Page 21 of Bite Me

I should have known she’d make a fuss this week after the news. The blue wisps of her shoulder-length hair dance at her collarbone as she swivels her head matter-of-factly, a subtle wash of cool color that contrasts with the warmth of her blonde hair and golden eyes.

I don’t keep track of what she’s wearing, but I’m confident I’ve never seen that shirt on her, a dusty blue Luxxia top, cut to show her cleavage.

I turn toward the table. “Excuse my rudeness. I’ve got a fan calling.”

“Hey!” she calls as I walk from the dining hall into the castle. Her scent infuses the air. I stare down another vampire who is gawking at her as she flutters over my shoulder like a bird.

How far will this reckless tantrum go? I’d hoped she would just give up and resign herself to volunteer work and the regular curriculum, but she’s the most stubborn person I’ve ever met, and I eat lunch with asshole businessmen every week.

I don’t have to look behind me to know she’s huffing angry, labored breaths. This whole semester of her pestering me has given me a long list of reasons to hate Emma. She doesn’t take no for an answer. Clearly, she’s never been told “no” a day in her life. All semester, she has plagued me, showing up when I wasn’t expecting her and demanding attention. Emma is a beautiful, tempting pest that glides around me with her glitter.

I stop, spinning on my heel, and she nearly stumbles into me again. Her saccharine scent fills my head, making me lean in to chase it. She furrows her eyebrows.

“What part of my proposal made you think it’s now appropriate to talk to me in public?” I scold.

“So it is a secret?” She smiles. “I knew it.”

Up close, I see her hands bunched at her sides, that self-assured pomp and frill decorated with that shimmery eye shadow she loves and the blue bow in her hair. So fragile and breakable, wrapped up into one dynamite package that looks like it wants to tear my face off and wear it.

Instead of taking a sunny stroll out onto the Central Lawn in front of the castle, I take the hall on the left. Surely, she’s paying even the smallest amount of attention to where I, practically a stranger, could be leading her—away from her peers and professors and into the hall that’s undergoing renovation and restoration.

She’s not. She’s following me swiftly, her eyes brimming with energy at my every word. She pays no mind to how quiet it’s getting as we pass fewer and fewer people till it’s completely silent.

“Fine, you want to talk. Let’s talk.” I motion for her to enter the room.

She funnels inside, and I shut the door behind us, leaning back with my arms crossed. This lecture hall has been empty for the last year. Its only use right now is storage for potion ingredients. It’s dimly lit, with the only light coming from the shaded window.

She should be running. Screaming. Something. Doesn’t she get it? Her sister almost died, and she’s still being naive about this place and the type of people who go here. Emma came to my house without a second thought, and now to an empty classroom with no one around to help her.

She’s so reckless. I could hurt her. I won’t, but I could. And people here will.

“I know it’s you who’s keeping me out of the culinary club. I just don’t understand why. My dad told me your grandfather asked about me.”

Shit.

“He’s just worried about your perpetual disappointment. He’s a kind old man.”

I almost can’t get the words out. I can’t think of a more inaccurate way to describe my grandfather.

I step forward, and her heart responds. Her fingers lace around the locket dangling from her neck, but her chin stays pointed. Ready. Defiant.

There it is. That familiar look of hatred in her eyes. It’s what I prefer. What I crave. Finding new ways to get under Emma’s skin is becoming a hobby for me, and it’s so easy. Because I’ve watched her enough over the last few months to know that the thing Emma hates the most is anyone telling her what to do or standing in the way of what she wants. Other than that, she seems to be a model of happiness and pep, but that’s not how she really feels. It takes real effort to be the one with a smile, so nothing hits me with a dopamine rush more than seeing her flush and sigh because that’s real.

“I’ll forget this ever happened if you do. We never have to speak to each other again. Deal?”

“No deal. Actually . . . None of this is why I wanted to talk to you.”

“Oh?”

The corners of her mouth tug into a smile that I know is about to ruin my day.

“I came to find you and tell you I accept. I’ll be your source.”

The mere mention of the possibility has my skin heating. Digging my fingernails into my palm, I compose myself.

“What made you change your mind?”

“The fact that I know you never thought I’d say yes.” She smiles with that self-assured pomp, so proud of herself.