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Chapter Nine
If I’d thought there was a sizzle of unspoken energy between Valen and me the week before, it was only amplified after Saturday night. But after whatever else had happened on Saturday night, it wasn’t just amplified but even more hate-fuelled than it had ever been.
As I walked through the school corridors, he always seemed to be there. Finding any excuse to push past me like I was always in his way. His body clipping my shoulder every time. No explanation. No harsh words. Not even a backwards glance. And I’d know, because I gave him a backwards glance every time. And he never did.
Whether I was in Apollo’s lap and he was sitting across the room from us, his eyes followed me. He tried not to. I could see it in the frustration on his face when I looked at him and saw him watching me. The times he growled as he stood up and swept out of the room, kicking or hitting or throwing something as he went.
I could see Apollo watch him carefully as he went, a question on the tip of his tongue but never asked.
They might have lived life for the decadence and the violence, but there was no denying they cared for each other. They were honestly like brothers, in all but blood. There was a bond between them formed by the knowledge that they had to trust each other, that they were born for each other, that if they had no one else in the world they had each other.
What did it say about me that I was promised to one and pined for the other?
The rest of the week was much the same. The major difference was that the wound on Valen’s cheek went from red to purple to green to yellow. It was the easiest way to keep track of the passing of the days as I tried not to think about him any other way. Reminding myself he was little more than a house-trained animal, living for nothing but the word of his God, was supposed to help me not fantasise about him pressing me into that tree and not being interrupted by Marco. It seemed to do the opposite. The harder I remembered what I hated about Valen, the more I fantasised. The more I saw the want in his eyes when he looked at me.
Confiding in Florence was one thing, but nothing she said could calm the storm Valen had raised in me. By Thursday, I couldn’t go to bed without Valen invading my waking dreams. And the more I fought it, the more he stayed.
So, long after the rest of the school had gone to bed, I could be found in the rec room, my nose in a book as though I was actually reading it. Naturally, I needed to read every word three times and took in maybe one in ten. But it was better than the alternative.
The alternative which had me hearing noises in the middle of the night.
I looked up from the book and saw a shadow by the flickering fireplace. It was barely Autumn, but we were in the mountains and the place was big and draughty.
My heart thudded in my chest as, even though he was only lit by the dance of the dying flames, I recognised him.
“What are you doing here?” I asked softly.
He shrugged and took a step forward. “It’s a free country.”
One sentence and I was already annoyed by him. Annoyed and turned on.
“Only until you get caught.”
“A Kincaid is never caught.”
“No?” I asked, like I had any idea. “Not with Callahan money behind you, I suppose.”
He growled. “And what does that mean?”
“Just that I imagine you can get away with anything when the people paying your bail have deep enough pockets.”
“Kincaids don’t need handouts.”
“No, I’m sure you earn every penny,” I scoffed sarcastically.
“You shouldn’t speak of things you don’t understand, princess,” he warned.
“No? Well maybe someone should fill me in then,” I snapped, standing up. “This princess doesn’t need protecting.”
He strode towards me, fuelled no doubt by anger, to stop a hair’s breadth from me.
“Perhaps it is less about protecting, and more about appearances?” he suggested.
I scoffed again. “Sure. It’s fine that I know the Callahans and Kincaids get up to shady shit, but if I know exactly what it is, I’ll walk. Like I have a choice.”
He pressed me into the wall behind me. His head bowed towards mine. He crowded me without touching me, but I so wanted him to touch me. My skin felt alive, like every nerve was ready, waiting and willing to be the first to register his touch.
“You might forgive a lot, princess, but there are some things you might not.”
