Knowing You_The Cursed Series Part 2

by Rebecca Donovan

  My chest is thumping so hard, I wonder if he can hear it.

  His words linger in the air between us. They come from a place so real and honest; it’s like I can reach out and touch them, hold every letter in the palm of my hand and believe in them.

  “I feel it too.”

  I don’t just say the words; I give them back. I want him to hold them too. To believe as much as I do.

  I reach up and brush my fingers along the sculpted lines of his jaw, over the definition of his cheekbones, and through his hair. He blinks his eyes closed, absorbing it. I lean in and taste his lips. Gentle and soft, a breath of a kiss. He inhales a broken gasp. His hands cup my sides, leaning me into him, until I have to adjust, placing my knees on either side of his thighs. His eyes ease open as if he’s been dreaming—they look into me, through me, beyond me.

  My heartbeat has taken over my entire body, pulsing and thrumming through my core to my toes. Our eyes remain locked for a slow inhale, then I close mine and find his mouth again, pressing harder, running my tongue along the tender give of his lower lip. His hands slide across my back and cradle me like I am the most precious thing they’ve ever held. I can feel his pulse pounding in time with mine. His lips skim along the sensitive flesh of my jaw to my neck, nipping at the beating under my skin. My hands slide into his hair and I move into him, closer, tighter.

  He lowers me onto my back, gazes down at me, observing, admiring, searching. I am exposed beneath his stare, but I don’t shy away. I let him see me, because this is the truth. And as he said, it can’t be changed. His mouth captures mine, our pace increases. Our wanting becomes need. His hand skates along my hemline. He pulls back before he removes the fabric. “Is this okay?”

  “Yes.”

  He lifts is over my head. And before he can ask, I remove the bra as well. His hands are warm; his tongue is gentle. I reach for the edges of his shirt and ask, “Is this okay?”

  He grins and answers, “Yes.” So I pull it over his head. He is smooth and hard lines, dips and grooves. I run my hands over every inch, and then my lips follow. Our mouths meet in our exploration. His heart covers mine, flesh to flesh, beat to beat. I swear they are talking, communicating, conspiring, belonging. Light pumps through them and into every cell of my being.

  When I reach for his button, I hesitate, seeking permission. But before I can ask, he answers. “Not yet.” Instead, he lays beside me and cradles me against his chest and I listen to his heart pound against my ear.

  “I trust you too,” I tell him and kiss the spot where his heart tells me the truth.

  As the beast lay dead upon the forest floor, Thaylina bent down over his body. She did not see a handsome face, or a charming smile. Only the truth of what he truly was, a horrific monster. She lowered her mouth to his deadened ear and hissed, “I wanted this.”

  I groan at the annoying wanting to stay lost in my dream—flashes of fireflies and … well, Grant.

  Please come to the front office of the administration building immediately.

  That’s not a good message to wake up to.

  Within a second, my thoughts jump to my mother. That she’s hurt or sick or something bad has happened.

  I scramble out of bed, still disoriented, and start throwing on clothes. With my shirt half over my head, it occurs to me that maybe they have my drug results. My movements slow. Isn’t it too soon for the results? I’ve never had a blood test before, but it seems fast.

  Whatever the reason, I’m pretty sure it’s going to suck. And as soon as I enter Dr. Kendall’s black and white throne room, I’m positive it is.

  Seated in front of her desk is Niall. And standing off to the side, looking miserable with his arms crossed, is Mr. Garner. He flashes his eyes to me quickly before continuing to scowl at the floor.

  Niall stands when I enter, his expression stoic and controlled as usual. And Dr. Kendall has her lips pursed, accentuating the expression lines around her mouth, cracking her plastic veneer.

  I look from one to the other and am tempted to walk back out of the room.

  “Have a seat, Miss Peri,” Dr. Kendall instructs, her sugary demeanor cast aside.

  Crap.

  Niall remains standing until I’m seated. I shift uncomfortably, waiting for my world to end.

  “Let’s get right to it,” Dr. Kendall says, folding her hands on top of her desk. “It’s been reported that you were off-campus without the required chaperone last night.”

  I close my eyes and silently curse. Seriously?! I just had the most amazing night of my life, and I’m getting punished for it. What the hell, karma? What did I do to deserve this … this time?

  “We understand that you were released early from work, but instead of coming directly back to the school, you were … somewhere else for several hours.”

  “But I returned at the same time as everyone else,” I say in weak defense. “And I didn’t do anything wrong during that time.”

  “That’s up for interpretation,” she snaps. “You are given specific guidelines to adhere to for your safety. And one of those stipulations is that you are not to leave campus unaccompanied except when you’re at work.”

  I want to argue that I was accompanied, but bringing Grant into this, no matter how stellar his character, isn’t the best idea. The last thing I want is to get him into trouble … because they believe I need a fricken babysitter. And that sitter actively violates the code daily. But Lance isn’t at fault either. It’s their stupid logic that’s to blame.

  “Right,” I say. “I screwed up. I left work. I didn’t come directly back here. I wasn’t with an approved chaperone. But I also didn’t steal, take drugs, have sex, or get in a fight. That’s an improvement, right? I’m sure Mr. Garner will agree that it’s a huge step in the right direction for me.”

  Mr. Garner clears his throat, to smother a laugh that’s trying to escape. Dr. Kendall shoots him a scathing glance. Niall just breathes in deep and releases it through his nose.

  “The fact that you didn’t get arrested or impregnated is not a victory, Miss Peri,” Dr. Kendall scolds.

  “Are you sure? I’m pretty impressed with myself,” I say with an arrogant shrug. Took that one right out of Brendan’s handbook.

  Dr. Kendall’s face turns as red as her hair.

  “Lana, this might be one of those times to practice the silence you’re usually so good at,” Niall advises calmly. “Dr. Kendall, I understand why the guidelines are in place and respect them. But Lana is admitting she made a poor choice, and she didn’t participate in any transgressions while unsupervised. We have a reputable individual who can account for that, if necessary. So, what can we do to rectify this situation?”

  I stare at Niall, my brow raised. Mr. Garner appears just as awed.

  Dr. Kendall runs a hand over her skirt, composing herself. “All off-campus access will be denied, including her work program, for the rest of the month.”

  “What the—”

  Mr. Garner has come around to stand behind me and places a hand on my shoulder, easing me back into my seat. “That’s fair.”

  She glowers up at him. “And I suggest you better acquaint yourself with our life advisor script, Mr. Garner. I hold you directly responsible for her actions.”

  He presses his lips together and nods. “Of course.”

  I am going to get him fired. Shit.

  “Thank you, Dr. Kendall,” Niall says, standing and ushering me to the door. Mr. Garner is just as eager to escape, striding alongside me. “I’m going to speak with Lana before I leave. I’m confident this will be the only time we’ll have to address this or any other matter.”

  When we reach the foyer, Mr. Garner turns to Niall. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Harrison. I know you entrusted me with Lana’s care … I don’t know what to say. Other than, I’ll keep a better watch over her.”

  “It’s okay, Isaac. You can only do so much. Trust me, I know.” Niall shoots me a side-eye glare.

  I fight the urge to roll my eye
s at them both. “I can take care of myself.”

  “No you can’t,” they say in unison.

  “I’ll be in touch,” Niall tells Mr. Garner. Then to me, “Lana, a word.” He walks toward the doors of the sitting room. I follow with shoulders bowed.

  “I know you’re used to having your freedom and doing what you want, but that’s also the reason you’re here. You have a lot more freedom here than you would in juvenile detention, and you know it. So I suggest you start abiding by their rules. Blackwood has a very limited tolerance for insubordination. You already have a list of minor infractions, and now a major one, within only a few weeks. You have to be more responsible, Lana.”

  “I really didn’t do anything wrong last night,” I say earnestly.

  “I know who you were with, and I know the Philips family. Grant’s a responsible individual, and I can only hope that he’s more of a positive influence on you than you are a negative one on him.”

  I open mouth to take offense when he says, “I approve of him, Lana. He’s good for you. And if you can do what’s expected of you until school starts, I’ll request that he be allowed to escort you off-campus.”

  Hearing him approve of Grant, felt … fatherly. It definitely didn’t sound like my lawyer talking. And now I don’t have any words. None. I just stare at him with my mouth gaping open.

  Niall gives me a rare smile.

  “Um,” I say, regaining my ability to speak, “have you heard from my mother? I keep missing her. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

  His eyes shift down solemnly.

  “What?” I hold my breath.

  “She fainted at work the other night. But she’s okay. Olivia’s arranged to take her to see her doctor next week to follow up.”

  I close my eyes and sigh. “So she’s not okay.”

  “We don’t know that for certain. She says she feels fine. Blamed it on not eating.”

  “She’s lying,” I tell him.

  “That’s why Olivia is going to make sure she keeps this appointment. I’ll let you know if there’s anything to be concerned about. For now, do what you have to do. Stop messing up, Lana. There’s only so much I can do to save you.”

  There’s a knock at my door within seconds of hanging up from my nightly security check-in.

  “I’m here to break you out,” Brendan says, stepping into my room. I know his timed appearance isn’t a coincidence. Our government seriously needs to hire him, before another country’s does—because if they get him first, we’re screwed.

  “You know?” Then I shake my head at my stupidity. “Of course you do. I can’t get caught leaving my room.”

  “I won’t let that happen.”

  As much as I don’t trust him, I do believe him. “Where are we going?”

  “My room. Roundtable meeting with the middle Harrison prince.”

  “You did not just equate yourself to a knight, did you?”

  “I am rescuing you right now aren’t I?”

  “Or kidnapping me.”

  “Hey, you don’t have to come. You’re the one who wants answers.” He hesitates a second before adding, “But I have to warn you that this passage is long, narrow and really dark. I have a flashlight, but I’m not sure if it’ll be enough.”

  I study him. His face doesn’t reveal anything, like maybe he’s genuinely concerned about me. But the fact that he’s warning me about what could happen if I go with him, says enough.

  “You can squeeze the shit out my hand if it’ll help. But just don’t punch me. You hurt.”

  I release a small laugh. He holds out his hand and I take it.

  Brendan pokes his head out of my room, checking the hall in both directions before he pulls me out after him, having taped my latch open so it won’t click shut. We walk briskly to the end of the corridor on my side of the grand staircase. In the few seconds it takes for me to check over my shoulder that the hall is still empty and then turn back to him, a section of the wall has swung open.

  “Ready?” Brendan asks, giving my hand a firm squeeze. I nod. He turns on a flashlight and illuminates a steep, narrow stone staircase. I step down to allow him to close the passage; then I grab his hand again. This stairwell is as narrow as the one that led up to the Quiet Room; the wall is so close I can feel my breath bounce back. My chest is heaving by the time we reach the next small landing. “How are you doing?”

  “Distract me,” I rasp, my forehead prickling with sweat. “Tell me something about you. Anything, no matter how stupid.”

  “I love you how you assume anything about me will be stupid.”

  I laugh, or wheeze.

  “Did you,” I take in a couple short breaths, “ever leave Nantucket before here?”

  “Save your air, Princess. Don’t want you passing out before we get to my room. And to answer your question, yes. I didn’t remain trapped on the island like my mother. Mostly went to Boston or New York. Flew to London last summer. My grandmother is protective but trusting. She caught on early enough that I wasn’t someone to be contained. So she pressed some morals upon me and hoped they’d stick.”

  “They didn’t,” I mutter.

  He stops and pulls my arm so I’m right up against him. “But I make up for it in morale. I’m very good at everything I do.”

  I shove him forward. He releases a menacing chuckle and continues down the steep staircase that turns at sharp angles. I know we have to descend five floors, but it feels like we’re entering the bowels of hell the farther we go down. The air becomes colder and feels so heavy, it’s like I can taste the decay with each labored breath.

  My body shivers when the frigid temperature collides with my damp skin. “Are you sure you’re not going to murder me and leave me down here with your collection?”

  “No. You’re too fun to play with,” he answers. “Stay close.”

  I grip his forearm with my free hand and huddle up against him.

  “Talk to me,” I beg, tripping over my feet which refuse to move properly. I want to close my eyes to stop the spinning, but then I know I’ll fall. I don’t want to be down here anymore. I’m not sure how much more I can take before I’m consumed by the panic again.

  “You’re a pretty fascinating person, Lana Peri.” I can hardly hear him with my pulse roaring in my ears. My shoulder scrapes against wet, slimy stone and I bite back a scream. “With everything life has thrown at you, you know how to take care of yourself. Hell, I wouldn’t want to be trapped in a dark alley with you.” He laughs. “Oh, wait. We are.”

  I punch his arm.

  “Dammit, woman! Stop punching me. You’re a hell of a lot stronger than your little spritely size might indicate.”

  “Then stop saying stupid things,” I choke out.

  Finally, we start climbing up another set of stairs again. My body is racked with the shakes. I have to stop.

  “Hold,” I draw in air, but it’s like I’m breathing through a straw, “on.” I bend over, trying to inflate my lungs.

  Brendan lifts me up and throws me over his shoulder. “Let’s get you out of here.” I don’t try to resist, even though having his hands on me right now is making my body quake even more. I fight the urge to kick and punch him, even though that’s what every instinctive defense is screaming at me to do. So I squeeze my eyes shut, clench my fists and concentrate on the sound of his footsteps.

  He’s swift, easily moving up the confined stairway as if I weren’t slung over his shoulder. I can feel the sinewy muscles along his back, taught and lean. I have a feeling that’s all there is under this shirt. Guess eating like a middle-aged man pays off.

  He sets me down on a cool, supple leather surface. When I open my eyes, black circles float before them. I sway in the seat, afraid I might pass out. Bending forward between my knees, I concentrate on breathing.

  “Here, drink this.” Brendan holds out a glass in front of me. I shoot it down and cough instantly. The fiery liquid burns the entire way down.

  “Thanks,” I say b
etween coughs. “I didn’t need my throat.”

  “You going to be okay?”

  I slowly lean back and wait for my pulse to return to normal. My eyes slowly shift up to meet his. He’s standing above me, dressed in dark slacks and a grey shirt, looking like he’s ready for a GQ photoshoot, not like he just emerged from a dungeon.

  “Yeah.

  “He’s dead, you know.”

  I don’t have to ask who he means.

  I study him, waiting for an explanation that doesn’t come. “How do you know what happened?”

  He shrugs casually and leans against the counter, crossing one foot over the other. “Wasn’t hard to figure out. The police in Sherling aren’t the brightest, are they?” When I only stare at him, he continues. “I read the police report on your grandmother’s death. I know you refused to talk to them, never answered a single question. But you did tell everyone what happened.”

  I swallow, an acrid taste rising in the back of my throat.

  “Wolfe. Morgan Wolfe. Hell, you pretty much named him in the story you wrote.”

  “How did you …” I croak, unable to finish.

  “It was submitted to Blackwood as part of your admission file, along with your transcript. You’re a talented storyteller. A bit dark and twisted, but good.”

  “Why do you care so much about my life?”

  “I told you, the truth is much more interesting than the lies.”

  “Do you know this much about Ashton? Or is it just me you’re obsessed with?”

  “I wouldn’t call it an obsession. That sounds so … creepy.” He grins and I glare at him. “It’s intriguing, really. Putting the pieces of a person together, to better understand why they are who they are. Probably has to do with understanding my mother’s suicide, but I don’t care for psychoanalysis.”

  “And Ashton?” I persist.

  “I’m not going to talk to you about her,” he says sternly. I see a flash of something hard in his eyes. Is he … protecting her?

  I decide not to push him about it, even though I’m becoming more concerned for her by the second. “Fine.”