Page 52 of Blood Queen

Everything outside the glass is bigger, brighter, louder than I ever imagined. Cities stretch out in ways I’ve never seen, highways twist and tangle, and the world doesn’t stop moving—not even for a second. It’s overwhelming, but in the best way.

Truman shifts beside me, stretching his long legs into the cramped aisle. “You’re gonna get whiplash staring out the window like that.”

I don’t look away. “I’ve never seen so many buildings in my life.”

His lips twitch. “Wait ‘til you see the campus.”

Right. Thecampus.His college. The place he’s actually supposed to be. Unlike me.

I press my forehead to the cool glass. “You sure I’m not gonna be a problem?”

Truman doesn’t hesitate. “Youarea problem.”

I snap my head toward him, about to fire back, but his eyes are stormy, a devilish grin on his handsome face.

Asshole.

I shove his arm, but he catches my wrist easily, his grip firm, warm. “Truman—”

“You’re my problem, Kid, which is to say no problem at all.”

I swallow hard. He says stuff like that so easily, like it’s justfact.Like I belong to him, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

The bus jerks, the speakers crackling to life.

My stomach flutters.

Truman’s thumb brushes against my pulse. “Ready?”

I nod, even though I’m not sure I’ll ever bereadyfor this.

The campus is beautiful. Paths bisect lovely green lawns. Old brick buildings line the edges. The warm South Carolina sun makes everything glow. The new student orientation leader sits behind a desk outside the registration hall. Truman steps up to him when it’s his turn.

“Name?” the guy asks.

“Truman Biggins.”

The guys scans a list, nods, and grabs a packet.

“Here you go, Truman. Welcome to Kanuga College.” He flashes a grin that’s entirely too chipper and thrusts the folder into Truman’s hands.

“Thanks.”

Truman steps aside and opens the packet. His new student ID flutters to the ground—a terrible photo next to his name and STUDENT printed above in bold letters. He grabs it quickly, glancing around to see if anyone noticed, then stuffs it back inside.

The cover of the packet has a picture of students laughing in front of a fountain. THEY SAY YOUR BEST YEARS ARE AHEAD OF YOU! is splashed across the top in big letters.

“Where to now?” I ask.

He glances around, sees what he’s looking for and nods. “This way.”

Truman’s dorm room is—small.

The room is incredibly tiny. It contains just one desk, a bed that seems almost too short for him, and a well-worn dresser. The window is slim, and the closet is even slimmer. I gaze at the floor for a moment, trying to figure out how to arrange a sleeping area for myself. But it’s his. And now, for as long as I can stay, it’sours.

Setting my bag on the floor first, I drop onto the bed, testing the mattress. “Cozy.”

Truman snorts, unzipping his duffel. “That’s a generous way of putting it.”

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