his room.
“You are fortunate, Miss Thornbrook,” he says from behind me. “This type of misdemeanour often leads to solitary confinement. Angus or Francesca must feel lenient as it’s your first day.”
His undertone is clear: next time I won’t be as lucky.
I step back into the quiet hallway and take a deep breath. Damn you Dorian Blackwood for triggering me.
Chapter Twelve
I draw more attention at our next meal. News of my magic show must've spread, because the whispering certainly does. Oriana appears oblivious and chats to her girlfriends who join us at the table. She introduces Alana, the short blonde girl with curves I'm admittedly jealous of, and a girl as tall as me with black hair and eyes the colour of her name—Sapphire. They're polite but disinterested, which I prefer to questions. I heed Oriana’s warning not to quiz people about why they’re at Ravenhold.
My timetable has 'study time' slotted between the two classes; time I intend to use to hide and recover.
I absentmindedly push peas around on my plate, counting them as they touch the anaemic sausages, avoiding Oriana's conversation. Their conversation halts abruptly and I look up as they do.
Dorian stares down with his arms crossed, with Andy and another vamp standing either side.
I roll my eyes at him in a deliberate 'I don't care' statement.
“My seat.” He plonks his tray on the table and gives me a half-smile as he sits opposite. He flicks his fingers at the pair with him. “You can leave. I want a private talk with Eloise.”
I’m about to retort this place isn’t private, but would lead myself into the trap of him suggesting somewhere that is.
Oriana shakes her head at him as she grabs her tray and stands. “You’re a douche, Dorian.”
He smirks. “That’s not what you said a few months ago.”
Oriana’s eyes flash. “Everybody makes mistakes.”
“Why, yes! Isn’t that why we’re all in here? Correct, Eloise?”
I pick up a forkful of potato and shove it in my mouth, staring right at him.
He slowly looks around at his usual gang, then to Oriana and her two friends. “I’m waiting for you to piss off.”
“I’m surprised you have any friends at all,” I retort as they do as he says.
“Me? I don’t have any friends.” He leaves the food on his tray untouched as he watches me eat. “These aren't friends, but people who pay attention to me and do as I ask. What does that make them?”
“Idiots?” I suggest.
Dorian snorts. “It makes them sensible. Now, you are a problem.”
“Are you here for an apology about the life-threatening injuries I gave you?” I snark.
“No. I’m here to warn you not to pull a stunt like that again.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Are you stupid?”
I clench my jaw as we remain locked in conflict. “The fire was an accident. If I’d wanted to harm you, I would’ve done.”
“I advise you not to.”
I huff and look over his head. “You bore me, Dorian. Can I finish my lunch?”
A hand seizes mine and I look down to where Dorian has his fingers wrapped tightly around it. A shot of magic bolts up my arm and spreads across my chest before flooding into my limbs. Dorian regards me with displeasure on his face, and I fight to pull my hands away.
“Stop that,” I say, pissed off when the words are breathy.
“Remember, I told you that I have an effect on witches?” he says in his smoothest voice. “You use words like bore and disgust, but I sense the effect I have is more, Eloise.”
I drag at my hand again but his grip is like a dog's teeth seizing onto a victim. He’s correct. The energy pulsing through my veins isn't arousing anger, but something much worse.
Closing my eyes, I search for the strains of magic I still have available and draw the tiny amount of spirit energy hovering around into my body.
Then push hard against Dorian’s mind.
He’s not prepared for my retaliation and his eyes widen in surprise before he drops my hand.
But not before I catch a glimpse of his frustration with me and the darkness that edges him. I’ve broken through his mental barrier and could see more if I wanted to. Reaching out, I grab his hand and attempt to hold it between mine, diving deeper into his psyche.
The shadows I expected combine with the tangled ball of anger and arrogance. I thread my imaginary fingers to untangle his thoughts because I want to know what’s at the centre.
There's something I need to know.
One thing I