A King's Weakness (Book 1)

Chapter 20

BY THE TIME LUNCH ROLLS AROUND, I'M READY to kill the next person who even glances in my direction. I hate Mondays just as much as the next girl, but add to that the mysterious note, the fact that neither myself nor my uncle have any idea what my magic does, and I'm fairly certain that I've pissed off an entire pack of wolves, and you've got yourself an exceptionally shitty Monday.

When the bell rings to release the masses of students that have begun starve between breakfast and now, I have already resigned myself to the fate seen in every high school movie ever: eating alone in the library. I could have gone the cliche route of a bathroom stall for one, but the idea of eating in a restroom makes me want to throw up—which, hello, is not conducive to eating.

I catch Ryder's scent before I see him, and my eyes jump from face to face as I try to figure out whether I can smell him because he has just walked past, or if he is still here. I'm going to need to put a bell around his neck if he keeps sneaking up on me.

A hand flashes out, wrapping around my elbow, and I am quickly tugged into an empty classroom.

"There are these things called cell phones," I drawl, if only to piss him off. It would seem that my self-preservation instinct has reached a new low. "I typically prefer that to being abducted."

He huffs a laugh, his breath hitting my face. I hadn't realized he was so close.

"Yes, but apparently you lost yours. I did try to text you, you know."

Fair point.

He does the absolute last thing I expect, which is shocking in and of itself, since I have a pretty creative imagination. He steps in close, caging me against the door with his body.

My heart instantly leaps up into my throat, and I want to kick myself in the shin for reacting to his proximity like this. Ryder seems to like it though, almost as if it gives him the permission he was looking for.

He dips his head, tracing his lips over mine with such tenderness, the barest of kisses. The moment our lips touch, I forget that I'm supposed to be angry with him, the fact that he should be angry with me, the many, many reasons this is a bad idea.

My body melts against his, molding to the shape of his chest, and I lose myself in the kiss. He takes his time, thoroughly working me into a frenzy with slow, lazy strokes of his tongue. I can feel my magic building in response to his touch, but I blindly force it back down into the place where it normally slumbers.

When he pulls away, I can't seem to catch my breath.

With our faces mere centimeters apart, he murmurs, "I don't think I've ever seen you speechless before."

He runs his thumb along my cheekbone, caressing the skin there, and I can't think, I can't breathe, I can't focus.

He's right; I am never at a loss for words. If I'm silent, it's typically because I'm thinking of all the ways to verbally—or physically—wound someone. But right now, I can't think any barbs because my thoughts are consumed by his sinfully soft lips.

He leans in again, brushing against my lips with a featherlight touch. "Come on, you're eating lunch with us again."

Reality—rational, beautiful reality—smacks me in the face with a bitch slap that would knock out a marine. There are at least a dozen reasons why I should not, under any circumstances, be around him, letting him kiss me like he knows secrets about my body that I don't. As my mind frantically casts around for even one of those reasons, he takes my hand, lacing his fingers through mine, and those reasons melt away.

The note could have easily been written as a joke, a hoax. Or... A clever she-wolf could have orchestrated it, all to keep me away from Ryder.

As soon as the thought crosses my mind, I seize on it. Yes, that's exactly what happened. Lyra thought that if she wasn't able to scare me away with her own bluster, she could warn me away with a ruse. That makes ten times more sense than some random person slipping a note into my pocket as a gesture of good faith.