by Callie Hart
Our bodies are flush. Her tits heave, her nipples just begging to be sucked on again. Holy shit. With her hands restrained over her head, so many dark, filthy thoughts begin to form in my mind. The things I could do to her like this.
Fuck.
My smile begins to fade. She must be able to feel me getting turned on, my cock growing harder against her stomach. She squirms a little, licking her lips, her breathing coming a little quicker. She wants me. She fucking wants me. I could spend forever like this, sliding my dick into her, rubbing my fingers on her clit, teasing her, teaching her, showing her how good it feels to be my plaything. Screw managing the estate and becoming a boring cabinet minister. Only a mad motherfucker would turn his back on this.
She’s already swallowed my come tonight, though. There’ll be time for more tomorrow. Half the fun of this is the wanting, and I want to keep this beautiful creature hungry. I want her waking up in the middle of the night, desperate for my tongue on her clit and my fingers in her cunt. I want her in a permanent state of arousal, to the point where, no matter how many times she comes by her own hand, it’ll never be enough. She’ll always want me.
I let her go, rolling off her, and Carrie lets out a petulant little whimper that almost makes me reassess my decision and climb back on top of her. “Tease,” she complains.
“Trust me, sweetheart. We haven’t gotten close to the teasing part yet.”
She buries her face into the blankets and groans. A corner of the blanket lowers, so that just one dark eye and half a frown is visible, and I just about die. She’s the perfect balance of cute and sexy. “You’re the worst,” she mumbles.
I sigh, laughing at the irony of the accusation. “Didn’t I tell you so?”
23
CARRIE
I remember my first day at Wolf Hall like it was yesterday. It was the middle of August, and the temperatures were so high in New Hampshire that I gave myself heat stroke dragging my suitcase up the long, winding road to the academy. Alderman had refused to take me any further than the foot of the mountain. I’d cried as I’d lugged that suitcase behind me, all three miles in the blistering midday sun. Alderman had been the very embodiment of kindness to me since the day he picked me up off the side of the road in Grove Hill, Alabama, and so I couldn’t figure out why he’d just dump me three miles short of my destination—a destination he chose for me—without seeing me safely to the front door. It made no sense.
I didn’t answer his calls or respond to his texts for the first month of school, still bitter over the fact that he’d treated me so callously, but eventually I cracked. I wanted to know what I’d done to upset him so much that he would have abandoned me, and so I’d finally picked up the phone and screamed the question at him in a pique of rage. During the long moment of silence that followed, I began to think that I’d accidentally hung up on him amidst all the shouting. But then he said, “I didn’t abandon you, kid. I took you as far as I could. You needed to realize you were capable of taking yourself the rest of the way.”
I’d wanted very badly to go to high school. Alderman had known that, but he’d also known how scared I was to leave him after what happened with Kevin. I’d just started to feel safe again, and he’d wanted me to know that I was still strong enough to fend for myself. I didn’t thank him for the lesson, then. I was still peeling from the sunburn and far from approving of his behavior, but I’ve since come to acknowledge that there was method to his madness.
He’s taken care of me in every way possible since that terrible night in Grove Hill. He’s clothed me, fed me, and sheltered me, and given me access to the best education money can buy. Everything he’s done has been for my own good. Even the rules he created and made me promise to abide by, though they’ve chaffed and worn at me over the past three years, were for my own good. And what have I done to thank him for all of his kindness? I’ve disobeyed him. Flouted his rules. I wasn’t strong enough to survive without friends.
And now…there is a boy.
I grin like an idiot as I hurry inside the academy. I’m still grinning, freezing cold though now mostly dry as I cross the entry way and hit the stairs. I can’t wait to get into bed and pull the covers over my head so I can replay all of the moments of tonight, turning them languorously over in my head like they’re pieces of melting chocolate, to be savored one at a t—
“Highly irregular, Miss Mendoza.”
Shit!
I’m a living statue, one hand on the banister railing, one foot lifted between the first and second step of the stairs. A cold shock of adrenalin hits like a wave. Oh god, I think I’m going to throw up.
Principal Harcourt’s kitten heels click-clack on the polished marble floor as she slowly approaches from behind. I turn, rigid as a board, shoulders up around my ears, and there she stands, still immaculately dressed in her pressed pant suit, her collar so starched it looks like it could cut. It’s well after midnight and the woman looks freshly ironed and ready to start a brand-new workday; it wouldn’t surprise me to find that she sleeps in a freaking pant suit.
With a withering look of disappointment on her face, she folds her arms across her chest and regards me. “It’s very late for shenanigans, Carina. This sort of nonsense is something I’ve come to expect from the other girls, but not from you. I’ve always thought we were of one mind, you and me. No nonsense. No fuss. No trouble. And yet here you are, in the middle of the night—”
“I’m so sorry. I—I—” I’ve never been in trouble before in my life. I have no go-to excuse for this kind of behavior. What would Mercy Jacobi say? Probably something about sacrificing kittens to the blood moon. Fuck, no, that’s not gonna work…
“I’d hate to think there was any coercion involved here,” Principal Harcourt says stiffly. “That would be very disappointing.”
“Coercion?” What the fuck? Does she think Dash forced me to—no, that doesn’t make sense. Does she think I forced Dash to—
“The fourth floor isn’t the warmest, I know, but the rooms are significantly larger than the rooms on the other floors. Most girls’ parents pay more for that luxury. Alderman—” She lowers her voice. “Once upon a time, Alderman was a good friend to me. I made sure my gratitude for his services was reflected in your tuition bill. I’d hate to think that he was trying to, ahh, push the friendship, as it were.”
“Tuition bill? You—wait. I’m confused. The fourth floor?” I’m struggling to keep up here. My brain’s too sluggish. None of this is making sense.
Principal Harcourt purses her lips, tapping her foot on the floor impatiently, as if to say, Keep up. It’s late. I don’t have time for this.
“I’ve spoken with the other girl and she’s assured me that everything was mutual and above board. I have no choice but to take her word for it. You’ve both left me in tight spot, though. Chloe was the student-teacher liaison for the fourth floor. None of the other girls are suitable for the role, so that means you’ll have to take on the job, amongst your other duties for the science club. I take it that won’t be a problem?”
“Uhh…” Still no clue. Like, none whatsoever. “Sure?”
“Good.” Principal Harcourt sighs wearily. “It would have been better to do this during daylight hours, Carrie, but what’s done is done. I assume everything’s okay up at the observatory?”
Oh, shit. Shit, shit, shit. She knows I was up there? This is really fucking bad. “Yes?” I wait for the axe to fall but she simply nods her perfunctory, businesslike nod and cracks her thumb knuckle.
“Excellent. That damned telescope’s a hinderance. Making sure that building remains watertight is a year-round challenge. When you check for leaks next time, remind John that he needs to dig a drainage ditch…”
She keeps talking. I keep nodding. The high-pitched buzz of white noise roars in my ears, drowning out Harcourt’s words. On the one hand, I’m so grateful that I appear to be getting away with my midnight jaunt up the hill that I’m too scared to ask questions. On the other, ju
st…what? What the hell is going on?
“Goodnight. I’ll have Bea email you the student-teacher liaison handbook in the morning. Review it carefully. And make sure you take this new responsibility seriously. It’s an important role, and I need you to treat it as such. Are we on the same page?”
Have I slipped into an alternate reality? Am I losing my mind? Did I agree to something in my sleep this morning? I smile, big and bright. “Yes, of course, Principal Harcourt.”
Harcourt spins and stalks off down the hall, in the direction of her office; even the tap, tap, tap of her heels as she walks away sounds disapproving.
“What the hell was that all about?” I take the stairs two at a time as I race back to my room, trying to untangle the stilted information I received in that bizarre interaction. Highly irregular. Coercion? Tuition fees. Alderman’s friendship with Harcourt? Friendship? I knew they were acquainted with one another, but by the sounds of things, their connection goes way beyond that. On the third floor, I open the door to my room, shrugging out of my damp jacket, and I come to a stumbling halt when I find Chloe Khan asleep in my bed. Or she was asleep. She wakes with a jolt and sits up, eyes the size of the moon. “Hey! What the hell are you doing?”
I add this new curiosity to the list of weird shit that’s taken place since I snuck back into the academy. “No,” I counter. “What the hell are you doing, Chlo?”
She rubs her eyes. “Do you have any idea how long it took me to move all of this shit? Hours. I’ve only just gotten into bed, and I have to be up early for Chess club. I got everything. If any of your shit is missing, then come look for it in the morning. I’m tired, and I need to sleep. Now get out.”
I’m embarrassed by how long it’s taken for me to fit these pieces together. I get it now, though. Somehow, without my knowledge or consent, I’ve inadvertently switched rooms with Chloe Khan. Looking around my tiny box room, I don’t recognize any of the furniture. The dresser. The desk and chair. The bookshelf, or the books. The bed that Chloe’s sleeping on is mine, but it’s made up with Chloe’s sheets, and Chloe’s comforter, and Chloe herself, tucked neatly between the two. This isn’t my room anymore.
“What…what was your room number again?”
Chloe smacks her head into her pillow, groaning in frustration. Her hair sticks up everywhere when she lifts her head again and glares at me. “Four-nineteen. Fifth door on the right. Directly above this one. Has an amazing view of the observatory. Now, please. I’m exhaust—”
“Alright, alright, I’m going.”
I was on the fourth floor earlier this evening, visiting Mara’s room, but I feel like an intruder as I climb the extra set of stairs. I expect the door to room 419 to be locked when I try it, but the handle turns easily to the right and it swings open.
In the three years that I’ve lived here, I’ve never been into this room. Chloe’s nice but she’s a private person. We aren’t friends. She isn’t really friends with anyone. I’ve often wondered what her room was like, and now I know: it's massive.
A huge picture window dominates the wall ahead, the three oversized panes of glass as tall as me and two feet wide apiece. Heavy orange curtains frame them, hanging all the way down to the floor. The bed to my left isn’t just a double, or a queen. It’s a freaking king. The lime green sheets are so bright and gaudy that I fall in love with them immediately. My small stuffed monkey, Archie, sits on top of the comforter amidst five or six small yellow, fluffy throw pillows. My books are all here, neatly organized along a mango wood bookshelf that’s much bigger than the one I had downstairs. My old dresser’s here. My clothes are hanging in the walk-in closet (I have a walk-in closet now?). The dusky grey rug that covers most of the floor is brand new and still curling up a little at the corners from where it was unrolled. I kick off my shoes and nearly die from how delicious and soft it is beneath my feet.
Two mustard-colored bean bags; a small TV mounted on the wall; two grey and silver bedside tables; speckled silver glass lamps with Edison bulbs; an adjustable height desk, and a new, upholstered, pale green swivel chair. Apart from my dresser, it’s all brand new. All of it.
I’ve never dreamed of having a room like this. It doesn’t seem real, that any of this is mine. It becomes real when I find the small white envelope sitting on the left bedside table, marked with an elaborate C.
Inside, a note on flocked, expensive card-stock reads:
A dreamer needs space to dream.
LDL IV
LDL IV. Lord Dashiell Lovett the Fourth. I set the card down on the bed, spinning around, taking everything in a second time. How did he accomplish this in the space of four short hours? He must have been planning this all day. Most importantly, how did he get Chloe to switch? Principal Harcourt’s comment about coercion makes sense now. No one in their right mind would trade this amazing space for my tiny little box room downstairs, and yet Dash somehow managed to get Chloe to do it.
Oh, god.
What did he do?
Nausea tugs at my stomach. I pull my phone out of my pocket, remembering that I have his cell number now
ME: Did you blackmail her?
A moment later, three dots appear on the screen of my cell phone. Then:
LDL IV: You like it, then?
ME: Please tell me you didn’t threaten Chloe Khan.
LDL IV: I would never.
ME: Yes, you would!
LDL IV: Fair. Maybe I would. No threats required, though.
ME: How did you do this?
LDL IV: You really want to know?
ME: TELL ME!
LDL IV: Chloe’s family is broke. She was going to have to leave WH. I paid her tuition up to graduation. She was very grateful. Offered to trade rooms.
Oh my God. He did what?
ME: Dash! That’s extortion!
LDL IV: BRIBERY. In its very mildest form. I helped Chloe. She helped you. No harm, no foul.
Urgh. How am I supposed to feel about this? Poor Chloe’s family is struggling, and Dash took advantage of the fact. Then again…without this little deal that they struck, Chloe would have to leave Wolf Hall and go to another school?
LDL IV: I can hear your moral outrage halfway down the mountain.
ME: It’s hard to feel good about benefitting from someone else’s misfortune.
LDL IV: Talk to Chloe in the morning.
And that’s all he says.
I get ready for bed. I go and wash my face in the fourth-floor bathroom, debating the ethics of this boon. Somewhere between brushing out my hair and brushing my teeth, a wrinkle of guilt forms in my mind, like the rucks in my new rug that just won’t lie flat. I keep tripping on it as I navigate my thoughts, and it won’t go away. My reaction was ungrateful. When I get back to the unfamiliar room and climb into my very comfortable new bed, I message Dash one last time.
ME: Thank you. It’s beautiful. I love it.
He replies one last time.
LDL IV: I picked the loudest, ugliest colors they had, just for you. Night, Stella.
24
DASH
TWO MONTHS LATER
I hear them howling.
Smoke. Shadow. Snow. Ink. Rasputin.
I never intentionally named them. Their names just emerged in my head over time, like they were planted there by someone else. I don’t think that Wren and Pax know about the wolves. I’ve never mentioned them. I don’t mind sharing most things with the boys, but somehow I couldn’t bring myself to share the wolves. The first time I saw them, I was getting high down by the lake. Then by the cemetery. Sometimes, I see them on the fire road that winds around the back of the mountain. Once, I found Rasputin actually inside the maze, all by himself. Rasputin, with his rough, steel-grey coat and silver-tinged muzzle, is the oldest member of the pack, I think. Half his left ear is missing. His eyes are clouded over with rheumatism.
Last winter, he trailed behind the others when they ran along the border of the forest, favoring his right hind leg, injured somehow, and I worried
. I kept waiting for him to not be there the next time I saw them. But even if he came a couple of minutes after the others, limping and staring balefully out of the trees at me from a healthy distance, he always came.
Rasputin is the ugliest of the five sleek animals that haunt the woods surrounding Wolf Hall, but he is also my favorite.
They hunt lower down the mountain at night, which is why, perhaps, no one at the school has really noticed them. I’m always alone when I encounter them. To my knowledge, no one else has ever seen them. Apart from Carrie.
Two months pass, and every night I sneak up to Carrie’s new room to see her. We talk. We fuck. We lie twisted in each other’s arms, and we breathe in the dark. And every night I run back down the fire road to the song of wolves howling.
They’re restless, hungry, and I know how they feel. My feelings mirror theirs as I climb the stairs of Riot House every night and collapse into my bed. When Pax hammers on my door in the morning, I still get up and run. I’m exhausted. I find the energy, though where the fuck it comes from is a mystery.
I’m getting more sex than I ever have in my life. I should feel at peace, but I’m not. I prowl the corridors of Wolf Hall, roiling in my skin, climbing the goddamn walls. I’ve never experienced anything like this before; when I’m not with Carina, I spend every moment looking for her. I scan the sea of students’ faces as they pass me by, waiting for one of them to finally be hers.