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This is a man who knows what pain is, true pain, and how to inflict it upon others. He could hurt me if he wanted to… and I think he wants to.
This isn’t some high school bully shit. I’m playing in the sandbox while he’s playing with matches and gasoline.
He holds me in place. I claw at his arm to let me go, but I’m no match for his surprising strength.
“You’ve been in this country for five minutes,” he says, his voice low and dangerous. “And you think you’re an expert on our politics? You know nothing.” His nails dig into my cheeks. “People have died for saying less. Do not speak of my father, and do not speak of things you don’t understand.”
I gasp when he shifts his knee between my legs, and for the briefest of moments, his gaze slips down to my parted mouth.
He licks his lips, and my core clenches with need.
What in the actual fuck is wrong with me?
“Stupid little malishka.” He grunts and releases my face with a shove.
It nearly sends me to the ground, but I grip the wall behind me to steady myself.
When I reach up to touch my face, there are indents where he dug his nails into my skin. He storms out of the dining hall without so much as a glimpse back.
Oxygen rushes to my lungs with the first deep, shuddering breath I take. The students begin whispering to one another, casting wide-eyed glances at me. I look away, my cheeks flaming from being put in my place, but blood is pounding in my ears from the adrenaline.
What the hell was that? I’m still clamping my thighs together to stem the desire burning there.
I hate Aleksandr Kurochkin. I hate him, and I’m afraid of him.
But Lord help me. I need to be committed because I’m also turned on by him.
With another shaky breath, I release the wall and cross the hall over to my lunch spot. My appetite is gone, so I throw out my food and take a walk to clear my head.
But damn, these books are heavy.
“Hey, wait!”
When I turn around, Prisha is scurrying out of the dining hall, waving her hand to grab my attention. I wait for her to catch up to me before continuing my walk.
“Thanks for standing up for me,” she says, her voice breathless. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t do it again.”
“That’s a strange way to say thank you.”
“Oh, no, I didn’t mean it to be rude. I just meant you’ve made Prince Alek angry, so you’ll definitely be the Aristocrats’ next target.”
“Hold on, Prince Alek? The Aristocrats?” I stop, and she nearly bumps into me from behind.
“Yeah, that’s what everyone calls him, and the Aristocrats are what we call his group of friends.”
“Well, that’s stupid, and I’m not afraid of Johanna or her friends. And I’m definitely not afraid of Aleksandr—or Alek.”
Which is a big, fat lie.
Prisha’s eyes grow wide. “You should be. If you’re smart, you’ll keep your head down for a while. Let them find a new target.”
“I’ll be fine.” I sigh. “I’m sorry about your glasses.”
“It’s okay, I’ve got an extra pair at home.”
I extend my hand to her, and she takes it. “I’m Willow, by the way. Willow Baker.”
“Prisha Agrawal. We kind of already met.”
