Page 27 of Liar
Badly.
Cringing, I push through the giant mahogany doors into the cafeteria, almost a building in itself with its large stations ranging from farm-to-table food, cook your own, allergen and gluten-free, kosher, and a cafe & sweets. Many other stations spear up from the crowd of students, all with trays and chatting freely with their friends as they pick out food.
With the dive my stomach’s taken, I navigate to the soup station, settling on lentil and spinach soup with a warm tea to drink. Balancing them on my tray, I twist toward the historical area. It’s a half-square of old trophies and photos with a few armchairs in the center, rarely occupied by students due to it practically vomiting sheer boredom.
“Ember!”
The voice draws me up short. Standing in the midst of scurrying students, I search for the source.
“Ember!” it says again. “Over here!”
A hand shoots up and flutters in a wave at one of the tables on the left. I follow the curve down to the shoulder, then the perfectly styled blonde head.
Savannah smiles at me, her hand still in the air, beckoning.
My fingers tighten on my tray. I can’t seem to make my feet move immediately. I’m too busy studying her face, searching for the same guilt that must be clearly displayed on mine.
Her skin has a healthy sheen, her cheeks flushed with the exertion of being back and sitting among friends. Her hair is pinned back on both sides of her face with clips that catch the light and sparkle when she moves. Her uniform is impeccably tailored, the fabric bright with newness. I’d forgotten she was kidnapped while wearing her school uniform. I wonder if the previous one is soiled, if she was kept in it for long, or if it contains way too many memories for her to even acknowledge that she’s wearing a brand new uniform two sizes smaller.
I remember Savannah stuck in the crypt with me, asking, soft and tremulous, “Can you turn around? I’ve been avoiding the girls’ lockers and dressing in the headmistress’s office…”
Savannah angles her head, her brown eyes warm and inviting. “Are you coming over?”
I snap out of it. “Sure.”
It’s easy to blend in with the other milling students until I reach her table. She pats the empty seat next to her, but my eyes slide over to the occupied seat on Savannah’s other side. Aiko’s there, her eyes downcast. Her forearms rest on each side of her tray like she’s about to eat, but her flatware is clean.
I set down my lunch and sit.
Then come face-to-face with pale blue wrath.
I was so focused on Savannah, I hadn’t noticed Thorne sitting across from her, his back to me as I headed to their table.
He sits with brooding stillness like he always does. The white fire of his eyes is fixed on my face. Our mutual dislike of each other is clear. We piss each other off. He orders me around, I ignore him, and while I try to forget how fucking good his tongue feels eating me out, he tries not to hate-fuck me right on this table.
I squirm under his intense scrutiny until I remember where I am and who I’m with.
Aurora and Jaxon sit on either side of Thorne, and a waft of too-sweet coconut perfume hits the side of my face as Belle takes the available chair next to mine and Delaney across from her.
Other guys I recognize from last night take the last spots available. Before I know it, I’m seated in the middle of the most popular kids in school.
It all falls into place—the kindness from my peers, the quiet deference to me in the halls.
“Ember? You okay?”
Savannah’s gentle expression drifts into my focus, forcing me to sit straight and relax my tense lips.
I reply, “Yep, fine, considering what happened last night.”
Savannah doesn’t give me the reaction I’m hoping for. Guilt, regret, fear even. All I get is serene blankness when her glossed lips curve into a placating smile.
When I don’t respond in kind, she adds softly, “Aiko has something to say to you. Right, Aiko?”
I’m all too aware of Thorne’s attention as I lean forward so Savannah no longer blocks my view of Aiko.
It’s easy to refuse to talk to him. What I didn’t consider was how hard it would be not to look at him. Even in my periphery, he’s all hard edges and irresistible angles. No one looks like Thorne Briar, so vampire pale and ethereally handsome. He’s the wicked god creating havoc in a prep school—not Zeke’s character on Golden Crest.
For one suffocating second, I meet his eye, holding his focus until it becomes too intense and I have to look away. Heat pools at my core at the same time cold thoughts battle against it in my head. It doesn’t take long for them to lose. I can actually picture spreading my legs on the cafeteria table in front of everyone while he buries himself inside me.