Page 17 of Wicked Bonds
Asshole. I swing my legs over the edge, clutching the covers like they’re the last thing between me and my doom, which is entirely possible considering I’m alone in a room with a demon. Why the hell would they employ an incubus in a school? “I’m not most witches. Now get the hell out.”
He leans in, his shadow stretching long across the floor. “I’ll leave,” he says, “but you should know, you taste like nothing I’ve ever sampled before.” He looks at me with an honesty that’s somehow more invasive than everything else he’s done. “It’s addictive. You’re addictive.”
“Terrific,” I say, refusing to blink. “Go be addicted somewhere else.”
He doesn’t move. Instead, he studies my face. “You’re scared,” he says, softer now. “But not of me.”
I bristle. “I’m not scared.”
“You can lie to yourself, Rose, but don’t try it with me.”
I don’t dignify that with a response. I stare him down until he sighs, rolling his eyes like I’ve disappointed him.
“You think the witches are the worst thing here? Or the vampires?” He shakes his head. “You have no idea, do you?”
“What I know is that I don’t need you crawling into my head.”
He shrugs, unashamed. “I’ll make you a deal.”
I’m listening, though I wish I wasn’t.
“I won’t touch your dreams again,” he says. “Not unless you ask. But you have to promise something.”
I feel a prickle at the back of my neck. “And that is?”
He leans in close enough that I can see the ring of gold around his black iris, the not-quite-human sliver that makes my lizard brain want to sprint for the hills. “Promise you’ll come to me if things get bad. If you’re in trouble. If it’s more than you can handle. Not the headmistress. Not Lucien.”
For a second I think he’s joking, but his mouth is dead serious. I don’t like the implication that I’m going to need his help, but I like the idea of him in my brain even less.
I’m about to tell him exactly where to shove it when my door slams open, nearly pulling off the hinges.
Lucien. He fills the doorway in a sweep of black coat and icy rage, fangs already down and eyes glowing like red embers. His gaze snaps to Soren instantly. “Get. Out.”
Soren puts his hands up. “Relax, L. We were just negotiating a truce.”
Lucien’s voice is hard. “Now.”
Soren’s mouth curls. “You know, you starred in her dream too. I didn’t even have to improvise.” He winks at me. “You should see yourself through her eyes.”
Lucien’s expression dares Soren to keep going, and for a second I think he’s going to cross the room and strangle the demon with his bare hands. Soren just laughs.
“I’ll see myself out.” Soren drops an elaborate bow and flicks me a finger wave. “Until next time, Rose.” He stops in the hall. “You should try being less repressed, old man. It’s giving you wrinkles.”
Lucien watches him go, the veins in his neck standing out. For a second, just a second, I see something savage under the surface. Not the smooth, bored mask. The real him. I should be afraid. I’m not.
“Are you alright?” he says, finally turning to me.
I consider lying. “No,” I say. “But I’m getting used to that.”
Lucien’s gaze drops to the blanket I’m holding around myself. “Soren is… difficult to guard against.”
“Is this supposed to be normal?” I jab a finger at the door. “He walks into my dreams, feeds off me?—”
“He could have done worse.”
“Great. I’ll put that on my gratitude journal.” Sleeping on a park bench is starting to look more appealing, I should have taken my chances with rapists and muggers.
“Soren feeds from willing subjects.” He tilts his head, assessing me the way a butcher might a side of beef. “You weren’t hurt. He didn’t take more than you could spare.”
