Page 32 of Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals 1)

He’s giving me whiplash.

Everything about him is hot and cold.

I look at his throat and say, “I don’t know.”

“That’s not an answer,” he growls. His hand trails up my arm, the column of my throat, and pinches my chin between his fingers. He jerks my head up and down, then side to side. “Yes or no, Sheep. You should’ve learned that in kindergarten.”

“If I didn’t, it was because you were too damn busy distracting me—”

His fingers tighten, and I suppress a yelp of pain.

He leans in close. “What did you say?”

“We used to be friends,” I say to his ear. It’s all I can bear to look at. And once this word-vomit starts, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop. “You used to be nice. I was taken from my family, and you turned into—”

“Taken away?” he asks, his voice incredulous. “Is that what you call it?”

I meet his stare. “What would you call it?”

“I’d say you threw a goddamn grenade into our lives, Margo. And you never thought about the casualties.”

He releases me, stepping back like I’m on fire. I can’t even move as he walks away from me, down the hall and around the corner.

I sink to the floor, wrapping my arms around my legs. I want to yell at him: I was ten! Had I known the ripple effect that was going to be set off, I wouldn’t have—

Please don’t, his voice whispers.

I hang my head, the answer for his anger finally in front of me.

It’s my fault. It’s always been my fault.

9

Caleb

Arrogant bitch.

She comes into class late, wiping tears from her eyes. Liam throws me a questioning glance, and I glare at him. It’s enough to get him to leave me alone for a minute, and I can go back to watching her.

The teacher gives her grief—and extra homework—and sends her to her seat.

When she sits, she hunkers down low. There’s a cheerleader behind her and one to her left, and they both shift away from her like she’s poison.

Good.

I was actually starting to like her for a second there. A spark of the old Margo had come through, and ten-year-old Caleb had risen to her call. We used to be friends. More than friends. I had our whole life mapped out.

For a while, we were happy, carefree kids.

Inseparable.

I spend the rest of class staring at the back of her head, imagining what’s going on in that little brain of hers. Wondering about the next bomb she’ll drop.

A game. Playing games with her is almost as fun as lacrosse. Kiss her and see when she’ll give in to me. Kiss her enemy and wait for her flinch. Fuck her where—

“Dude,” Liam whispers, elbowing me. “Class is over.”

I shake my head, banishing thoughts. Margo is gone, as is half the class. My best friend is staring at me like I did something fucking wrong, so I grab my bag and stand, leading the way out. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

---