Page 25 of The Knight

"So?"

"I'm supposed to escort you around campus after dark if we're out together." I stare at him, jaw slack; he looks just as unhappy about this as I feel. "Lukas insisted."

"I didn't think you did what other people say."

"Like I said, he insisted. And I promised."

"So?"

"I don't break my promises. Especially to friends. Even more especially to Lukas."

I blink at him, wondering if I'm seeing a side of Blake Woo Bin Lee no one else has seen except maybe his closest friends and family. Here I thought that the angry, out of control version of him from that video I received was the deepest revelation of him I'd ever get, but now I'm finding out that he keeps his promises.

Still, I chafe at the thought of being nannied around campus, especially by the Elites. "You don't have to. The entire campus is under security. And just because it's dark doesn't mean it's dangerous."

Blake's jaw flexes, and I get the sense that he's grinding his teeth in frustration. Pushing an errant strand of hair out of his eyes, he stares me down the way someone normally stares down a vexing problem. "I'm going with you. That's final."

"Fine," I snap. "See if you can keep up."

"With those short legs of yours? I'll be fine. Where to, Miss Daisy?"

Shaking my head, I wonder how it ever happened that we kissed in the haunted house. It seemed inevitable at the time, like two flames meeting each other and doubling, our rage mirroring and joining together to grow. Now, though, even though he's still impossibly handsome, like a statue more than anything, all he does is frustrate and irritate me—especially when he takes the stairs with me and goesjustfast enough that I can't keep up, until I'm following him instead of him following me.

"You know," I call out as he puts enough space between us for an entire sedan, "I'm pretty sure this isn't what Lukas had in mind when he asked you to escort me around campus. If someone stabbed me, would you even turn around and notice?"

Looking over his shoulder, he pierces me with his brown eyes. "I would notice, Brenna."

It's like lightning has struck again, coating my skin in a thin layer of energy. My name—something happens to me when these boys say my name, as if they've summoned me and are pulling gently on my strings. I find myself walking towards Blake, who stands still for me to catch up, drawn towards him even as I wonderwhy.

There are so many boys who are better.

None of them look at me like they know the dark secret deep inside my heart, and not only understand it, but share it. No one—not even wild, angry, larger-than-life Cole Masterson himself—has that same level of darkness. That desire not just to watch the world burn, but be the one who set it on fire.

"Well?" He arches a brow again. "Where to?"

"I don't know," I say, blushing a moment later as I realize what an idiot I sound like. "I guess I should probably work on my final art project, but it's already so dark out. I kind of just want a mug of hot cocoa and to curl up by a fire."

If I felt like an idiot before, the feeling intensifies right now as I realize what I've just said and who I've said it to. Blake Lee doesn't care about my feelings. He's not interested in finding out what I want or if I'm craving something. Like a little boy with a magnifying glass, aiming it at ants, he just wants to see me burn.

"Let's go get you a cup of cocoa, then."

Shock ricochets through me. Staring at Blake, I feel my lips part and my mouth open. He said it so casually, so easily, like we weren't just screaming at each other in the rain two nights ago, as if I never tried to destroy him—or him me.

"You can't be serious."

Raising a brow, he looks at me. "Do I look like Tanner?"

"I—no. What does that have to do with anything?"

"I don't joke." Clearing his throat, he says, "We're stuck together. Until January at least. So if it makes my life easier, let's get you some hot chocolate. Maybe then you'll stop trying to stab me in the back every time it's turned in your direction."

"I didn't—you have to be friends with someone to stab them in the back. If you don't trust them it doesn't count. So technically I stabbed you in the front."

"That's splitting hairs. Come on."

He holds out his elbow towards me, and the only thing more shocking than the gesture is the fact that I loop my hand around his arm, the wool of his jacket warm against my bare skin. We stroll down the sidewalk together, and with each step I feel like I must be having some kind of a stroke, because there's no way this could be real.

Blake Lee is a scorpion, not a prince.

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