Why are you here, Nyx? You clearly don’t like it.”

She blanches. “My mother—”

“They’re blackmailing you over your mother?”

She pulls a face, backing away. I came on too strong.

“Didn’t say that,” she mutters. Nyx melts away, vanishing when I next blink.

Dammit.

I target the powerful shifter next. Those two are the only ones I’m certain don’t want to be here. The rest are harder to read.

The common room hums with low conversation, the soft clink of crystal glasses against marble-topped tables. Plush armchairs and velvet lounges are arranged in perfect symmetry, the whole place exuding a high-end luxury more suited to a five-star retreat than an academy. Not that it matters—none of it makes the stares any less sharp or the muttered insults any quieter. I feel them, pressing in like the weight of the perfumed air.

The wolf shifter is a tall, bulky lad—no, a man. The kind who turns heads when he walks into a room. He radiates raw masculinity, all confidence and cocky grins, but I’ve seen the flicker of doubt beneath it. When he’s called to use his aether in class, his eyes darken with something that looks suspiciously like fear.

I sidle up to him, batting my eyelashes. He doesn’t hesitate, resting a strong hand on my arm and leaning in, his presence as overwhelming as the spice-and-wood scent clinging to his skin. Typical touchy-feely shifter. I swallow my discomfort and inch closer. Chano, Farrell, forgive me.

The thought blindsides me. Farrell?

The shifter’s other hand lands on my thigh.

“How about introductions first?” I ask, linking my fingers with his, stopping the slow creep up my leg.

The shifter flashes me a smile. “Didn’t think I needed an introduction, little lady.” He stands and gives me a half bow. “Thorne, at your service. Ready to service.”

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