Course, his clothes could use some sprucing up—saggy jeans and yellow Doc Martens were a little old-school.
“Here.” He waved. “I’ve got lunch same hour as you. I’ll save you a seat.”
“Thanks.” She smiled.
With a final grin, he disappeared back into the colorful, buzzing hive of students.
“New meat.” Someone snickered from inside the classroom.
Pressing her lips tight, Flint walked in.
The teacher, barely out of diapers—with his baby-butt-smooth skin and light brown hair—smiled at her and said, “You must be Flint Deluca.”
She nodded mutely, trying to ignore the constant hard stares and chatter of her classmates.
He touched the tip of his nose just as the final bell rang. “Process of elimination since you were the last one in. And everyone else”—he eyed the class sternly—“I know from last year. Isn’t that right, boys and girls? So be nice.”
Girls twittered and a boy somewhere in the back of the class snickered. “Stupid name.”
Not the first time Flint had heard someone make fun of her odd name. She rolled her eyes.
“I’m Mr. Wickham, and welcome to twelfth grade chem. Now take your seat.” He turned his back to her, and picking up a piece of chalk, he started to draw something on the board.
Clearing her throat, wishing she could just crawl into a hole somewhere and die, she spotted the only seat available.
All the way in the back corner, and sitting next to it was a brooding giant of a boy, with muscles stacked upon muscles and wearing the darkest pair of shades she’d ever seen.
For a second she wondered why he hadn’t been forced to take them off.
Sighing, she walked between desks, tripping over a bright orange pair of Chucks. A black boy lifted his brows and put his thumb next to his ear and a finger by his mouth.
“Call me,” he mouthed.
And tripping her was the best way to flirt?
With a huff she scooted past, finally able to drop into her seat.
Why did teachers always feel like they had to do that anyway? Make it obvious that you were new?
For once she’d love to just walk inside, sit, and be left alone.
“Hello, class. Like I said earlier, I’m Mr. Wickham. This year we’ll be learning about…”
He was saying stuff, but she could hardly focus on it. She looked to her left, at the wall of muscle sitting silent as death beside her.
He was tapping his pencil on the corner of the desk, each tap pounding like the hard beat of her heart.
Dressed all in black. Black jeans, black Ozzy shirt, black boots with loose laces, black shades… the typical anti-jock, “don’t look at me or I’ll kill your kitten” cretin. But she liked the way he styled his hair—messy but kind of not—and then she noticed when he shifted that he had a tattoo. The bottom of it peeked out from under the edge of his sleeve.
From the little bit she could see, it almost reminded her of a shredded moth’s wing, but with a filigree pattern along the edge. It was strangely beautiful; she wondered what it actually was.
She licked her lips, body tightening and surging with crazy dips in her lower stomach. He had a nice jaw, square and all hard lines. Especially when he clenched it like he was doing now.
Suddenly she was aware of the growing hum of laughter. Glancing up, she looked into Mr. Wickham’s humorless brown eyes. He had his arms crossed and was giving her that look.
The one that made her want to slump farther down in her seat. Especially because all eyes were trained on her. Except Goth. He was still looking straight ahead.
“Ms. DeLuca, instead of making mooney eyes at Cain, pay attention. That way next time I call your name four times in a row, you might actually hear me.”
“Yes, sir,” she muttered, sinking into her chair, wishing she had a hoodie to cover her face with.
Oh jeez, could this day get any worse?
For the rest of the period, she refused to glance at Goth Boy, a.k.a. Cain, keeping her eyes firmly on the chalkboard in front of her.
But that didn’t mean she’d stopped thinking about him. It didn’t seem possible that friendly, scrawny Abel was brother to the antisocial, hot, ripped-muscle—did she mention uberhot —Goth boy.
She sniffed. He smelled good too. Like that woodsy cologne her mom used to buy Dad. Flint’s heart pounded as his pencil-tapping increased. Jeez, he smelled so good. She sniffed harder. It was crazy, but his scent literally seemed to be reaching out to her. If she could have gone into a lab and created her ideal cologne, that would be it.
“Ms. DeLuca.”
Flint jerked as heat crept up her neck and settled in her cheeks.
“One more time, and it’ll be detention.”
The class laughed.
Ugh. It was official, her life sucked.
Chapter Two
Flint was pretty sure this had to have been the worst day of her life. And it was only halfway over; she’d spilled some sort of blue liquid out of her beaker in chem class, making her hunter-green Tinker shirt look like it’d decided to take an acid trip. Then in gym, she’d tripped over her loose shoelace, taking a face-plant into the bright red wrestling mat.
She was never clumsy.
But she couldn’t stop thinking about Cain and that tap-tapping pencil. He hadn’t spoken a word to her all through chem, had refused to look at her even though she knew he could feel her staring.
He’d only tapped harder.
When the bell had rung, she’d gotten up, depressed and moody with no idea why. She’d been shoving books into her bag and when she’d turned, he was there. Standing in front of her. Breathing hard, smelling good, making her heart do some sort of stupid thing in her chest, and even though she couldn’t see his eyes behind the thick-as-smoke shades, she’d felt his glare all over her. Making her feel like she’d stepped through flames, making her tingle everywhere.
Flint had to try to remember how to breathe.
Then he was shoving past her, still without saying a word.
Now she was in the cafeteria, ready to say “screw it,” dump her food in the trash can, and wait outside on the bleachers for lunch to finish.
“Flint!” Abel cried, shoulder-bumping her and making her smile with relief.
“A friendly face.”
“You happy to see me?” His thick wavy hair slipped into his eye.
She nodded. “Yes.”
“Well, come on, I want to introduce you to my gang.”
Flint followed, laughing. “So does it make you guys cool to be sitting with a senior?”
He snorted. “No, it makes you cool to be sitting with us.”
His eyes twinkled and she liked him a little more.
A petite Asian waved at them. The weird flutters in her stomach started up again. It wasn’t that she was shy, but it was always awkward doing the whole “hi, I’m new” thing. You’d think after three moves, it would get easier. But it never did.
It wasn’t until Flint dropped into her seat that it dawned on her the table next to theirs was full of Goths. Black-wearing, thickly muscled ones. All of them sporting shades, and at their silent center… sat a very brooding Cain.
“Rhi couldn’t make it,” the Asian girl said from the corner of her mouth.
Abel rolled his eyes. “Lemme guess, working on her routine or something?”
“Or something.”
Flint swallowed hard, back running thick with goose bumps as she felt the force of Cain’s heated stare penetrate her thin cotton shirt.
The Asian girl smiled and held out her hand. “Hey, I’m Janet!” she chirped, flashing a deep right dimple. She wore cat’s-eye glasses and was dressed in a colorful blue-jean skirt and cream top. Her bangs were blunt-cut and straight, and her hair was beyond perfect. Beautiful, black, and thick. So the antithesis of Flint’s wild auburn waves.
Grateful to have something to focus on other than Goth Boy, Flint smiled weakly at Janet.
&
nbsp; “Hey,” she said, shaking hands.
The tinkling jangle of Janet’s ornately decorated golden wristbands drew her eye. Different from anything Flint had ever seen before, they barely moved, almost seeming to be painted on, and yet they definitely made a chiming noise. Which was weird.
Flint didn’t much do the jewelry thing, but she might for the slim bracelets. They were gorgeous, looking crafted by a master goldsmith. “Hey, where’d you get those?”
Janet glanced up and a brief flash of… something… danced through her eyes. As quick as it appeared, it was gone. Flint blinked and shook her head, wondering if she was going crazy. For a second it’d looked like the golden flicker of flame.
“Oh this.” Janet wiggled her wrist, and deep brown eyes with no trace of whatever Flint’s crazy mind had conjured up smiled back at her. “Mom bought it from some witch doctor in Budapest.” She shrugged and pressed her lips tightly together.
Budapest. That was awesome, but Janet was giving off strong vibes that the topic was closed.
Turning toward Abel, Janet nibbled on a french fry and said, “New meat, huh?”
Abel nodded at her knowing look, a deep scarlet blush staining his cheeks. He muttered something and then took a huge bite out of his tuna-fish sandwich, leaving crumbs on the corners of his lips.
Flint wiggled in her seat, feeling suddenly strange. Like there was a silent conversation happening between them, something they didn’t want her to know about but that somehow involved her. She frowned, weirded out and wondering if maybe she should go out to the bleachers after all.
Janet shook her head, wiping away whatever censure she’d turned on Abel and again the mood was back to normal.
Maybe she was going crazy? Maybe Cain’s stare-down in chem was making her way more prone to seeing things that weren’t there.
“So where you from?” Janet blinked huge owl eyes at her, tone chirpy and not in the least bit annoyed like it’d seemed to be earlier.
Flint picked at the gooey cheese on her slice of pizza. “Everywhere.” She grinned. “Though no place as cool as Budapest.”
Janet snorted. “Really? That sounds cool.”
But the way she said it made it sound anything but. Janet popped a fry in her mouth.
Flint pushed her tray away, her nerves taking up too much space in her stomach for her to think about eating right now.
Feeling a strange need to redeem herself, she said, “But we just moved here from LA.”
“Ooh, wicked.” Abel grinned and sucked loudly on the straw of his chocolate milk. “I’ve been a couple of times. Loved the Whiskey, you ever go there?”
Flint laughed, forgetting about the hot press of eyes on her back thanks to Abel’s inquisitive gaze. The Whiskey a Go Go on the Sunset Strip, the hottest club for up-and-coming rock bands. You were the epitome of cool if you could get in. But you could never get in. Not unless you could find somebody to hook you up with tickets.
“Umm, no… It was always sold out. How did you get in there, anyway?”
Abel wiggled his dark brows. “I gots my secrets, girl.”
Laughing, she popped a green grape in her mouth, its sweet juices bursting on her tongue. Rearranging her plates of food, she opened her carton of milk. This school wasn’t so different from all the others she’d ever gone to.
Perky blondes and smoky-eyed brunettes sat at the center tables, reigning like a bunch of queen bees as the jocks and studs circled them like sharks. Beside them were the cool—but not quite cool enough—groups of boys and girls. Dressed in nice clothes with the latest haircuts, eyeing the squealing cheerleaders with green-eyed envy. At the fringes were the outcasts. Some tables consisted of one boy or girl, bent over a book, eating and reading and pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist.
Then there was her side. The dark side. She snorted and took a sip of the lukewarm milk. Grimaced—gross—but she was thirsty.
It was an appropriate title though. Totally strange, but most of the kids on this side were dressed darker. Not all of them sported black head to toe, but they weren’t in the bright, cheerful colors of the other side, except for Janet.
She was a special kind of snowflake.
But only the ones sitting with Cain wore the shades. Unlike him, however, they were both blonds and looked eerily identical—from the full bottom lips, to the strong, aquiline noses, right down to the slightly cleft chins. They must have been twins. But even they weren’t the strangest things sitting on the dark side.
The table closest to the lunchroom doors was full. Eight heads tipped forward, whispering low, barely pausing to eat as they obviously discussed something of monumental importance.
Like maybe what kind of hat Justin Bieber wore on the Letterman show last night. Probably not though. With their washed-out complexions and formless, baggy clothes… they were likely plotting what would be the best time to bomb the school.
Flint shivered at the thought.
One of the heads popped up and Flint flinched as the bloodshot gaze lasered across the room and landed square on her face. Several tables sat between them, but the girl was studying Flint without blinking, making no bones that Flint was the bug under her microscope. And then it dawned on her; it was the same girl who’d bumped into her that morning.
Flint hadn’t gotten more than a fleeting look at her then.
Her skin was a sickly brown. With a little sun, she’d probably look like a bronzed goddess, but the heavy purple bags under her eyes ruined the effect. Her hair—cropped short to her head—gave her elfin features a hard edge. Those bloodshot eyes narrowed, and Flint sucked in a sharp breath—no, she was not crazy. It wasn’t her imagination that suddenly she felt pressure pulsing against her body, a choking sensation stealing the breath from her lungs and making her dizzy as she tried desperately to gulp air into her starved body.
Flint broke eye contact first and could finally take a deep breath of sweet air, hands shaking as her body flooded with adrenaline. What had that been about? And what was up with psycho chick?
Then a terrible thought popped in her head. Were they dating? Cain and psycho? Or maybe exes? And that was the reason for the stare-down? But she’d been with Abel this morning and now at lunch, not Cain. Not only that, but something told Flint the girl wasn’t Cain’s type. Then again, weirder things had happened. She knew jack about Cain other than he had a fetish for all things black.
“What is she doing here?”
And speak of the devil.
Flint didn’t need to look to know Cain was the source of that question, even though she’d never once heard him speak. It fit him, deep and resonating with a heated shiver that whipped down her spine and flexed through her bones.
Flint looked up, wishing her heart would stop doing that stupid somersault thing whenever he was near. Cain was staring down at his brother, impossibly large arms folded across his thick chest.
Cain looked way too old to be in high school. No boy her age looked like that. Not naturally anyway. Maybe he was on the juice?
“Because she’s my friend.” Abel gave Cain a tight smile.
“She’s new. You don’t know her.”
Okay, he did realize she was right here, right? Flint gritted her teeth, counting slowly to ten in her head, wondering for the millionth time how two brothers could be so opposite.
“Go away, Cain. She’s fine.”
Flint could almost picture sparks shooting off Cain—the fine hairs on her arm stood up when he turned that hot glare on her. She wished she could see his eyes.
Why didn’t anyone make him take those things off? He was probably hideous. Missing an eye or something.
“Why are you here?” He snarled and she blinked… was it possible that his arms suddenly seemed bigger?
“Excuse me?” Flint wished she knew where the animosity was coming from. She’d barely sat down.
Cain advanced, each step seeming to tug at the very depths of her soul, reaching for something she couldn’t understan
d. But she knew in the pit of her heart Cain would burn and consume her if she let him.
His lips curled into a semi smile, and yeah, her stomach was definitely flopping down around her knees. Her chest heaved as heat and shame crept up her neck. Why couldn’t she control her emotions around him?
Was it hot in here? Because she was pretty sure she was starting to sweat, and her heart was definitely thumping like a rabbit on crack.
“Stop messing with my brother,” he growled.
Growled, like a full-on throaty animal snarl. Her knees went weak, and not from fear.
Abel flicked a french fry at him. “I’m not a kid, she’s my friend, she stays!”
Finally her tongue came unglued from the roof of her mouth. Flint stood on wobbly legs, narrowing her eyes to thin slits. “I’m not messing with your brother. I’m new, he’s nice, unlike some people. He asked me to sit and I sat. What’s your problem?”
Fear, and loathing, and anger so sharp it knifed her, made her words piercing.
Cain was in her space, breathing her air, body crackling like it was alive. She tingled, every nerve in her flaring to life, and again she was struck by how good he smelled.
So not fair.
“I don’t know who you are. You show up here and what—”
“What?” she hissed. “Show up here and what? I’m not trying to eat his brains, or worse… make him my personal boy toy, so what’s the big deal? I’m. Just. Eating. Lunch.”
Janet chuckled. “She thinks making you a boy toy is worse than eating your brains? Watch out, Abel.”
Flint rolled her eyes.
Anger buzzed like a hornet’s nest in her blood. But beyond the anger was a palpable and dangerous tension that made her reckless and scared. The stare-down with psycho chick made her already-frayed nerves stretch to their limits.
Then his face was right in hers, and his lips were so close and hers tingled when he said, “You don’t fool me.”
He took a step back and the movement was so fast she almost fell forward, not realizing she’d been leaning in. Cain jerked his head at the two other guys who’d been sitting next to him. They stood, each of them looking at her with that same hot press of eyes, before following him out.
The Complete Tempted Series Page 2