Page 62 of The Queen
They don’t say a word, but they don’t need to. Their presence alone speaks volumes, a wall of solidarity against whatever Peters thinks he can throw at me. The air is thick with tension, like the moment before a storm breaks, charged and waiting for a spark.
“Looks like your little party has arrived,” Peters sneers. He knows he’s outnumbered, outmatched in strength and numbers, but he is still Vice-Chancellor here, and even to us, that means something.
“Never left,” Raph states, ignoring me, which tells me how pissed he is. But fuck it. I’m not an idiot who needs saving every second of the day. I could take Peters down with my eyes closed, and he knows it. That would, however, be grounds for expulsion, and there isn’t a chance in hell I’m giving this up now it’s mine. He knows it. I know it, and the guys know. So, we remain in a status of check, but that’s fine by me.
Peters glares, the standoff reaching its boiling point as he goes through his options. Beating on students, even if they can kick your ass, is considered bad form, and well, he knows my dad would be out for blood if he laid even a finger on me. So he steps back, one calculated retreat, knowing he’s already lost this round.
“Goodnight, Eliza.” Somehow, he makes those two simple words sound threatening.
As he disappears into the shadows, I turn to face James, Oliver, Tarquin, and Raphael. They’re all looking at me, annoyance all over their hard faces, but I shake my head ever so slightly, telling them without words that I’m not worried about Peters.
“Don’t do that again,” Raph mutters.
“What?”
“Leave without telling us,” James explains.
“I didn’t leave, I came out for a breather.”
“Breather or not, you should have told us.” Raphael’s words are a growl, his body a coiled spring ready to defend.
“Okay, okay, I get it,” I concede, stepping closer to them, leaving a trail of quick, soft kisses on their cheeks. “I’m sorry for worrying you, but it’s getting a bit much in there.”
“Agreed,” James mutters as Oliver nods.
“Even for you?” I ask him with a laugh, his grey eyes lighting up.
“Not a massive fan of crowds. They make me edgy, and I hate being edgy. I like to be chill.”
“Same,” I murmur, eyes on his lips, which sets sexual energy bouncing around us.
Raphael wraps an arm around my waist, his hard body pressed against mine. He hisses softly as I turn and wrap my arms around him.
“I knew it,” I snap, poking him in the chest. “It’s worse than you’re making out.”
“I’m fine,” he grits out. “Won’t slow me down.”
“Yeah, I know that, and that’s what worries me,” I say, bordering on being stern with him.
“And that’s how I felt when I knew you were injured.”
“Well, gee, when you put it like that.” I roll my eyes, and he smirks. “I’ll leave you to it, but if I see you flinching or hissing again, you’re side-lined.”
“You don’t get to side-line me,” he says, with a touch of danger that sends sparks of dark lust flickering over my nerves.
“Wanna bet?”
He takes a step closer, trapping me between his body and the cold stone wall. “Wanna try?” he teases, his voice low and husky.
Our eyes lock, the challenge clear between us, and I can feel my heart pounding wildly. Tarquin watches us with an amused smirk. James’s expression is unreadable but intense, and Oliver has that look in his eye—the one that tells me he’s ready to pounce if given half a chance.
The night air is crisp, but the fire that Raphael stokes in my soul overshadows any chill. His fingers bunch in my dress and inch upwards. I lean into him, our lips hovering inches apart—an invitation, a promise.
“Careful,” I whisper, breathless with anticipation. “You’re playing with fire.”
Raphael’s grin widens. “You know I can handle the heat,” he replies before closing the gap between us.
His lips are firm against mine as the kiss deepens, hungry and filled with pent-up tension. James clears his throat loudly, a reminder that we’re not alone. Pulling back slightly, Raphael’s hand remains on my thigh. His eyes still fixed on mine.
