by Theresa Kay
Tristan does nothing, says nothing, and the tension grows, as does the level of my awkwardness—and embarrassment. I’m completely out of my league right now. Shifters operate on a whole system of traditions and subtle power plays, ones that I learned to navigate early on, but this is entirely different, and I have no idea what to do. So, I stand here like an imbecile with a smile plastered on my face as the silence grows more and more strained.
“Selene, dear, I’ve been looking for you everywhere,” says Adrian as he steps up beside me and rests one hand on my lower back. He presses his lips to my cheek and turns his attention to Tristan’s parents. “Allister. Bernadette. Lovely to see you. I need to steal Selene away, but I’ll speak with you at the banquet.”
Adrian presses the tips of his fingers against my back and deftly maneuvers me away from the St. James family and toward the girls’ dorm.
“Are you out of your mind?” he exclaims once we’re inside. “Bernadette St. James eats shifter sympathizers for breakfast.”
“I was just introducing myself. I thought—”
“Your optimism is so cute.” He pats me on the head, and I scowl at him. “But, really, you should avoid them at all costs. I don’t know how much their lovely son has told them about you, but, if they know who you are, they have the ability to make life here very unpleasant.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“Well, on one hand you are, in their eyes, essentially a shifter, something they hate. On the other, you are part of the Andras line. I know Burke has been implying you’re some sort of distant relation, but I’m pretty sure that’s a cover story, right? That maybe you’re something closer to a direct descendant of the main family line?”
I nod.
“Does Tristan know that?”
I think back over the past few weeks. Did I ever—Yes. The first day. I told Tristan who my birth mother was. I nod again.
Adrian shakes his head. “Then you can bet his parents do too. There’s plenty of bad blood between the Andras and St. James families, particularly between the main branches of those family trees. There was a huge scandal involving his dad and Helen—” He catches the widening of my eyes. “Your birth mother?”
“Yeah,” I say. My eyes go even bigger. If his dad and my birth mom . . .
“Not that kind of scandal,” says Adrian. “You’re definitely not related to the prissy jerk. Although, if others had gotten their way, you might have been. Helen and Allister were supposed to marry, but she ran off with another man well before that—or anything else—happened between her and Allister.”
“So, I’m the daughter of the woman who jilted Allister St. James. Is that why Tristan was desperate to get rid of the binding spell before parents’ weekend?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. Honestly, I don’t know the guy all that well, but his parents run in the same circles as some of my family members, so I’m privy to a lot of the gossip.”
“He was ashamed to be seen with me.” I blink, shaking my head. “But then why did he—” I stop myself at the intrigued expression on Adrian’s face.
“Why did he what?” He smirks.
“Nothing.”
He opens his mouth.
“Nothing,” I repeat. Time for a subject change . . . “What about gossip about who she ran off with, who my birth father might be? Have you heard anything like that?”
“Nope. I don’t think he was part of any of the major families, and therefore I doubt she introduced him around. For all anyone knows, yours was an immaculate conception.” He chuckles and then leans backward to get a better look at something across the quad. His brows pull together and then rise. Amusement tugs at his lips, and there’s a mischievous spark in his eyes. “It appears I was not the only one looking for you.”
What is he . . . ? I turn around just as there’s a shout from somewhere across the quad. A familiar voice. “Selene! You better get your butt over here and greet me before I decide to go back home.”
It can’t be. I scan over the crowd until I find him standing at the edge of the quad.
Auburn hair, broad shoulders, a black hoodie. Reid’s here!
My heart jumps in my chest, and my eyes are suddenly burning as I run full out across the quad, nearly crashing into at least five people. I blow past Tristan and his parents and leap into Reid’s arms with a happy laugh. He catches me and twirls me around so quickly I feel dizzy.
“How? What?” I bury my face in his neck, breathing deeply the scent of pack, of family, of home.
“I wasn’t going to let any uppity witches keep me from you.” He hugs me tighter. “I know it’s been tough. I’m so glad I could come.”
“Me too.” He sets me on my feet, and I lean back to stare up into his face. “But didn’t your dad say you weren’t allowed to visit me?”
Reid chuckles. “He said, and I quote ‘I forbid you from visiting Selene when her parents can’t.’ I wasn’t positive, but it’s parents’ weekend, so technically they could visit you. I decided to test it out to see if I had enough wiggle room in the command to come.” He extends his arms out to the sides. “And here I am.”
“You have no idea how happy I am to see you,” I say. “It’s been awful. This whole magic thing is way more difficult than I expected, plus mine doesn’t seem to work right. I’m behind in most of my classes even though I study my ass off. There are like three or four people here I can stand, and everyone else is . . .” My gaze land on Tristan, and I go over the interaction with him and his parents again. He’s ashamed of me, embarrassed to be seen with me. “Everyone else is a pompous ass.”
“Well, have no fear, I am here.” Reid winks and tucks me under his arm. “I heard a rumor there’s a dining hall nearby. I could really go for some lunch right now.”
I elbow him in the side. “When are you not hungry?”
“Never,” he says in a serious voice. “I can always, always eat.”
I lean my head back and laugh, my arm around his waist. “I missed you so, so much.”
“I missed you too.” He kisses the top of my head. In a lower voice with a hint of mirth, he adds, “We need to chat about this St. James thing, though. The phone cut out while you were talking, so please, please tell me you were not on a date with Tristan St. James.”
After lunch and an uncomfortable conversation about what I was doing with Tristan the night the shifters attacked us—during which I spent more than half the time trying not to think about the kiss and therefore blush—Isobel helps me spell some clothes for Reid and me to wear to the banquet. The result is . . . interesting.
I smooth my hands over the illusionary folds of my simple black gown. It’s not perfect, but it’s passable. I managed to take a knee-length black sheath dress I borrowed from another girl on our floor and turn it into a floor-length gown that shimmers in the light. The bottom is nearly sheer—illusion can only do so much—but it looks purposeful, as if the dress was meant to be see through to show off the tiny sparkles in the fabric.
My outfit is haute couture compared to my cousin’s though.
Reid is beside me in a slightly too-small suit magicked within an inch of its life. Isobel borrowed it from a guy in one of her classes, the biggest one she could think of, but there’s still a good three-inch gap between the arms of the jacket and Reid’s wrists. And, like my dress, magic can only go so far, and it looks like Reid has some really wide sheer cuffs on both the jacket and the pants. He looks more than a little ridiculous, but he’s taking it in stride, and in the sea of people around us, we don’t stick out too badly.
For some reason I thought the banquet was going to be held in the dining hall, but instead, hundreds of people are lined up outside a large room on the second floor of the main building. The East Ballroom, according to the plaque outside the doorway. Does that mean there’s a West Ballroom too? I don’t understand why Ravencrest needs one ballroom, much less two.
The line inches forward and we’re finally through the doors, finding ourselves a
t the top of a wide stairwell leading down into a large, well-lit room. It has polished floors and a soaring ceiling decorated with gilded molding. Round tables sit in rows along the floor, and there’s a low stage and a podium in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows at the far end. This is everything I expected something called a ballroom to look like.
Reid makes a low whistling noise. “When they say formal, they mean formal.” He glances down at the suit. “It would’ve been nice if the calendar on the website had been a little more specific.”
“That’s how you found out about this?” I ask. And then, “Ravencrest has a website?”
“Did you think I wasn’t going to look into this place?” He grins. “They pretend to be like any super exclusive private boarding school and have event calendars up and everything. I’m sure humans would have a hard time finding the place, so they don’t have to worry about anyone crashing their parties.” He gestures at his chest. “Except maybe a very persistent shifter who misses his best friend.”
“I missed you too, and at least we kind of match,” I say as I gesture at the sheer bottom of my dress.
He snorts. “I suppose we do.”
As we descend the stairs, I notice all the teachers lined up at the bottom, shaking hands with people as they work their way farther into the room.
“Is that an actual receiving line?” Reid snorts again.
There’s a low laugh from somewhere behind us. “They do so love a little extra pomp and circumstance around here,” says Adrian as he sidles up beside us. He’s dressed in a slim-fitting black suit with thin pinstripes and a bright-purple shirt. His gaze roams over Reid with blatant interest. “I see your friend was able to find you.”
Reid puffs his chest out and gives the shorter Adrian an assessing glare. Anywhere else and it’d be a challenge of a sort, but here it’s merely Reid letting his alpha out to play. A test. “Reid Donovan.”
Adrian’s eyes light in recognition. “The cousin, yes?” He waggles his brows at me. “Are all shifters this”—his gaze roams over Reid’s chest again—“powerful?”
I shove Adrian’s arm. “Stop flirting with my cousin.”
“Would you prefer I flirt with you instead?” He leans into me until his nose is inches from my face, a heated look in his eyes as he bats his eyelashes. I elbow him in the side. He laughs and pulls a small flask from inside his jacket. “Sorry”—he tilts the flask up to his lips—“I’ve had a bit to drink this evening.”
I roll my eyes at the theatrics. “Reid, this is Adrian Dumont. When he’s sober, I might call him a friend.”
“You wound me,” says Adrian with an exaggerated grab at his chest followed by a smirk.
We reach the bottom of the steps and the line of waiting teachers before Reid has a chance to respond. Most of them look bored, offering up forced smiles and bland greetings, but at the end waits Basil—in a powder-blue tuxedo.
Basil’s eyes light up when he sees me, and he breaks away from his position in line to hurry over. He grabs my hand, shaking it vigorously. “I am so glad you could make it.” His enthusiasm and his handshake switch to Reid. “And you! I’ve met your father, lovely man. I’m so glad you felt comfortable enough to come. I can’t recall the last time we had a shifter at Ravencrest.”
“This is Basil,” I say, struggling for words. “He’s my . . . tutor.”
Reid nods. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, sir.”
“Wonderful, wonderful. Let me help you find your seats,” says Basil as he links his arm with mine and leads us away from the receiving line.
Once we’ve made it to the row of tables near the back of the room, he pulls out a chair for me. And then one for Reid. My cousin raises his brows, and I shrug.
“I’m so sorry for the break in protocol,” says Basil. “Many of us here are happy to welcome supernaturals of all races to Ravencrest, but there are some”—his gaze darts to another table where the St. James family is sitting—“who are not so welcoming, and I wanted to be sure to avoid a scene that might cause you embarrassment.”
Reid says something in reply, but my eyes are locked on Tristan.
He’s smiling, wide and happy, as he chats with the other people at his table, both adults and students. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think I imagined the way he looked at me last night and the vulnerability on his face. Who is he really? Is he the blank façade he so often shows to the world or the lonely boy who kisses me like I’m the air he needs to breathe?
Bernadette turns, her eyes meeting mine and narrowing. I snap my gaze away and try to concentrate on what Reid is saying to Basil.
“. . . do you think?”
Basil beams and nods rapidly. “Yes, I see how that could work.” He reaches down and squeezes Reid’s shoulder in a friendly manner. “Please let your father know I would love to discuss working with him on something like that.”
“Nice guy,” says Reid as Basil hurries back to the receiving line he deserted. “A little odd, but nice.”
“Yeah,” I say. “What do you think—”
A hand lands on my shoulder, and fingers press into my skin hard enough to hurt but not hard enough to leave a mark.
“Stay away from my son,” says Bernadette St. James. She digs her nails deeper into my skin, and I hiss in a breath.
“I don’t want your son,” I snap, and in this moment, I really, really don’t.
She gives me an appraising look with a cold smile to go along with it. “Your whore of a mother tried to weasel her way into the St. James family, did you know that? Threw herself at Allister and pouted when he didn’t want her.”
“That’s not the story I heard,” I say in a tight voice. “The way I heard it is she didn’t want him at all.”
Bernadette scoffs. “Helen was a disgrace to the Andras name.” She leans closer. “And so are you.”
Rage vibrates through me, but I refuse to lose my temper. She’s not worth it. The sound of her heels clacking against the floor fades as she walks back to her table, and I let out a long, slow breath.
“What a raging bitch,” says Adrian, plopping into the seat next to Reid.
“You can say that again,” says Reid.
I rest my elbow on the table and lean my forehead on it. “You heard all that?”
The flask is out again, and Adrian glances at me over the top of it. He takes a swig and puts it away. “Darling, at least half the room heard all that. And the other half watched it.”
Half the room? I glance around. Gazes pull away from me, people pretending they weren’t staring. Students and parents alike whisper into ears, only some bothering to hide their smiles between their hands. Three tables over, my eyes stop on Tristan’s profile.
His back is ramrod straight, and his face is blank. Bernadette walks up behind him and slides a hand over the back of his chair, leaning down to speak into his ear. He tilts his head, and smiles in response. I don’t hear what he says, but his gaze darts to me for the briefest second before he returns his attention to his tablemates, unreadable once again.
Reid grabs a roll and butters it. “So I know what the website called it, but what exactly is this? Why all the fancy crap?”
“It’s the Fall banquet,” says Adrian in an exaggerated voice.
Reid gives him a wry look, and Adrian laughs.
“This is what Ravencrest has instead of a homecoming dance, you know, since we don’t actually have a football team,” Adrian continues. “It’s important because this is when we get the first look at this year’s official class rankings. In other words, tonight we get to see who’s number one right now, and the parents get to see who the competition is. My bet’s on that one to be top of the list.” He nods toward Tristan and must notice my brow furrowing. “Oh, I don’t mean he doesn’t deserve it. He’s not dumb, but I doubt Mommy and Daddy St. James will allow him to finish out the year at anything less than number one even if that means they need to buy his way up there with a few well-placed ‘donations’ to OSA. This
early in the year, it’s more about seeing who doesn’t belong up there than seeing who does.”
“What do you mean by that?” I ask.
He waves at the crowd around us. “What do you notice?”
I study the room, the arrangement of tables, and take note of who’s sitting where. “All the rich pricks are at those first few tables.” A fake cough. “Except you, Adrian.”
“Exactly.” He takes another sip from his flask. “Up there, close to the podium, you have the major donors and the like, and the rest of the room is set up much like what they’d prefer the class rankings reflect. Call it a visual representation of how they think things should be.”
“We’re in the last row,” says Reid.
Adrian taps his nose and points at Reid. “We’re the riffraff.”
“But you’re . . .” I gesture at Adrian, his fancy watch, his perfect clothes.
“Yes, well, Ravencrest is the only school that would take me. They’d much prefer I wasn’t here at all.” He scowls and then shifts his face into a mischievous smile. “What is interesting, however, are the middle rows. Almost all of the scholarship students are there, much to the disdain of the people who provided those scholarships. Burke seats them up there to show where the real competition is. Tonight many of those students will top the list, maybe one of them will even knock Tristan out of the top spot, though I’d truly pity the person who got between a St. James and perfection.” He leans over the table and gestures us closer. “The people in the front will use the information they gain from the ranking list this evening to see how big their ‘donations’ need to be. Or who they might need to . . . bring down a peg or two.”
“Are you saying . . .”
“That those rich pricks will resort to almost anything to see their kids at the top? Why yes I am.” Adrian leans back, his arms out over the back of his chair. “No one will get hurt. It’s one of those unspoken rules. No permanent damage.”