Grimmstead Academy: A Villainous Introduction

by Candace Wondrak

  This Koda looked downright mortified at what he’d done, which made me feel…conflicted. Of course, I knew I shouldn’t have gone along with his weird, dominant alter ego, but now I felt guilty about it, like I should’ve done more to deny him, even if my denial turned out to be in vain.

  A pained face was the last thing I saw before Koda turned on his heels and ran away. Yes, he literally ran away, as if kissing me had been the worst thing ever, something he’d never do again, even in his wildest of nightmares.

  Well, that kind of made me feel like crap.

  An empty library sat around me, the bookshelves hugging every wall other than the one the windows were on. My back still leaned against the glass, and I brought a hand to my mouth, lightly running my fingertips over my lips. I could still feel his lips on me, the aggressive way he’d kissed me, needing to devour everything there was about me.

  I couldn’t say how long I was lost to my thoughts, but it was a good long while before someone else joined me in the library. I still stood near the window, stuck inside my mind as I wondered whether or not I should inform Lucien of what I’d done with Koda, when another man walked in, tossing a quick look around before his grey gaze landed on me.

  The moment I saw who it was, my spirits sunk even further, the same second my hand fell away from my mouth. Could I not get a teeny, tiny break?

  Payne walked in, his clothes spick and span. I didn’t know if he cleaned up my mess or not, and I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to see Payne right now at all. Not while my heart still beat erratically from my encounter with Koda.

  If you could call what happened an encounter.

  “Don’t worry,” Payne spoke, noting my obvious unease at his presence. “I’m not here to murder you or whatever it is you think I’m going to do now that you’ve been in my room.” He walked across the library, closing the distance between us.

  Not going to lie, I thought about running. I didn’t, though I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it was because, after that brief, fleeting moment of passion with Koda, I was starting to realize that being afraid wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes it was good.

  Sometimes being afraid made you want to lose it all and never look back.

  Payne stopped when he stood at a respectable distance from me, holding his arms behind his back. His white hair was combed off to the side, and he appeared a lot less frazzled than he did earlier, when he’d caught me in his room…when I’d broken and spilled some of his blood.

  “I came to apologize,” he went on, meeting my stare. “I shouldn’t have startled you like that, and I can understand why you ran.”

  Could he, though? I wasn’t so sure.

  I ignored his apology, my heart beating fast for another reason entirely now. “Why do you have all that blood in your room? Do you…what do you do with it?” I needed to know, needed to find out.

  Payne’s grey eyes stared at me for only a moment before he said, “Many things, but I assure you, Felice, you have nothing to fear from me. My fascination with blood is purely from a scientific standpoint. I don’t relish in causing pain or torturing animals, if that’s what you think.” His shoulders went up and down once. “I merely do what needs to be done.”

  What needs to be done. Suddenly, as I stood there, I realized just why I had to focus on ethics with this one. Payne didn’t know what was right and what was wrong; he viewed everything with a clinical detachment.

  Why would killing animals for their blood be wrong? He just needed the blood, and killing was the only way to get there.

  That was not an argument normal people would use.

  “The next time you feel the need to catch an animal on this property, come to me,” I said, not knowing why I’d said it. I didn’t want to watch him murder a helpless animal and drain it of its blood, but maybe I could stop him. Maybe I could get to the root of the urge and help him through it.

  Or maybe this was my way at attempting to understand what he was doing. If I understood him, it was possible I could help him.

  Or maybe I was just falling further down the rabbit hole that was Grimmstead Academy.

  Chapter Eleven – Felice

  A short, wispy fabric clung to my body, but I was too far removed from my mind to wonder why I was wearing nothing but a slip, a tiny, lacy dress that clung to my chest and ended just below the curve of my butt. I couldn’t remember changing into it, and I sure couldn’t recall when I’d gotten up.

  It was well past midnight. I should be in bed, but I wasn’t. At least, I didn’t think I was.

  My feet were bare, and I walked down a long, dark hall, each and every door I passed closed, blocking off whatever was inside. Was I dreaming? I couldn’t recall. Most people weren’t aware that they were dreaming while they were, so me thinking that thought probably meant I wasn’t.

  But if that was the case, why did I feel so out of it? Like I wasn’t in my own body, the one in control. Like I was following someone else’s design, someone pulling the invisible strings that controlled me. My arms, my legs. I couldn’t stop myself from walking down this hall even if I tried.

  And…I didn’t. I didn’t try. I didn’t want to stop. Wherever I was going, I felt the innate desire to get there.

  My feet abruptly stopped in front of a closed door, and I reached out a hand. I recognized the door as one that Lucien had warned me as being off-limits, a place I was never to go. The moment my hand touched the door, I heard a bolt move inside of it. The door must’ve unlocked itself, because I was able to push it open and step inside.

  An eerie feeling settled along my spine, and as I stepped in, the door swung shut behind me. The loud noise didn’t startle me, mostly because I was busy staring at the long chair resting in the center of the room. Red velvet, a bright color compared to the dullness that was the rest of the room. Nothing else sat here, which I thought strange.

  Who had an entire room for only one chair?

  In my chest, my heart skipped a beat, and I knew as I stared at the chair that I had to go to it, to sit on it, to feel its smooth surface against my skin.

  Once I reached it, I sank down, heaving out a sigh as I leaned back and closed my eyes. Calmness washed over me, and I felt even more removed from my own body. Everything felt tingly, like I was high. I’d never been high, but I could imagine this was what it felt like. I let myself relax for a good long while, running my hands along the armrests.

  And then I smelled it.

  That smell, the one that drove me mad. The smell I could inhale every day of my life and never get tired of. Some people liked to smell gasoline, others liked the smell of freshly-cut grass. Me? I liked the scent of fire, of ash and cinders, smoke and brimstone.

  I lifted my head off the headrest on the chair, opening my eyes to view what was making that wonderful scent.

  Two burning shoes, sitting on the ground before me, their material still sizzling and burning.

  My stomach should’ve sunk. I should’ve gotten up and run away, but I didn’t; I couldn’t. All I could do was lean forward and study those shoes. Things always looked more beautiful when they sizzled orange.

  As I gazed at the burning tennis shoes, something else pushed its way into my nostrils, an added scent to the ashy room. Metallic, almost. The smell of meat being roasted both too long and not enough.

  My heart nearly stopped when someone spoke behind me, “You shouldn’t be here, Felice.” A voice I knew in my heart of hearts, a voice that sounded resigned, tired, and yet a little angry. A voice whose words were a bit off, almost like his lips were not fully there.

  And they wouldn’t be, not if they were partially burned-off.

  He must’ve stood right behind me, less than three feet from me. I didn’t want to turn around. I couldn’t. I knew what I’d see: a familiar face masked in charred skin, eyes that had burst and burned. Hair that was singed off, clothes that were either burning or gone entirely.

  I would not turn around and look. I would not.

>   My back was rod straight, and my eyes still looked at those shoes. With a blink though, the empty room changed around me. Suddenly I was caught in a fire, the room burning around me. The chair licked with orange flames, heating up my skin with sharp pangs of pain. I leaped off the chair, flinging myself to the floor—where, I noticed, the shoes had vanished.

  Smoke filled the top half the room, and I coughed as I crawled my way to the door. My mind was too frazzled to realize this made no sense. Coughing again, I reached for the doorknob, trying to get out, to escape, but the moment my skin touched the handle, it burned, and I quickly had to tear my hand away.

  Crap.

  I was going to die here, wasn’t I? This was my doing, what I deserved, so really, me dying in a room of fire, wearing nothing but a slip to cover my privates, was my well-earned desserts.

  Somehow I managed to crawl to the back corner of the room, finding that he wasn’t here anymore. I was alone in the room, about to die in a fire of my own making, a fire which I didn’t recall creating.

  The sad thing was, I didn’t want to die alone.

  Once I reached the corner, I drew my legs to my chest, gazing around the room. The red chair in the center burned with fires that licked the ceiling, the walls and floor following suit. Where I huddled was the only safe place, and even then, I could see the flames crawling their way towards me, inching bit by bit until they danced across my skin and threatened to kill. The smoke was almost suffocating, but at least it was a nice smell.

  If I was going to die, it might as well be by the flame.

  I closed my eyes, surrendering myself to the fires of eternity. The heat and smoke could take me, but my soul? I knew where it would go once I died, and it wasn’t the place with the big, white, pearly gates.

  I breathed in one last time, giving up, but just like that, something changed around me. When I inhaled, I didn’t smell smoke or fire. No burning cinders or even dusty ashes. I smelled not a single thing, and as I opened my eyes to see why that was, I was aghast, completely shocked and flabbergasted.

  The room wasn’t on fire anymore. It was as if the fire had never taken place. The chair in the center of the room was untouched, and what was worse—someone was sitting in it.

  My eyes saw the back head of a brown-haired man, and my stomach sank as I slowly got to my feet. The small slip on my body was untouched by the flames, and as I stepped closer to him, hesitant to round the chair and see his face—if I was right, and it was him, it was a face I never should see again—my gut clenched. Figuring I’d better just get it over with, I moved around the chair.

  But it wasn’t him. It was someone else.

  Lucien?

  This room was full of surprises, none of which were good. Why would it show me the shoes, his voice, a burning room, and then Lucien? Confusion settled within me, locking into place when Lucien’s hazel eyes lifted to mine.

  This had to be a dream. Lucien would never look so…rumpled and unkempt. A shadow of stubble lined his square jaw, and he wore creased grey slacks, nothing but a button-up shirt on his chest—a few of the buttons undone, revealing some well-kept muscles beneath.

  Heck, he might be a shadow of how he was during the day, but this Lucien was just as attractive, maybe even more so. I’d known he was thick under that suit, but seeing him lounging in that chair, his knees spread, made me all different kinds of warm.

  I stood a foot in front of him, fighting every urge I had to crawl on that lap and touch that thick, solid chest after undoing the other buttons. Whatever was going on here, it wasn’t normal. This room…

  I had to be dreaming, right?

  Lucien’s hazel stare raked over my body, and he leaned forward, arms propped on his knees. “Why are you so beautiful?” The question was spoken easily, effortlessly, as if he’d spoken it a thousand times before.

  Never once to me. Not in real life. And this—there was no way this was real life. If this was a dream, if this was some kind of nightmare-turned-wet dream, I was going to make the most of it.

  All I could do was shake my head as I stared down at him. For once, I stood taller than he was. Only because he was on the chair, but still.

  My thighs clenched of their own accord as I reached out, trailing a hand along his stubbly jaw, the prickly sensation causing me to swoon right then and there. This felt so real. How could this be a dream? Was this what all conscious dreams were like?

  Lucien closed his eyes, letting out a ragged breath as he turned his face toward my hand, my entire palm now against his cheek. Slumped over like this, he was hardly himself. I felt a pang of…something for him. Longing? Sympathy?

  “Why do you look so broken?” I asked, watching as he once again turned those pretty hazel eyes to me.

  “That’s what happens when you die,” he murmured, his words making no sense whatsoever. He took my outstretched hand in his, a shudder encasing his whole body as his fingers weaved into mine. “You’re so warm. You’ve never been this warm.”

  Suddenly I was pulled onto his lap, straddling him. The slip covering me hiked up, exposing my backside. Again, quite suddenly, I realized I was wearing no underwear beneath it. Just me, free-balling it—although I didn’t think free-balling was the right term to use here, since I had no balls to begin with.

  He released my hand, both arms encircling me and holding me against his chest. This was simultaneously bizarre and undeniably nice. Feeling his hard body against mine was a type of heaven I never knew existed until now.

  “So warm,” Lucien murmured, his lips finding my neck and trailing kisses along my collarbone.

  Oh, God. Yes, a thousand times, yes.

  My body rocked against his of its own accord, grinding against his midsection and making the cock under me harder than it already was. This was ten different kinds of wrong—he was only a few years younger than my father, after all, and my boss—but I didn’t care. Right now, I had not a care in the world. Why would I, if this was all a dream?

  Setting a hand on his neck, I brought his lips away from my collarbone and lowered mine to his. It wasn’t a rough, hard kiss like the one I’d had with Koda the other day. This was a soft, slow, achingly tender kiss that I felt in my core, a burning need rising within me. His lips parted against mine, and I slipped my tongue through, causing him to moan into me.

  Such a deep, guttural sound that drove me wild, making me kiss him harder, lose myself in the feeling of his tongue gliding across mine. I never knew how badly I wanted this until it was presented to me, until I saw how broken Lucien could be.

  Even if I woke up tomorrow guilty and ashamed at myself, I didn’t care. Right now, all I could think about was hearing more of his muffled groaning and getting the thick hardness I felt beneath me inside.

  As our tongues wrestled, I tore open his shirt—yes, tore, as in I tore a few of the buttons right off the fabric. But it was all worth it the moment I pulled my mouth off his, panting, to gaze at his muscular, well-built chest. His pectorals were hard and defined, six squares resting along his stomach. A nice V-shape that pointed to his crotch, where his hard-on was, pressing against his pants in a bulge I only ground on harder when I stared at his body.

  Perfect. Fucking perfect, if you’ll excuse the language.

  Lucien’s chest rumbled with a growl as he practically tore at the slip on my body, sliding the small spaghetti straps off my shoulders and baring my breasts to him. He came at me like a wild animal, all hands and teeth, rough and possessive, and I let him. I threw my head back as he acquainted his mouth with each soft curve of my breasts, letting out a low groan when he took a nipple into his mouth and gently bit.

  I tangled a hand in his hair, rocking my hips along his bulge, panting as I wished his cock was out. If it was out, if his cock was free of his restrictive pants, then it could be inside of me. That wasn’t too much to ask for at a time like this, was it? When his mouth was firmly attached to my left breast and his other hand kneaded the right with fervor that brought my body to its
tipping point?

  No, no it was not too much to ask.

  So I didn’t—ask, that was. I simply worked at his pants as he teased my nipples with his teeth, sending jolts of electricity zapping through me with each touch. He could hurt me, or he could pleasure me until the end of time. Opposite ends of the spectrum. I guessed when you let a man suck on a tit, you were kind of putting your fate in his hands. Or his mouth, really. Kind of like when you were on your knees giving a blowjob. One hard bite of your teeth and that dick was a goner.

  Lucien removed his mouth from my breast, my poor nipple aching with a need to get him back, but I had to focus on the goal here, and right now my goal was the rod-hard dick that bounced straight up after I lifted myself a bit to tug those pants down. Difficult to do while he was sitting and I was straddling him, but I managed.

  My chest heaved with great breaths, and Lucien held me up, gripping both of my ass cheeks and guiding me over his length, as if I needed any help. As if I didn’t know what to do. Right now I was just as hungry for this as he was. I didn’t care if this dream was totally inappropriate; I’d deal with it in the morning.

  Right now it was time to sink myself along that cock and surrender to the feeling of being full.

  My breasts were right in his face as I sunk down. My body gave me a bit of resistance at first, but as soon as that bulbous tip entered me, it was over. Inch by inch I continued to sink onto his length, taking him in with a relief-filled sigh. Every nerve in my body was alight with fire, and if there was one thing anyone should know about me, it’s that I liked to stoke the flames.

  Lucien was big, and he was thick, too. My body immediately warmed the moment he filled me, but I couldn’t just sit there and hold his cock inside of me. The hands that had held my backside moved to curl around my waist, fingers digging in hard, almost painfully. I gripped his shoulders for support, barely able to get a good hold on him beneath the collar of the shirt I’d torn open—his shoulders were really that wide, no joke—and with his help, I began to rock along his length.