A Year of Love Read online

  “I don’t want to shift. Hold this.” I flip the empty whiskey bottle in their direction.

  Bodhi catches it then curses as he reaches for my arm. “Rune! Don’t be stupid!”

  I dive off the building.

  The Cobra, The Bad, and The Asshole

  Everly

  I thought I was alone inside the planetarium building.

  Wrong.

  “We’re not killing someone just because they looked at you crossways, Evan,” says a deep male voice from the hallway.

  Another voice replies, rough and gravelly. “All it would take is a dagger in the heart, then pop he’s gone. No one would even notice.”

  My eyes flare. Dagger? WTF.

  The first voice speaks again. “His clan would notice. Then we’d have a whole new set of problems.”

  “I’m just glad you care I want to kill,” he replies gruffly. “Six months ago, you tried to bite it. Next time pick a bigger skyscraper.”

  “I caught myself on a balcony,” mutters the first voice again, a bit exasperated.

  “Fifty floors down” is the sharp retort from a new voice.

  Sounds like three people, maybe more.

  A line of tension ripples over me as I stuff the last bite of my peanut butter and jelly sandwich into my mouth. I came here to be alone, under the radar. It’s the only way to avoid the gangsters (like these dudes), drug dealers, and mean girls.

  My spine straightens as I hear their heavy footsteps approaching. I grab the remainder of my lunch, scurry away from the desk at the front of the darkened planetarium, dash to the middle row, and duck down. The black seats, combined with the dim lighting, hopefully hide me. I briefly consider running out the side exit, but there’s a fire alarm lever there, and the last thing I want to do is draw attention to myself.

  The tread of three sets of military-style boots hits the carpet as they walk down the main aisle to the left and to the front. Peeking under the rows, I watch as they head straight to the desk where I was eating. I bite chapped lips realizing I left my half-eaten pear and water.

  Forget that.

  My body freezes in fear when I recognize who they are: Rune, Bodhi, and Evan. Don’t know their last names and won’t ask. There’s an invisible forcefield around them as they walk around our campus, a Don’t approach me vibe that everyone gets. Except for the women. They flutter around them like beautiful butterflies, especially Bodhi, the one who has an eye for blondes.

  Flirty and handsome, he’s an Adonis type, tall with tawny hair and a slick smile. He dresses up his school uniform by rolling the sleeves of his black blazer and showing off his silver bracelets. His red pants are usually split at the hems and have rips throughout. But the best part, my favorite part—and I mean this wholeheartedly—is the dark kohl eyeliner around his turquoise eyes.

  I see behind his veneer though. He’s beautiful but deadly, like a cobra who charms you then strikes. I saw him beat the shit out of four guys on the quad once. Whoever his rich parents are, they must carry a ton of clout here because no one stepped in. On the other hand, I’ve observed him at the indoor pool, sneaking off to the locker room with a girl—or three. I’ve dubbed him The Cobra.

  And Evan.

  A puff of air comes from my lips as I peek at him. Dear God, menace rolls off him in waves. Tall and lean, his tongue is pierced, his head shaven, his skin starkly pale as if he hates the sun. His eyes are black and currently narrowed into slits. And those fluttering butterflies? They fear him. Ah, he’s the one who wants to knife someone…I call him The Bad.

  Rune is their leader, the one they gravitate around. I wonder what they did to be sent here to school. Because Crystal Lake certainly isn’t normal. Nope. This is a school for people who don’t (or can’t) fit in anywhere else.

  It’s the most dangerous place I’ve ever been—and I’ve seen some shit in my life.

  I’ve heard them call each other brother, and maybe they’re triplets. There is a similarity about them. They move the same way, their steps in sync, the dangerous sway of their shoulders identical. They even have the same accent. It’s not British or French or anything I’ve ever heard, but a blend of everything, all mashed up into a smooth, lilting cadence.

  About six five, Rune is the biggest with silky, raven-colored hair that’s shaved in the back but longer around his face, the front cut into sharp angles that frame his jawline. His lips are a soft pink and pillowy, a direct contradiction to how that mouth sneers.

  His eyes are green, his lashes black, extravagant, and magnificent—if you like cold beauty. He wears his uniform as if it barely fits him, the shoulders tight in his leather jacket, his pants nearly bursting at the seams around his thigh muscles. I bet they had to make a special order for him.

  I call him The Asshole.

  I’ve only ‘met’ him once. In our class on the first day I arrived, he walked over to me, did a circle around me as if I were prey, heaved out a heavy sigh of disappointment, and sneered the word Human at me then stalked away. Of course I’m human!

  He picks up my pear, frowning at it. A flash of something dark ripples over his face.

  “What? You’re hungry now?” Bodhi says.

  Rune’s lips tighten into his familiar snarl. “It’s not browned. Someone was here. In our territory.”

  Three bodies simultaneously stiffen and pivot to do a survey of the planetarium.

  “Looks clear to me,” Evan says. “Might have been the wolves or the reds—”

  Alex cuts him off with a hand as he takes a long breath in. “Smell anything?”

  “Yeah—peanut butter,” says Bodhi in a bored tone, but I sense his lethal gaze sweeping the auditorium.

  “Do a check, Evan,” Rune orders.

  Evan stalks up the aisle, tossing his knife—dagger—up and down in the air, catching it by the handle. I slide further down, pressing my back to the floor. Currently, I’m halfway in the aisle of the row and halfway under the chairs in front of it. I need to be under the chair all the way. I shove hard, and a metal piece that’s attached to the floor snags on my jacket. Holding my breath, I jerk it and inch under the seat. Pain ripples through my arm as the metal piece scrapes my skin.

  “Not one soul,” Evan says with a sigh. “I’m disappointed.”

  I swallow.

  I can’t see them now, except for their shoes, but I hear Rune.

  “Alright. Let’s head for class. We’ll meet at the barn tonight.”

  I crane my neck, watching as they stomp up the aisle then exit.

  My lashes flutter in relief. I give them three minutes to exit the building, counting the moments in my head.

  I inch my way out from under the chairs. My legs are shaky as I crawl to the end of the row and stand up, blinking to adjust to the overhead lights that have just been flicked on.

  A gasp escapes me as Rune appears at the entrance. He looms as he walks down the main aisle, his face impossible to read. One thing is clear: He does not look like a college student. Sure, he’s around my age, early twenties, but there’s an edge to him. He’s a beautiful angel of darkness. My breath hitches. Why would I think that?

  He stops in front of me, that familiar curl of disappointment evident on his face as he takes me in. “I knew someone was here.”

  He rakes his gaze over me, drifting over the rip in my jacket, down to my skirt, then back to my face. He touches the blood on my arm, and I watch in shock as he sniffs it, his forehead furrowing with disgust.

  I flinch away from him, backing away, but he follows.

  “Never come in here again,” he bites out. “I can’t stop Evan if he finds you. I think you know that.”

  Yeah. I’ve caught the hungry, lingering gazes from the gangs here—not just Rune’s boys. Have I mentioned how much I hate this place?

  “Other people come for classes. So what?” I snap.

  “No, they don’t. This building is ours.”

  Oh. I assumed classes were held here, but this building is a bit run-dow
n and there was a layer of dust on the podium at the front—

  “And stop eating pears,” he mutters.

  “I like pears.” Dick.

  He levels cold but brilliant green eyes at me. A glacier resides there. I imagine I see something ethereal, a multi-layered yearning to…

  Kill me?

  “I can end you with one touch. You’re nothing but a speck. A fly. A piece of dirt on my shoe. Annoying and useless. You live for a heartbeat then turn to ash, girl.” He snaps his fingers. “Did you hear that? That was you being born, then dying.”

  My mouth gapes. There’s so much to unpack there (his anger, why he speaks as if I’m going to die tomorrow), but I choose to get hung up on girl. I’m twenty one years old, plus, my uncle called me ‘girl’ with the same venom and—

  I suck in a sharp breath. Shit, Rune’s bending down to me, our noses only a few inches apart.

  Several moments pass. Little puffs of air slip out through my parted lips as I try to gain control of my fear and dig deep…

  From somewhere inside me, defiance flares bright and shiny. “What can you do to me that hasn’t already been done?”

  He laughs, but there’s no mirth in it. “So brave. So stupid.” He pushes a finger to the middle of my chest. “Listen to me. You’ll never come here again.”

  Okay, I get it. Obviously, they meet here to fight or sell drugs or fuck or whatever. My own lip curls. “I’ll come when I want.” I shove his hand away from me.

  He glares at me then rocks on his heels, seeming to come to a decision. “Damn, I really hate to do this but… What’s your name?”

  “I’m in your class!”

  “Name?” he growls.

  “You sit across from me!”

  “Name. Now.” There’s power in his voice, rich and luscious as it wraps around me.

  My teeth grit as the compulsion to answer him hits me right in the head. “Everly,” I gasp out as I fight the tightness in my mind.

  “Everly?”

  I nod jerkily.

  “Whole name.”

  I don’t want to tell him my entire name—

  “Everly Marissa Anderson, social security number 210-78-9901, room number 914 in Wilson Dorm. Home address is 592 Quail Ridge in Brooklyn, New York. My boyfriend’s name is Benny.” My eyes flare and I clap a hand over my mouth.

  “Is he here?”

  I shake my head.

  “Speak,” he orders, power rippling through the air.

  “He’s in Brooklyn.”

  “Do you know what you are—because I sure as fuck can’t figure out why you’re here.”

  “I’m a woman.”

  He chews on his bottom lip, and for a moment it makes him appear vulnerable. “How did you get into Crystal Lake? Was your ancestry—something not human?”

  Good God. My heart thuds. He’s a wacko.

  “Be a good girl and tell me everything about your background,” he demands.

  My lashes flutter. Emotion pricks my eyes at the vague memories I have of my beautiful mother, her sweet smile, her comforting nature. Before I realize it, a lone tear has fallen down my face.

  “She died when I was a small.”

  He stares at me, then wipes at my face with his thumb, his face implacable. “Everly Marissa Anderson, tell me why you’re at this school.”

  I don’t know!

  I press my thumb nails into my index fingers viciously, needing pain to push his compulsion away. I feel a trickle of blood on my hands. It’s a trick—create pain to make other pain go away. It’s a defense mechanism I used while my uncle lashed my back with his whip. Good girls avoid the carnal. Good girls don’t stink up the house with perfume. Your mother was a whore and so are you.

  “Where did you go?” he asks, frowning when I don’t reply. His green eyes bore into mine, and wow, lightning sparks flare in his irises.

  I press even harder into my skin.

  “Forget this happened,” he says in a lulling murmur. “Forget me and Evan and Bodhi. You never saw us or heard anything.”

  I blink.

  He gives me a dismissive wave. “Go to class or wherever you’re supposed to be.”

  To hide my expression, I bend my neck and stare at his black boots, my head tumbling.

  Did he just try to hypnotize me into forgetting? Oh, girl, he did hypnotize you—you told him your SSN and a whole bunch of other stuff. But I’m free of his power now.

  I shift around him to get to the exit. Our shoulders brush and I catch his scent: leather, pine, and male, a gorgeous musk that makes my mouth water.

  I pause when he grabs my arm and stares into my eyes.

  “Oh, and you don’t like pears anymore.”

  Dude has some serious issues with fruit. I nod and scoot away hurriedly.

  I don’t see him watching me the entire way up the aisle, but I know he is.

  Beware the Ides of March

  Everly

  I shut off the shower nozzle and shiver. I’ve yet to experience hot water in this hellhole. Wrapping my towel around me, I slide the flimsy plastic curtain aside and pad out of the cubicle wearing flip-flops to avoid the stains on the concrete floor. Dark brown, faded, and rusty, they make a person think about blood, like someone was murdered.

  Oh, wait, someone was.

  Supposedly, a girl went to this bathroom, and all they found of her was some blood and her clothes. After searching the twenty-five acres of campus for weeks, they came up with nada. No one saw or heard a thing.

  Was she dragged down seven flights of stairs (silently) then taken outside?

  Maybe they buried her in the woods.

  Perhaps she was tossed off the mountain. Or into the lake.

  My eyes trace the gray stone walls, the row of dingy sinks, the smudged stained glass windows on the westerly wall, the cobwebs in the corners of the tall black ceiling.

  They built this school to look like a Gothic castle. From the administration offices to the dorms, the architecture has sharp towers, cavernous spaces, arched windows, and flying buttresses. Definitely gives off a creepy vibe.

  And she stood in this very bathroom.

  Taking a deep breath, I push that aside and slide on panties, black joggers, and a baggy sweatshirt. I’m toweling my hair dry when the metal pipes on the back wall clang and growl.

  Bang! Grrrrr!

  Along with it, a low laugh reverberates—dark and male.

  Goose bumps skate over my skin just as the laugh stops with the plumbing. My hands press against my chest as I wait for the sound again, but there’s nothing but drip, drip, drip from the stalls. Several long moments go by as I stand poised, ready to fight or flee.

  Pipes can make weird noises.

  Looking for my toiletries, I grab my duffle off the wooden bench, and my foot presses on the metal drainage grate in the floor. When it squeaks, I scream.

  Jesus!

  I should have known better than to shower at midnight, but I couldn’t sleep, turning the encounter in the planetarium over and over in my head. Rune. Ugh.

  How did I end up here? I wanted to attend NYU at eighteen, but my uncle refused. Instead, I worked for him and took online classes, always under his watchful gaze. They stayed upstairs and I stayed in the basement.

  Then, five months ago, I woke up in a strange bed with no clue how I’d gotten to Crystal Lake Academy.

  Someone drugged me then put me on a plane and delivered me. Had Uncle found out about my relationship with Benny? Was this his punishment?

  All I knew for sure was that I was in the middle of nowhere.

  Could be Canada. Could be Antarctica.

  It’s not the Caribbean.

  That first day, I walked out of my dorm room in a daze, and a passing student took pity on me and pointed me to the headmaster’s office.

  I barely recall Headmaster Kelly’s words as I sat slumped in a chair, although You’re here for a while was clear.

  I brush my teeth then stare at myself in the cracked mirror abo
ve the sink. My blue eyes have shadows under them, and my lips are thin as if holding banked emotion. Through my clothes, my hipbones are sharp, my collarbone thrusting out of my chest. I’ve lost weight before—and gained it—mostly because it was something in my life I could control, but I’ve never been this emaciated. I’ve been eating. I have. Some. But nothing sticks.

  A sharp pain knifes into my stomach just as a hot flash ripples over my skin. I gasp for air. I need my meds, the ones my aunt and uncle gave me daily, but whoever packed my duffle when they kidnapped me didn’t put them in there. Maybe I can talk to the school nurse—

  A flash of a shadow appears behind me in the mirror, and I whip around as fear grips my chest.

  “Who’s there?” I yelp.

  Fumbling around on the sink, I grab my glasses and shove them on.

  Silence greets me. An empty room. What the hell? This shit is too real.

  I dash out the door, holding out my toothbrush. Mental note: whittle it into a shiv ASAP. Hitching my duffle over my shoulders, I run down the hall then up two flights of stairs to the ninth floor. I’m panting as I open the creaking door that leads to my hall.

  “Late night?” a deep voice asks, and I reel back from the man who’s appeared out of nowhere.

  Even outside of class, he’s wearing tailored slacks and a thick, cream fisherman sweater that looks posher than anything I’ve ever owned. Leather loafers are on his feet, buffed to a fine sheen.

  “P-Professor Wells. What are you doing in the girls’ dorm?”

  A handsome man with soft sandy-blond hair, he lowers his head to consider me, capturing me with piercing pale blue eyes, otherworldly, eerie eyes—

  Stop.

  Not freaky.

  But, come on. After I saw sparks in Rune’s eyes?

  “Good evening, Miss Anderson. Tsk, tsk, curfew was at midnight. Do I need to write you up?”

  I’ve heard about detention. It’s a stone cell in the basement with no furnishings or heat. The Hole.