talk to me the way you did at the canteen?” His words are filled with warning; blue eyes frosty.
“Because I don’t care who you are. I’m here to follow Ravenhold’s rules—not yours.” I side step Dorian and continue my trek to the courtyard.
“You’re stupid if you cross me, witch,” he says and catches up to me again. “Your life won’t be pleasant unless you toe the line I’ve drawn.”
I stop again. “Dorian Blackwood. I’m not scared of you, and I don’t give a crap about your self-appointed reign over this place. I won’t be mingling with your subjects. I’m keeping my head down, serving my time, and then leaving.”
“I’m sorry, what?” he asks in a mocking tone. “Was that 'no'?”
He moves closer, so quickly and quietly that I barely notice. I stumble back and hold an arm behind me, against the wall, to stop him backing me against the stone.
“I suggest you’re nice to me, Eloise Thornbrook.” He moistens his lips. “Witches are always nice to me.”
“Assault me and you’ll be sorry,” I growl.
“Assault?” He gives a sharp laugh. “I don’t need to assault girls to get what I want from them.”
“Mind control won’t work on me either,” I retort.
He leans closer and an inviting, subtle scent winds around me and holds me still.
“I don’t need to control their minds either. Please.” He grimaces. “Abusive shit like that is beneath me.”
I splutter. “Abusive shit? How many people have you murdered, Dorian?”
He wrinkles his nose and shrugs. “A few.”
“So many that you don’t remember?” I ask stiffly.
“Yes. Not recently though.” He flourishes a hand. “Covering up murder in Ravenhold would be rather difficult.”
“Poor you.”
He faces me off in challenge, eyes steeled against mine, and in my personal space but not touching. Dorian’s demonstrating what he means—how he compels people to him and would addle my mind if he could.
Is he trying now?
I grit my teeth and summon a mental block with my residual magic. He cocks a brow and steps back.
“Do you know what I enjoy most in life? Something I’ve not indulged in recently.”
I ignore my dry mouth. “What?”
“A challenge,” he whispers.
Dorian lifts his hand as if about to touch my face. He leaves his fingers outstretched long enough for me to flinch then drops his hand. “Oh, don’t stress, witch. I won’t touch you—not until you ask me to.”
He straightens his jacket sleeves and breaks our moment. “Heed my friendly warning and act accordingly. I’m only pleasant the first time.”
“Dorian,” calls a voice from along the hallway. “Please hurry. We’ve little time before your first class.”
I turn my head. The man from earlier, Marcus, stands in a doorway two down from Angus’s.
“I’ll give you some advice—learn your place.” He smiles sweetly. “Do what they say. Tell those in charge what they want to hear.”
“Dorian!” calls Marcus again.
“Oh, and do what I say.” Dorian says the words as he turns to walk away from me. “That’s my most important advice.”
Jumped-up arsehole.
I watch his tall figure move towards Marcus as if he owns the place, guards looking the other way as he passes them.
Dorian obviously doesn’t know as much about me as I do about him.
He's unaware how powerful I am.
The hybrid King of Ravenhold is about to face more than he’s bargained for.
Chapter Eight
“How can rain be this cold and not turn into snow?” I grumble to Oriana.
She pulls a sympathetic smile. “You’ll get used to the weather. You’ll need to, because it rains a bloody lot here. At least the downpour isn’t heavy today.”
Her bright spark of hope does nothing to clear the miserable grey clouds hanging over me, and I rub my arms, dreading stepping from the shelter of the overhanging eaves and into the exercise yard.
More than a dozen residents crowd beneath, dressed in identical uniforms—grey shapeless tracksuit pants and sports shirts, or T-shirts in the same colour. Everybody blends into the dull world we're part of.
The fact there’s a tarmac area at the rear of the old building is odd enough, but the ten-foot-high chain fence topped with barbed wire is stranger. We're high on the rocks, and I can’t see anything beyond the fence apart from the horizon. As far as I know, the outcrop we’re close to is a vertical drop to the sea.
“Is there a reason for the fence?” I ask.
“Dunno. Adds to the prison atmosphere, maybe? Anybody who climbed that would fall onto the rocks.”
A group of guys rest against the fence chatting, but most hang around under the eaves like us.
Goosebumps