“There are no applications for Hollow’s Grove University. It’s invitation only,” the man said, taking a step back. He held out his hand for me to shake, staring at me intently as he willed me to take it. I raised my chin, ignoring it pointedly while he continued. “I should have introduced myself. I’m the headmaster of Hollow’s Grove, Alaric Thorne. This is your formal invitation—”
“Then leave my invitation in my mailbox,” I corrected.
“I am the invitation,” he said, clenching his back teeth as he glared down at me.
He pulled his hand back, sliding it into the pocket of his trousers. The three-piece suit he wore was far too distracting for my tastes, a complete and utter distraction. I had a feeling that was the point, as if his very being was sin wrapped up in the finest suit.
I reached behind me, grasping the doorknob so that I could pull the door open just enough to wedge my body into it. He couldn’t enter without an invitation, and I’d be damned to the nine circles of Hell before I ever gave him one.
I smiled as I maneuvered myself into the house, peering out at him as he watched me like a wolf. “Then I am definitely not interested.”
4
GRAY
I moved quickly, surging through the distance between us and wedging my shoe in the crack in the door before the witch could pull it closed. The door hit the side of my foot, springing back to open slightly as her fingers scrambled to keep hold of the knob. Her eyes widened slightly at the speed, blinking as I appeared in front of her suddenly.
Reaching up, I rested my forearm against the siding next to the door and leaned into her face as my upper lip pulled back, revealing the faintest hint of fang. Her heartbeat increased, pulsing faster in spite of whatever training she’d had to try to disguise her nerves.
“Why don’t you come outside and lie to me again, love?” I asked, smiling down at her as those odd, mismatched eyes blinked up at me. They were fanned by natural, long black lashes. The circles beneath them reflected just how tired she must have been, and I had a moment where I wondered if it was her norm or because of her recent loss.
“I’m surprised you can fit on that porch with the size of your ego,” she said, smiling that fake, saccharine grin that made her appear older than I knew her to be. It was the look of a cynical woman who had lived long enough to experience the ugliness the world had to offer.
It made her seem ageless.
Movement behind her distracted me from the way her lips curved around her next word, preparing to deliver me with some doubtlessly clever, enjoyable line that would both infuriate and entertain me. It had been so long since someone readily offered me a challenge. Her refusal reminded me of the thrill that had once been in the chase of predator and prey.
A boy of maybe six stood in the hallway behind her, glaring at me as he clutched a fire poker in his hand. He hefted it awkwardly, showing that he knew nothing of what to do with it.
It was a drastic difference to the way Willow held herself, to the steadfastness and stillness in her body. Every movement served a purpose, every twitch of her finger was intentional.
She’d trained, I realized with certainty. Whereas the boy had not.
Willow turned her head to look at the boy over her shoulder in the same moment she thrust her free arm out and covered my mouth with it. Any doubt I’d had fled, her hand cutting off the command to allow me entry into their house.
He did not possess an amulet to protect him from compulsion.
I grinned against her palm, letting my fangs touch her skin and reveling in the shudder that went through her body.
“Get back in the kitchen. Now,” she ordered. The boy glared at her but did as he was told, swinging that fire poker at his side as he stalked out of sight.
It was almost cute that he wanted to protect her. I imagined she didn’t agree when he’d revealed the deception she’d tried to create. She released my mouth when she felt certain I wouldn’t speak, wouldn’t use my compulsion against the boy I had to presume was her brother.
“That’s quite the secret you’re keeping, Witchling,” I said, staring at the side of her face as she watched him disappear from view. The carefully constructed mask she’d donned for me slowly slipped away, the faint hint of a pleasant but blank smile dropping. Her face hardened, her cheekbones appearing sharper as her gaze glimmered, and she slowly turned it up to look at me through those long lashes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, pressing her lips into a flat line. Her sweater parted to reveal the faint glow pulsing around her tourmaline amulet, shimmering against her olive skin.