Page 43 of The Blackened Blade

His dark hair falls onto his face as he moves closer. He brushes it away, freeing his piercing blue eyes as he grits out‘Move’once more.

I take another slow bite of my sandwich as he pulls out, what I assume, is his pocket knife, and glares down toward me.

“Haven’t we already been through this?” I meet his eyes just as they narrow at me. “Do you own every seat in this school…”A glint of recognition sparks in his eyes as his hand freezes, “Or do you just like the ones I sit on?”

His eyes widen a fraction before a slow grin stretches his lips.

“Right, the crazy chick from English.”

My eyes slightly widen. Who was he to be calling me crazy? I wasn’t the one whipping a blade out over seating arrangements. Also it was World History, not English.

His hand flicks his blade away and places it in his back pocket.

Guess he wasn’t feeling stabby today.

He pulls the seat in front me out and sits down. “And it's the opposite, Little Red. You're the one inmyspace.”

LittleRed?Was he callingmethat?

I take another bite of my sandwich, finishing it before I speak.

“I don't see your name here.”

His grin turns into something almost deranged, his teeth glistening as he raises a brow. “That so? I’ll have to fix that.”

He taps his long fingers on the table, his eyes watching my every move as if seeing something interesting and fun.

I take a crispy fry from my plate and continue eating. I’d get nothing from talking to someone so half-baked.

Just as I’m biting into another fry, his hand reaches toward my plate and fries. My own hand automatically darts forward. His large hand freezes, the small metal fork just millimetres from his fingertips.

I narrow my gaze toward his fingers.

“Get your own.” His eyes widen for a brief second before he breaks out laughing.

His laugh is deep and husky, sending a slight shiver down my spine with the timbre of it. It puts me in a daze for a moment as the rest of the room falls silent.

His laugh dies off as he turns back toward me, a glint in his eye as our gaze meets again. The grin spreading his lips has my toes curling and something moving lower down my spine.

He bends in closer, his smokey scent hitting me. “Don’t like sharing, Red?”

His words pull me out of whatever trance I was in.

I shake my head. “Not my food.”

“So, crazyandpossessive. Not qualities most normies want in their partners, Red.” He shakes his head leaning in toward me. “Personally though, I think a little crazy every now and then is healthy. And being possessive…” His eyes gloss over a little as he pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, “It’s sexy as fuck having a woman stake her claim on shit, especially if it gets bloody.”

A tray from a server falls to the floor behind the food table. It has the both of us turning around and pulling us from our own little world.

I sigh. What was I even doing listening to this guy? He was clearly more than a little crazy and volatile, whipping out blades and barking orders for someone sitting in a seat.

So why was I staying and listening?

Why did I not take my food and just leave? Was it because I was stubborn and liked my spot? Or because the only conversations I had with other people were ones insulting or humiliating me?

Or was I craving communication to the point that I was actuallyenjoyinghis company?

While I’m lost in my own thoughts, his hand suddenly flicks forward so quickly that I miss the movement completely.

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