Page 29 of Crush
I swallow the lump in my throat, carrying the guilt that this isn’t all for her. Or Savannah, even. It’s like my hatred for Thorne grows each day, the pleasure he gives me only fueling my desire to tear his throne to pieces under his ass. “I’ll let you know what I find out.”
We say our goodbyes and pass through the courtyard without breaking stride, my burns complaining each time my heel hits concrete.
I didn’t mention to Aiko that I’d be with the Societies again tonight. Doing what they want. Answering to their bidding and playing the good, obedient recruit.
But after today and my conversation with Aiko, it’s about time they start answering to mine, too.
13
Ember
Malcolm isn’t home when Dash drops me off at the manor, but I didn’t expect him to be. He went on another trip this morning, having mentioned something about Mexico over his breakfast plate he never puts anything on. I swear, that man must live off coffee and whiskey.
It works in my favor as I drop my bag in the foyer and head to the kitchen in search of snacks to bring up to my bedroom. The cook, Marta, is on her lunch break, but she left some baguettes with ham and brie with a side of sweet gherkins in the fridge.
I smile as I pull out the plate. Dash must’ve informed her I’d be coming home. I may be burned, but none of the wounds have reached my stomach. I make a mental note to thank both of them once I see them.
My phone that I’d stashed in the inside pocket of my blazer vibrates as I set the plate on the counter. I pull it out, check the screen, then freeze.
Malcolm.
I should’ve known. Of course the school would’ve called him.
It’s better to answer than avoid, so I press the phone to my ear with a tentative, “Hi.”
“What happened?”
He’s clipped. Curt. Malcolm’s usual setting after learning I accepted the invitation into the Virtues.
I try out a dismissive, “A hazing gone poorly. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“They marked you?”
I pull my brows in. “What do you mean ‘marked’?”
“A brand? Insignia? Did they use the ritual knife?” He’s talking fast now, demanding facts. I stiffen against his cool interrogation.
“None of the above. Aurora thought it would be funny to spill hot coffee on me in first period. It was freshly brewed and extra painful, but nothing I won’t heal from.”
Malcolm goes quiet, then offers a low, “All right. Good.”
“This is good news to you?”
“Not in the way you think. I was worried … well, never mind. Apparently, their tactics have become less mature than when I attended Winthorpe.”
“And bitchier.”
“Don’t be so sure.” Malcolm clears his throat. “As a Weatherby, I’m surprised they’re not more”—Malcolm pauses as he searches for the right word—“aggressive toward you.”
Concern and suspicion drip from his tone. In a rare moment of honesty, I reply, “They’re toying with me, the prince and princess. They enjoy batting me around, I think.”
“Just be ready when they amplify their methods,” Malcolm warns. “I have a sneaking suspicion Damion will become involved soon, and when that time comes, you must be strong. Centered. Focus on why you decided to run with these godforsaken people in the first place. Agreed?”
That part would be easy. All I needed was a bit more time for them to trust me and to gain access to their tombs, and therefore, their inner workings. And Thorne, shockingly, draws closer to my web the more he can’t resist me.
I’m getting there. I know it.
“Can I ask you one question?” I say in lieu of answering him.