I look into the kitchen, but can’t see Ivy through the throng, and I don’t spot Chase, either.
Chase.
Smokey trails of relief float alongside the thought of his name.
The baby isn’t his. He won’t be pulled in for more questioning … hopefully. And maybe, his anxiety can be eased over the unexpected loss of something so precious and fleeting in its existence.
Ahmar’s warning battles for recognition, his urging to keep the revelation to myself and go on with my schooling like none of this ever happened.
If only, Ahmar, I think dully. Except, I don’t think I’ve been forged that way.
An ice-cold rivulet presses into my arm, and I realize that during my musings, I’ve wandered to the back of the house and against the windows, so black during my first visit, now midnight blue with nightfall.
Branches frame the glass, most barren of leaves, and stretch to some point past my view. A lake glitters beneath a thin, vertical dock, and I picture Chase’s silhouette seated at the end, dangling his feet into the fractured blue, his face tipped to the sky.
A boom of thunder has me jumping back from the window and staring up, wondering when storm clouds decided they wanted to join the party.
A guttural laugh warns me of an incoming clobbering before the guffawing guy slams into me, and I duck as he stumbles against the glass.
“Fuck, whoops!” he says, the features on his face more diagonal than is probably usual. He thrusts an arm in my direction, his cup sloshing. “Drink?”
“No, thank you.”
“Ha! The possum’s polite!” the buffoon hollers, then stumbles to his group of friends.
From this vantage point, I can see the packed room in its entirety. People mill, dance, and stumble, the music cranked to its highest level, and there’s more spilled liquor than wood showing on the parquet floors.
Is this really Chase’s kind of thing?
This doesn’t resemble the sleek, deliberate boy I see in the halls of Briarcliff, nor does it describe the naked Adonis curved in my bed, murmuring dark promises in my ear.
Uncomfortable memories float within the drunken haze of my writhing classmates, sharpening the flashback of when I used to be this, free and drug-fueled and forgotten, preferring pills melting on my tongue and powder up my nose to the reality of my murdered mother.
Six months into it, there was an overdose scare involving Sylvie, and I haven’t been up to no good since. I wish I could say it was my stepdad being written off as a suspect that made me change my ways and sober up once I realized the power my words could have over someone’s life. But, with his innocence came a reckoning of a different sort: I was deemed unhinged. A liar. My voice became an intangible, cloudy mist dissipated with the swipe of a medical practitioner’s hand.
Shuddering, I peel away from the windows in search of another room. I could wait out Ivy’s fun and collect my thoughts. It’ll give me time to sort through the revelation of Piper’s third lover.
A darkened hall peeks out from the writhing, dancing bodies, and I carve a forward path, careful to avoid more spill-over. From my dress or people’s drinks, I’m not sure, but I keep a forearm pressed to my boobs just in case.
Once I break from the weed-cloud, the empty space of the hallway fills me with oxygen. I breathe, glancing around, and walk farther in, my eyes trailing across professional portraits of Chase and his family.
When I come to a photo of the four of them, Emma seated beside Chase and their parents behind them, I stop.
“My God…” I murmur, my hand going to the picture before I can stop it. My fingers trail across one side of Emma’s face—the former one, her cheekbones slim and sharp, exactly like her brother’s.
Her eyes seem to shine through the photo and light up the hallway, her hair, a gorgeous cascade of copper-blonde waves, hiding her shoulders but putting her beauty on full display.
All their postures are stiff, the smiles composed and perfected for the photographer behind the lens. Even the navy blue and white of their outfits is deliberate, chosen to match the backdrop of the lake behind them. But Emma’s smile lines are deeper than the rest. Her eyes are crinkled with private mirth, and she looks …. the happiest.
My attention moves to Chase, as gorgeous staged in a photo as he is in real life, but a thump behind the picture distracts me, my hand falling from the frame.
The music and shouts are quieter here, the party softer around the edges. I’ve drifted well into the hallway and a descending staircase is near my feet.
Another thump.
There’s no door I can make out, so after a final glance behind my shoulder, I take the stairs leading down.
They descend deeper than I thought, considering the sprawling, two-story architecture of the lake house, and once I hit the last step, I move to the doorway beside it.
Another hallway forms within darkness—two actually. They’re so black with shadow that I shy away from treading deeper, preferring the doorway I can see to the ones I don’t.
Besides, I heard the thumps at the top of the staircase. Movement has to be coming from somewhere nearby.
I hesitantly push on the lever.
It briefly occurs to me that I could be interrupting a hook-up, but I can’t find Ivy anywhere, or Chase, so I push the lever all the way down.
Hinges in this kind of house don’t creak. The door swings open silently, and I step into the haunting blue glow of an office.
Indigo-purple light ripples over a wall of books, shelved all the way to the ceiling and guarded by a heavy, wooden desk. A plush, black leather chair sits empty, but swiveled to the side, as if someone just left it.
Curious, I walk over and press my palm into the seat, the warmth of a recent body seeping into my skin.
Another thump draws me straight, but I can’t locate the sound. It’s coming from in here, but it’s … not.
A large fish tank, nestled against the wall closest to the hallway, draws my attention, and I pass behind the chair and lean forward, instinctually searching for the fish.
I don’t see anything but white specks, floating within the water enhanced by blacklight.
“Don’t you—”
“But I’ve tried—”
Thump.
“Try harder!”
My spine goes rigid, and I search the room, positive I hear voices. Both obscured and muffled, but one is easier to hear because of its lighter, feminine tones.
“Are you sure?”
A third voice, a female, joins the conversation.
“…last chance. Otherwise, I’m taking…”
“Tell her.”
“No. Lie to her before she discovers the truth.”
I force a single blink, long and hard, because I swear these voices are coming from behind the bookshelf, but there was no entry I could tell during my descent that would indicate a room beside this office.
I cock my ear, tucking my hair behind my ears and leaning closer to the books.
“Too close.”
“She’s uncovering—”
“—we have to go on the defense, not bring in an outsider—”
“She’s NOT an outsider!”
“Shh! Look. There’s someone…”
I reel back, scanning the ceiling for a vent or something that’s allowing me to hear voices that have to be coming from the opposite side.
I splay my fingers across the books, the amateur sleuth inside me determined to find the source. I run my finger along the middle row, then the next, one below, then the ground-level shelving, the tomb raider in me now confident I’m about to uncover a secret room, unlocked by the hidden lever inside a book…
My breath hisses when my finger stalls on a leather-bound spine, creased and crumbling with age. It has no title, no author, but an insignia is stamped at the center in gold.
A perfect circle with raven’s wings as its Eastern and Western points.
I pull it out, handling it carefully with both hands. The lea
ther is aged and worn, the gold embossing faded, but I’m able to read the title.
Correction. I can read the name. Daniel Abraham Stone.
“You puking down there?”
My knees lock.
I recognize the relaxed cadence, equivalent to a lion licking his fangs before he strikes.
Footsteps round the desk, and I hurry to push the book back in its spot before large, calloused palms move under my arms to lift me.
“Easy, Callie.” Chase says near my ear, goosebumps tingling across my neck. “My father vows ruin on anyone who messes up his office.”
“I’m—I’m not sick,” I say, once my voice fights through the rush of tingles. Man, I wish Chase would stop affecting me like I’m some giddy freshman about to screw the class senior president.
Chase turns me to face him. In the UV blacklight, his skin is lavender-blue and ethereal, like I’ve been captured by a Faerie Prince.
Ugh. Stop relating him to dark fairy tales. Chase is a guy. A regular dude.
With abs and a pert butt I could bounce a coin off.
Chase searches my face, his stare heating my cheeks. “Then why are you here?”
“Looking for you.”
“You found me.” His lips close and curve with a smile, but my brows grow tight. I’m certain of the sadness within his grin.
The same expression when he left a few weeks ago, seconds after I told him that Piper was pregnant.
Chase’s eyes slide away from mine, and his gaze moves past my shoulder and to the fish tank. “You know what those are?”
“I heard voices,” I blurt out instead of answering. “But there’s no room they could be coming from.”
Chase ignores me, stepping around, but stays close, my nose following the drift of his cologne as he moves. “These are some of the smallest, most venomous jellyfish in the world. Irunkandji, they’re called. Their sting is one hundred times worse than a cobra’s. They can cause instant brain hemorrhages in humans.”
I hedge backwards. “Cool pet.”
Chase grunts, his attention on the aquarium. “They’re rare, illegal to own, and incredibly fragile, yet my father has them flown in and replaced. Constantly. “
“All that fuss, and they’re not even that pretty to look at.”
This time, a genuine smile crosses Chase’s profile. “So, did you sneak down here so you could learn about the Irunkandji?”
“I told you. I heard thumps and voices, and following them brought me down here.” I point to the bookshelf. “Do you have a Chamber of Secrets back there?”
“Is that one of your two questions?”
I jolt, then suck in my lower lip. It’s amazing how a little news like Piper having a third secret lover derailed me from my initial goal of pumping Chase for information.
I stare at him hard. I want to know where those voices were coming from. “Yes.”
He turns away from the tank and angles his head toward the shelving, murmuring, “There’s a room. Yes.”
My answering expression must amuse him, because he adds, “I promised you the truth. Did you think I’d lie outright?”
“Um. Yep.”
He chuckles, leaning a hip against his father’s desk, which probably weighs more than an elephant. “I don’t make deals for kicks.”
“Can you—?”
“Think carefully about how willing you are to waste your next question,” he says. “Because, no, I won’t show you how to get in, or tell you what kind of room it is.”
I grumble, but my mind’s already recalibrating. He won’t tell me because it has to do with the Cloaks. And our deal prevents me from getting any information about them.
I flit my gaze back to Chase and see a reluctant admiration there. He knows where my mind has gone, and that his lack of an explanation equals an answer.
“Fine. Then tell me why a prep school would have a secret society.”
Chase sighs and lifts off the desk. “We agreed none of your questions would involve your Cloaks.”
“And this one doesn’t,” I say. “I’m merely asking for your theory on why a high school might have a secret society, since most of those cults start in college.”
He grunts and crosses his arms. “Cults.”
“Prove me wrong.” I mirror his posture. “And explain it to me in hypothetical terms.”
Chase’s eyes glimmer in the shadows.
He exhales, his focus moving to the bookshelves behind me. My concentration becomes a hawk’s, anticipating that his attention will go to the leather-bound book with the raven’s insignia.
Any tell, however small, will lead me closer to unlocking this mystery. I just know it.
“Perhaps,” Chase begins, and I snap to attention, shocked he might actually answer me, “the founder of that school created it as a way to both fund and propel certain qualifying students to prestigious colleges, with the intention of placing them into certain careers.”
“Like politics, government, top corporations,” I say. “Economic influencers.”
After a long exhale, Chase casts his gaze to the ceiling. “What a shocking Secret Society rumor you’ve uncovered. I keep telling you, there’s nothing here. Just benign, old-century tradition.”
“Yes, but unlike the Illuminati or … I don’t know … the Knights Templar, Briarcliff didn’t start with adults. They wanted their influence to sink into children.”
Chase vaults off the desk, framing either side of my head with his arms as he presses his palms into the bookshelf behind me.
The backs of my shoulders press into the books, the scent of stale pages wafting over our bodies. I gasp, furious at how loud it is, but I don’t cower.
Chase lowers his head, his eyes coming dangerously close to a glittering explosion. “You’re in high school. Do you consider yourself young and impressionable?” He angles his head. “How about me?”
Chase presses a thumb to my lips, the hardened, rower’s blisters cutting into the soft tissue, but I let him drag my lower lip down. I allow him to watch when his thumb hits my chin and my lower lip bounces back into place.
He shifts, the front of his pants skimming across my stomach, the hard length of him proving how much this stare-down is costing him.
Costing me.
A guttural moan builds in my throat, almost reaching my lips, but I swallow it down.
Sadly, my hips aren’t nearly as compliant, and they push against him in a half-circle of lust.
I’ve missed him.
I’ve dreamed about the moment when I could have him again, physically and virulently, without thought of recourse.
But these have to be my hormones. The unquenchable sex drive Chase awoke inside me. It’s not real life. It definitely doesn’t resolve the endless questions, circling in my head like an unkindness of ravens.
I want to get out of here with my heart intact.
“You know who’s responsible,” I dare to whisper near his lips. “Who’s hiding behind these books? What don’t they want discovered?”
“I believe,” he responds, low and under his breath, “you’ve exhausted your questions for the day.”
Chase doesn’t step back. The space between us grows smaller and hotter the longer our eyes duel, and I’m about to crumble, licking my lips at the remembered taste of him, my thighs trembling at the thought of his fingers, then his tongue, inside me.
Chase ducks down, my chin tilts up, and damn me to hell, I’m ready for him to kiss me.
10
Chase’s hands move from the shelf to my hips, his face so close to mine, I feel the curl of his lips as he unleashes a hopeless snarl—
“Am I interrupting something?”
The feminine voice might as well be buckshot. Chase and I dive apart, but my muscles are too puddly with untapped passion. I fall back against the bookshelf on a heavy exhale.
Chase spins, slamming his palms on the desk and tipping his head to the person who caused the interruption.
Addisyn.
She stands at the doorway, a languid hand resting on her hip, but the rest of her is stiff with judgment.
“Get out.”
Chase’s demand is practically a whisper, but it’s succinct.
Addisyn’s jaw locks at the same time her eyes flash, but she stews for only a moment. “Moving on so fast, Chase?” Her gaze flicks to me. “You can do better than this.”
“It’s none of your business what I do. I said get out.”
Addisyn shifts her weight. “I came down here because everyone’s looking for you. There’s a party going on without a host.”
“Like you give a damn,” he mutters.
“I give a lot of damns about appearances.” Again, Addisyn cuts her eyes to me. “And you should, too, Chase. My mom just texted. Remember how we were told Piper was pregnant before she died?” Addisyn’s eyes shine with tears, pronounced by the purple-blue light encasing this office. “Or have you already forgotten?”
Chase bows his head, the rigidity of his shoulders loosening with grief. “No. I haven’t.”
“Mom just texted,” Addisyn repeats. “The baby wasn’t Dr. Luke’s.”
My vision sharpens on Addisyn. I glance between the two of them, bracing for the knowledge Addisyn’s about to impart.
Chase looks back at me, those seconds silently communicating our agreement and what I had promised him.
What I failed to deliver the very moment I saw him.
I frown. Why do I feel bad for him?
As if with a nudge, the book with the raven engraving spears against my calf. I imagine heat emanating from it, steamy tendrils of illicit knowledge circling my ankle.
This is Chase Stone. The guy who hides everything, has everything, and shares his secrets only through deals befitting his needs.
He knows about the Nobles and deliberately cuts me out of it. I’m certain he’s aware of the sign of the raven and what it means.
It’s how we were first introduced, after all.
Yet, I feel sorry for him when his expression crumbles upon hearing Addisyn’s news, before he sets it into his famous Stone scowl. “I didn’t get the update.”
Virtue (Briarcliff Secret Society Series Book 2) Page 7