My hands slip into her jeans. I round out to the front and unhook her button. Her zipper slides down without any effort as if I willed it to happen—as if she did.
“Um…” She scoots back letting me know I’ve crossed a line. I’m pretty sure my dick can pack it up for the night.
“I’m sorry.” I pick up her hand and bury a kiss in her palm. It feels soft, foreign. I like the way it conforms to my lips. It makes me curious as to what her other parts might feel like—and what I wouldn’t do to find out. “You’re not ready.”
“No, no.” She pulls me back down over her. “I am ready.” It comes out a little too eager. “Just not tonight, not like this.” She plucks at the sand with her fingers. “I want our first time to be special. I want us to have all night with nowhere to go.” She runs her thumb over my chin. “I want to wake up next to you in the morning and do it all over again.”
My muscles seize. Everything in me aches to have her.
“I love you, Laken Anderson.” I crash my lips over hers and deliver a serious tongue-lashing born of love. How I wouldn’t like to lash the rest of her, inch-by-inch, so painfully slow I’d explode from the effort.
Cooper blinks through her mind again. She envisions his lonely face, those drawn out eyes that have every girl on campus dropping to their knees.
He’s in her head again.
Looks like I need to put an end to this before he crawls down into her heart.
Nope, not going to let Cooper worm his way into Laken’s anything, least of all her jeans.
I slip my hands over her bottom and feel her soft, warm skin.
Laken’s body and heart, I want them both to be mine.
2
The Heat is On
Laken
Monday morning, I sit and gaze out the oversized window from my dorm and marvel how the days blink by like a dove swatting its wings in flight. I wonder where we’re headed. Where it is exactly this manufactured destiny proposes to take me—to take all of us.
Behind me, Jen drools into her phone, conducting her regular morning sexting session with Jackson—a lanky boy from the basketball team. It’s weird seeing Jen so stratospherically happy after she was such a frustrated mess with “insane Blaine” who bagged every babe he could while under the guise of their committed relationship.
The fog smooths over the rolling hills on the other side of the frozen glass. The sun tries to break through the haze, staining the horizon with a salmon bruise. People huddle in overcoats as they shuffle along the intricate walkways. They look small as sparrows who have had their wings clipped—trapped at Ephemeral like some luxurious, opulent prison. The campus gleams and glitters. Ephemeral Academy is a masterwork of beauty with its cathedral-like buildings and winding brick roads.
The dark forest that hedges along the property catches my attention. It gives a private whisper while the fog strays from its border as if it were too afraid to go there. That’s where I last saw Casper, my ex-roommate for less than a week. Someone or something took her. Turns out, Casper was of Celestra descent like my mother and sister. And I can only assume they’re all holed up in the nebulous “tunnels,” being drained of their lifeblood for the sport of it.
“Let’s go!” Jen’s voice hits its upper register and sends a cluster bomb of a headache railing through my temples.
It takes a second to figure out Jen is barking at me rather than Jackson. She buries the phone in her blazer and hitches her thumb to the door.
“I talked to Blaine last night.” She blinks into her statement. “Heard you really showed ‘em who was boss at the commencement.”
“Blaine?” Personally, I’m disgusted Jen still lets him entertain her with those vocal exercises of his that never seem to include the truth. “Please, don’t let that dick-nose worm his way back into your life. Trust me, I should know. I’ve had more than my fair share of assholes that tried to screw me over, in more ways than one.” Tucker Donavan springs to mind, my once upon a boyfriend. He was more your fuck ‘em and leave ‘em type, only he decided to try a girlfriend on for size and to my misfortune that happened to be me.
“It was business.” She averts her eyes as if I should know better—and I do. I’d bet truckloads of Anderson dollars that Blaine is about to worm his way back in. “Relax, Laken. It was a house parent meeting, and he happened to sit next to me. He said you hacked off the heads of those poor birds.”
“That’s right.” I cinch my backpack over my shoulder as we make our way downstairs. “And I’m gunning for hairy balls next time, so he’d better watch out.”
Jen belts out a laugh. She’s not at all as uptight as she was when I first arrived over a month ago, and I’m not sure how alarmed I should be over this.
“Anyway,” she sighs before taking her post as the keeper of the gate. “I decided to talk to Wes regarding your relationship. He’ll have to present you with a purity ring if an engagement is on the horizon.”
“What?” I take it all back. Swear to God, one day I’m going to find out Jen is a transplant from the eighteen hundreds, and I’m not even going to bat a lash. “No, seriously, don’t do that.” Wait—what am I saying? A purity challenge would be genius. At least that way I could hold off Wes while I straightened out my feelings for Coop. I could easily have given myself to Wes at the lake Saturday night, but Cooper kept sliding his way into my mind, my heart—slippery as oil.
Carter waves to me from the dining hall with her blonde locks coifed to perfection. Her bright cherry-stained lips are wide with a smile.
“Look Jen—you should probably just stay out of my love life,” I warn before taking off. I seriously doubt the idea of a ‘purity ring’ will go over too well with Wes—he does have an extra limb dangling from his body that’s been trying to get my attention. I’ll have to figure this out on my own without intervention from Jen and her circa 1884 solutions.
The scent of maple oatmeal and bacon lies thick in the air as I pick up a plate and indulge in the glorious buffet that Austen House affords. Both breakfast and dinner are served in an opulent dining hall. The tablecloths lay stretched out in a pattern of black and orange with fall arrangements bursting from a cornucopia on each table.
Carter springs to life next to me. “Grayson Evans has totally got it out for you,” she hums in my ear, excited as if this tidbit of gossip concerned someone else entirely. The titillation factor alone has her reeling. “She says you’re after Coop and she’s going to kick your ass.”
“Sounds fascinating. Will brass knuckles be involved?” I pause at the fruit bar. Carter’s dark copper eyes spin like a kaleidoscope at the thought of me getting my ass kicked by Grayson. “Let me guess, she’s going to hang me upside down in the quad because she can’t get laid by the hottest looking guy on campus?”
My stomach bottoms out. Since when did Cooper usurp Wes as the god of Ephemeral—or is it my heart Coop’s ushered him from?
Her mouth rounds out as I realize my gaff.
“I meant football team, sorry—blonde moment. Wes is totally the hottest looking guy on campus. And, trust me, nobody is getting laid by Wes other than me.” My insides pinch when I say it. My body has been craving to welcome Wes into it for as long as I can remember.
“I got laid by Wes.” An unfriendly voice taunts from behind as Kresley makes her way past me. Her dark hair is pulled back, her eyes drawn to slits. She totes cosmetic perfection and, if that wasn’t enough for me to dislike her, she once owned Wesley’s heart.
Kresley Fisher. My entire body ignites with contempt at the thought of her touching Wes—my Wesley, the one I presume is hiding out in nuWesley’s body.
“Blow her off.” Carter pulls me out of line as bodies begin to bottleneck behind us.
I snatch up a plate of grapefruit with a Maraschino cherry dotting the top. Not my favorite breakfast, but I appreciate the cherry.
“So”—Carter starts off measured as we make our way to a table in the back—“homecoming is in two weeks, and I thou
ght I’d ask Fletch. You think that’s okay? Or should I wait and see if he asks me?”
“It’s just a football game.” I shrug. “Just hang out with him and do your thing. You’re practically together anyway.” Now that Grayson is in full stalker mode with Coop, I don’t think Carter has any competition when it comes to my goofball brother.
“Just a football game?” She pants as though the entire concept has escaped me.
“Oh, I’m sorry. Did I forget the beer and tailgating?”
“Laken! There’s a formal at the country club after. It’s a day game—school is canceled and everything.”
“And everything?” I tease. “Sounds exciting.”
“It is. We need to go shopping before things gets picked over.” She leans in. “I hear Kresley had her dress hand beaded in Paris. Fallon says she looks ‘fucking hot.’” She makes a face.
“Good for her.” A spear of jealousy cuts through me—eviscerates me—leaves my guts spilling all over the floor because Wes once worshiped at her feet, probably kissed them, too. I want to look hot. Just the thought of Wes looking at Kresley, wanting her, kills me on an intimate level, and I feel like an ass for even thinking about Coop.
A dull ache settles in the pit of my stomach because some uncontrollable part of me cries out for Cooper Flanders, and I hate that uncontrollable part of me.
“Hey, what’s the matter?” Carter lays her hand over my wrist. She’s got the face of a pageant queen, and she’s a freaking Anderson. What the hell kind of problems could Laken really have?
I twist a smile. It’s more than a little delicious hearing her thoughts—anybody’s thoughts—if I touch their skin or vice versa.
“Nothing’s the matter.” I pluck the cherry off its citrus platter. “Everything is just freaking perfect. I’ve got Wes, and all is right with the world.” If I say it enough maybe I’ll believe it. Although, Wes doesn’t believe a single thing I tell him about our stolen lives and Cooper believes every word that sails from my mouth as if it were gospel.
A tray slams down next to me, and we look up to see a gaggle of curls adorning a baby-faced Hattie Tobias.
“Anyone sitting here?” Her voice sounds shallow, too high and clear to be real, like the monotone recording of a doll.
“It’s all yours,” I say, snatching up my backpack.
“Tell Cooper I said hello.” Her dark eyes spark to life as she withholds a smile. She’s taunting me, threating me on some level, and I don’t like it.
“You can tell him yourself,” I say before turning to Carter. “I have to meet up with someone. I’ll catch you in first. Do yourself a favor, and don’t ask Fletch, give him the chance to crawl to you on his knees.” In any reality Fletch is lucky that a girl of Carter’s, blessed by God, caliber would be interested in him.
“Laken?” Hattie calls after me as I make my way to the door.
I look back expecting her to say something, but she doesn’t. Her face begins to morph. Her skin melts down to her neck. Then a display of skeletal matter appears with muscle and tendons, a row of brown teeth, chipped and rotting. Her face morphs back in reverse until Hattie offers a flesh-eating grin, her pearly whites each neatly restored to their false glory.
I don’t bother to hang out and applaud her supernatural efforts—I just bolt the hell out of Austen House.
Wesley usually walks me to class in the morning, but late last night he texted that he had an “Ensign” meeting and would see me at nutrition. That’s the part of Wes I remember from Cider Plains; the kind, caring boyfriend who would lay his coat over a puddle just so I wouldn’t step in it.
That strange sight from breakfast still lingers in my mind as I walk into the English building. I’ve been looking over my shoulder with every third step, in search of a demonic Tobias. I can’t help but feel like she’s watching me, ready to attack from behind like a rattlesnake. I’ve never felt so vulnerable as I have here at Ephemeral. Even Wes has become an enigma. I trust him about as much as a threadbare rope.
The white glossy halls are empty, save for a few people digging into their lockers. Edinger’s door is open so I peer inside before entering. I’ve already determined that “Mr. Edinger” is far from human. Dr. Flanders referred to him as a Fem—some kind of magical morphing demon that can take the shape of a sack of shit if it wanted, and in Mr. Edinger’s case, it very much wanted.
Coop looks up from his book. His entire face beams as I make my way to the desk behind him. We’re both juniors, and we have a couple subjects together. And even though there are a few seniors in my classes, I don’t share a single hour with Wes.
“Morning handsome,” I whisper. Even if it did come out with a hint of sarcasm, it’s undeniably true. Cooper is a testament to the male species with his chiseled features—his eyes the color of a storm on the horizon.
“Morning to you, beautiful.” Those stone grey lenses watch me with a lustful intensity that sends a sizzle over my flesh.
“So, what are you reading?” I ask, slipping my bag under the desk and plucking out a notebook.
“‘I Sing the Body Electric.’”
“Whitman,” I say without skipping a beat. “If you’re looking for something sensual I prefer, Goethe.”
“‘The Dance of the Dead.’” Cooper’s eyes widen as if I had placed him in a trance.
“You’re familiar.” I’d be lying if I said it didn’t fill me with an erotic fever at the thought of Coop being so intimately familiar with poetry.
“My poet speaks of blood.” He grafts his gaze over me like he’s peeling back my skin. Its painful, like he sees me but too much.
I know where’s he’s going with his blood lust. Coop has more than enjoyed the less than orthodox bodily fluid extraction I’ve performed on him. He’s the Celestra I need to drink from to pry into Wesley’s thoughts in the event he spills all of his deep dark secrets, but he never does.
“It’s still working.” It’s been plain as vanilla listening in on Wesley’s private musings. “I can still hear his thoughts.” Wes is one hundred percent devoted to me. He loves me with a fierceness that rivals the old version of himself, and I didn’t think that was possible.
“It’ll wear off soon.” It comes out dry. “A guy can hope, right?” Coop tucks a smile in the side of his cheek as the class starts to fill with bodies.
I reach down and interlace our fingers.
Coop. I let out a sigh.
He gives a wry smile. Where is the douche anyway?
Ensign meeting.
His forehead wrinkles into three neat lines.
Ephemeral doesn’t have Ensigns. It’s probably a Count thing. This is good. It means he’s trusting you with more information. Ask him about it. See if you can join.
I will. It never occurred to me Wes was doing something that concerned extracurricular evil before breakfast. Speaking of breakfast… I saw Hattie this morning. Don’t you think it’s weird she’s reappeared after all these years?
Hattie and her sister were taken by the Counts over sixty years ago. The rest of her unfortunate family were turned into Spectators without their consent—killed and resurrected for sport. Only the resurrections didn’t last. They decomposed to a partial rigor state and remained so ever since—bedraggled and decaying with time.
I don’t think their mother was taken. Cooper corrects my private thoughts.
That’s right, they mentioned their father, brother, and sister. My thoughts turn to little Lacey—my sweet sister who bottled up her excitement over the fact she was about to turn ten, and now I have no idea if she’s still alive, let alone made it to her birthday.
Marky’s been after me to have you over. You up for a movie? Cooper knows his little sister quells something deep inside of me. I love Marky as if she were my own flesh and blood.
I would really like that. It takes everything in me to keep from tearing up at the thought. This new reality was a malignancy, and Cooper and Marky were the balm.
Coop gives my hand
a firm squeeze as if to say thank you.
Mr. Edinger walks in with his cool, ironic swagger, his dark hair slicked back with the tracks from his comb still visible. He gives a private nod in my direction, and this unnerves me.
“Morning class.” It purrs from him with a palpable wickedness that makes my hair stand on end. “Our next collective reading assignment is Animal Farm by George Orwell.”
Animal Farm, I balk.
Coop starts to turn around then pauses. One more thing. His eyes darken as he dips his chin. I’m going to ask Grayson to homecoming.
Cooper
Mr. Edinger takes us down the allegorical road of Orwell’s political thriller while Laken burns a hole through my back the entire live-long hour.
I had to hold back a smile when I saw the look on her face. The idea of me asking Grayson to homecoming wasn’t what she was expecting. Not that I want to take Grayson. I’d much rather go with Laken, and I do plan on stealing a moment, but Grayson makes things believable. It gets Wes off my back and clears the path for Laken to get wherever it is their holding our families.
The bell rings, and a rush of bodies flood out the door.
Crap. I zoned out—not that Edinger has ever had anything enlightening to say. I could pass his class by showing up for tests and doing the work at home.
Laken waits as I scoop up my books before we head out.
“So you up for something midweek?” I ask, trying to ignore the hurt look stamped across her face. Laken is so damn beautiful I feel like an ass for causing her any pain. But I’d be a liar if I didn’t say it sent the adrenaline in me surging. Something about Laken’s disapproval assures me she has feelings for more than just my neck, and selfishly I want it that way. “Wednesday night?”
“Wednesday’s fine.” Her bottom lip extends, her skin breaks out in patches like she’s about to indulge in a nice long cry. Crap. I just want to hold her and tell her I’d rather hang myself by the balls than take Grayson to the library, let alone to the formal, but I can’t. Although, I’m pretty sure I’m going to make Laken feel better in my fantasies tonight. Too bad I couldn’t make them real. Comfort her all night long the way I want to.