Page 5 of Merciless Prince
“Sorry,” I said, mind still racing to find something to say. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about my bracelet.”
“What bracelet?”
I sat up straighter and jerked a thumb in the direction of Beaumont Island. “The one I lost, remember? The silver one.”
I lost it on the night of the party, in the cave below the island castle. Just as my friends and I decided to leave so that we didn’t disturb the film shoot and piss off all the people down in the grotto, the clasp on my bracelet snapped, and it flew off my wrist and landed on the ground near the massive stone altar.
I couldn’t run down to retrieve it because my friends and I were worried that the movie people would be mad at us for crashing their project, so we ran away before they could see us, forcing me to leave the bracelet behind.
Cori’s forehead wrinkled for a few seconds as she followed my gaze to Beaumont Island. Then she nodded. “Oh, that’s right. It was the one your parents got you, wasn’t it?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m sorry. I totally forgot about that.” She squeezed my arm and gave me a sympathetic half-smile. “I wish you could get it back.”
I sighed. “Me too. But I guess I should forget about it. It’s broken, anyway.”
“You could always get a replacement. It was from Tiffany, right?” Cori said. “I know it won’t be the same one, but it’ll look the same, and that counts for something.”
I nodded and murmured my agreement as the train finally pulled out of Beaumont Bridge Station. Seven minutes later, we pulled into our stop.
Bellingham Station was crowded and humming with energized chatter. Everyone was either returning to the nearby campus or arriving for the first time.
“I’ll organize a ride for us if you go and get our cases,” Cori said, jerking a thumb toward the taxi stand near the parking lot. “If all the cabs are taken, I’ll book an Uber. That might actually be cheaper.”
I nodded. “Sure. I don’t mind either way.”
She took off, and I turned to head down the platform in the opposite direction. Our luggage was resting in a private car at the very back of the train, along with everyone else’s.
Dozens of people were headed in the same direction as me, and I could see dozens more already milling around the luggage section, but I didn’t rush. The train always stopped for longer at Bellingham to allow students enough time to get all their bags out, so I wasn’t worried about it leaving before I could grab my luggage.
I tilted my chin upward to catch some sunlight on my face as I sucked in a deep breath of sweet country air. The movement wasn’t as refreshing as I hoped it would be, though, because I promptly smacked right into another person.
I lifted my palms. “Sorry, I wasn’t looking…”
My voice trailed off as I realized who I was talking to. It suddenly felt as if my mouth had been filled with wads of cotton wool.
The wall of muscle I’d just bumped into was Killian Knight, grandson of Raymond Knight. I’d met him during Raymond’s party and briefly flirted with him after we reached for the same canapé. He asked for my number toward the end of our conversation, but he never ended up calling me.
To be honest, I was quite relieved about that.
It wasn’t because I didn’t find him attractive. He was totally my type. In fact, I could safely say he was everyone’s type—breathtakingly handsome with deep blue eyes, thick coal-black hair, and a square jaw that could probably cut glass. He was tall and broad-shouldered, too, and he carried himself with the sort of confidence that only someone who’d known every possible advantage since birth could possess.
The obvious cockiness and entitlement wasn’t a problem for me. I could deal with that. The problem was the fact that Killian was one of the people I recognized down in the creepy grotto that evening, only an hour or so after we flirted at the party. He was also the one who issued the chilling order for the man on the altar to be stabbed to death.
None of it was real; I knew that. It was just a movie. But still… Killian creeped me out when I looked at him now. Maybe it was just my silly paranoia rearing its ugly head again, but there was something hard and menacing in his eyes that made me think he might be capable of hurting someone in real life.
Or maybe I was just projecting my hurt feelings onto the guy. I kept telling myself that I wasn’t bothered over the fact that he never called me, and that I actuallywantedit that way, but I had to admit… a small part of me was definitely a little bitter. Rejection never felt good, even if you’d totally convinced yourself that the guy who rejected you was an arrogant asshole who possibly hunted humans for sport.
I wasn’t sure what I expected, though. Killian was a rich, handsome player. He probably asked for ten other girls’ numbers on the night we met, and I simply didn’t make the cut for the top two or three he deigned to sleep with for a few weeks afterwards.
He probably didn’t even remember me now.
“Sorry,” I said in a low murmur, finally summoning the ability to speak again.
“It’s you,” Killian said, eyes glinting as he smoothed his jacket. He cocked his head slightly to the side. “You’re at Bellingham now?”
Okay, I was wrong. He did remember me.
