When I put down this dragon piece, I go to the other side of the board and pick up the vampire queen. She’s beautiful, with long, flowing hair and an elaborately decorated cape.
“I’d be careful with that one if I were you. She’s got a nasty bite.” The words are low and rumbly and so close that I nearly fall out of my chair. Instead, I jump up, plopping the chess piece down with a clatter, then whirl around—heart pounding—only to find myself face-to-face with the most intimidating guy I’ve ever seen. And not just because he’s hot…although he’s definitely that.
Still, there’s something more to him, something different and powerful and overwhelming, though I don’t have a clue what it is. I mean, sure. He has the kind of face nineteenth-century poets loved to write about—too intense to be beautiful and too striking to be anything else.
Skyscraper cheekbones.
Full red lips.
A jaw so sharp it could cut stone.
Smooth, alabaster skin.
And his eyes…a bottomless obsidian that see everything and show nothing, surrounded by the longest, most obscene lashes I’ve ever seen.
And even worse, those all-knowing eyes are laser-focused on me right now, and I’m suddenly terrified that he can see all the things I’ve worked so hard and so long to hide. I try to duck my head, try to yank my gaze from his, but I can’t. I’m trapped by his stare, hypnotized by the sheer magnetism rolling off him in waves.
I swallow hard to catch my breath.
It doesn’t work.
And now he’s grinning, one corner of his mouth turning up in a crooked little smile that I feel in every single cell. Which only makes it worse, because that smirk says he knows exactly what kind of effect he’s having on me. And, worse, that he’s enjoying it.
Annoyance flashes through me at the realization, melting the numbness that’s surrounded me since my parents’ deaths. Waking me from the stupor that’s the only thing that’s kept me from screaming all day, every day, at the unfairness of it all. At the pain and horror and helplessness that have taken over my whole life.
It’s not a good feeling. And the fact that it’s this guy—with the smirk and the face and the cold eyes that refuse to relinquish their hold on me even as they demand that I don’t look too closely—just pisses me off more.
It’s that anger that finally gives me the strength to break free of his gaze. I rip my eyes away, then search desperately for something else—anything else—to focus on.
Unfortunately, he’s standing right in front of me, so close that he’s blocking my view of anything else.
Determined to avoid his eyes, I look anywhere but. And land instead on his long, lean body. Then really wish I hadn’t, because the black jeans and T-shirt he’s wearing only emphasize his flat stomach and hard, well-defined biceps. Not to mention the double-wide shoulders that are absolutely responsible for blocking my view in the first place.
Add in the thick, dark hair that’s worn a little too long, so that it falls forward into his face and skims low across his insane cheekbones, and there’s nothing to do but give in. Nothing to do but admit that—obnoxious smirk or not—this boy is sexy af.
A little wicked, a lot wild, and all dangerous.
What little oxygen I’ve been able to pull into my lungs in this high altitude completely disappears with the realization. Which only makes me madder. Because, seriously. When exactly did I become the heroine in some YA romance? The new girl swooning over the hottest, most unattainable boy in school?
Gross. And so not happening.
Determined to nip whatever this is in the bud, I force myself to look at his face again. This time, as our gazes meet and clash, I realize that it doesn’t matter if I’m acting like some giant romantic cliché.
Because he isn’t.
One glance and I know that this dark boy with the closed-off eyes and the fuck-you attitude isn’t the hero of anyone’s story. Least of all mine.
3
Vampire Queens
Aren’t the Only Ones
with a Nasty Bite
Determined not to let this staring contest that feels a little like a show of dominance go on any longer, I cast around for something to break the tension. And settle on a response to the only thing he’s actually said to me so far.
“Who’s got a nasty bite?”
He reaches past me and picks up the piece I dropped, holds the queen for me to see. “She’s really not very nice.”
I stare at him. “She’s a chess piece.”
His obsidian eyes gleam back. “Your point?”