Page 80 of Wicked Chains
Hank blinks at me, clearly unconvinced.
I look at my phone and groan. First period starts soon. The thought of sitting through a monotonous lecture on the proper wand movements for transmutation spells is not an attractive one.
"Fuck it," I announce to Hank. “Mental health day,” I declare to him.
“Ribbit.”
I drag myself to the bathroom, and shower quickly, letting the hot water ease some of the soreness from my muscles. The heat feels amazing, and I let my hand drift down, lower and lower, between my legs, touching myself as thoughts of Ash flash through my mind.
I picture what could have happened, if I’d let him catch me. What he might have done to me, face down on the ground in the forest. I think about his strong hands pinning me down, of him taking what he wanted.
I come so quickly I barely have time to realize it.
By the time I'm dressed for the day, I've made up my mind. I'm taking a day off from classes, from Ash, from Helena, from all of it. Just one day to breathe, to get my shit together.
"Coming with?" I ask Hank, who's still sitting on the windowsill.
He croaks once, which I take as a yes, and hops into my hand. I place him gently in my sweater pocket, his usual ride, where he settles in comfortably. We've developed a routine, Hank and I. He seems to like being carried around, watching the world from the safety of my pocket.
The hallways are empty, everyone trapped in classes. I move through them, and it's peaceful, in a way, having the corridors to myself. No stares from other students, just silence, just me.
I wander without purpose, letting my feet take me where they will. Up staircases, down hallways I've never explored before. Serpentine Academy is massive, and I feel like I could roam it for days and still not have seen it all. I pass classrooms where I can hear the murmur of lectures, students' voices answering questions. Normal, college stuff, if you ignore the fact that they're discussing how to properly bind a malevolent entity or the best way to extract essence from a poison flower and use it for spells without killing yourself.
Eventually, I find myself outside the library. I like the library, it’s usually quiet and there are never any other students here. It’s the last place I’d expect to find people like Thorne and Harry, so it feels a little like a safe, peaceful place to spend some time.
I push the door open and slip inside. The library is cavernous, with vaulted ceilings and rows upon rows of bookshelves stretching up two stories. Sunlight comes through tall, narrow windows, casting long rectangles of light across the worn wooden floors. It’s empty of people.
Or so I think until I spot a familiar figure hunched over a pile of ancient-looking books in a secluded corner. Soren, of all people. His dark head is bent over a massive book, one finger tracing lines of text. He looks very studious. Not a word I'd typicallyassociate with the incubus who once told me he considered the library ‘a fantastic space for an orgy, with all those tables. ’I make my way toward him, curiosity overcoming my desire for solitude. Hank shifts in my pocket as if he's also intrigued by this unexpected development.
"Well, well," I say when I reach his table. "Look who's hitting the books instead of hitting on students. The apocalypse must be nigh."
Soren looks up, his dark eyes taking a moment to focus on me, like he's been somewhere far away. Then that familiar smirk spreads across his face, transforming him from serious scholar back to the seductive demon I know.
"Little witch," he drawls. "Skipping class? How deliciously deviant of you."
I gesture to the books spread before him. "What's all this? Erotica? Need a few pointers?“
He laughs. "If only. No, this is decidedly less fun. And if you think I need ‘pointers’ then you’re in dire need of spending a little more time with me, Rose." He closes the book he was reading with a gentle thud. "No, not reading for enjoyment today. But infinitely more valuable in the long run."
"Cryptic," I say. "Very on-brand for you, Soren."
Soren pushes a stack of books aside, creating space at his table. "Join me? Unless you'd prefer a more private venue for our encounter today." His tone is pure suggestion, but there's something off about it. Like his heart isn't quite in the innuendo.
I settle into the chair across from him, running my fingers over the surface of the wooden table. It's carved with initials fromgenerations of students marking their presence. I run my finger over a set that looks particularly old, wondering who J.L. was and if they're still alive. Good chance, if they belonged to the Crescent Moon Coven, courtesy of me and my bloodline.
"So," I say. "Seriously. What are you researching that's important enough to keep you from corrupting the students of Serpentine Academy?"
Soren hesitates, which is new. Soren Malric doesn't hesitate. He seduces, he teases, he provokes. But hesitation implies uncertainty, and uncertainty isn't in his repertoire.
"Ancient magics," he says finally. “Specifically blood contracts.”
"Find anything useful?" I ask, trying not to get my hopes up.
"Nothing you'd like to hear." He taps one long finger against the table. "Blood contracts are notoriously difficult to break without severe consequences for the bound party."
"Great."
Soren studies me with his coal-black eyes. "Why aren't you in class, Rose?"
