Witch Born - LJ Swallow Page 0,7

to. His curled hair hangs to just above his shoulders and into his face, fringe almost as low as his nose. He has a strong jaw peppered by dark stubble and full lips.

But those arms. Holy hell.

I swore to myself I wouldn't allow my hormones to take over my desire to keep away from people, and here I am on day one lusting over another juvie.

I almost fall off my seat as Oriana punches me on the arm. "Stop drooling over Ethan. There's no point. He never speaks to anybody and a shit ton of girls have tried."

"I wasn't. He stands out since he's sitting on his own."

"Ethan stands out because he looks like he could destroy a girl in the best possible way." She runs a tongue across her top teeth. "And then go back for more."

My pulse quickens at the idea, because she’s entirely right.

Footsteps squeak across the tiled floor and I look up as Dorian strides by, straight to the queue. He has perfect timing as the hatch is pulled open and the first trays appear. Ignoring the assembled students, he walks straight to the front and lifts the first tray from the counter.

Nobody speaks.

Dorian spins on his heel and carries his tray away. As he passes our table, he halts and stares down at me.

Dorian Blackwood is beautiful. A crazy word to use about a guy, but his features are perfection, as if somebody copied the image of a Greek god to paint over the monster beneath.

No doubt powerful Blackwood spells were used to add the allure surrounding him and held in his captivating eyes.

I hate him, I repeat several times in my head. Don't find him attractive. His appearance is a disguise.

“I need to see you later.” He takes a drink from a cup on his tray. “New girl.”

“My name’s Eloise,” I retort. “Eloise Thornbrook.”

Dorian runs his tongue along his top teeth. “I’d never expect to see a Thornbrook witch in here.”

Does he remember my uncle? There’s no flicker in his face to suggest he does. Anger spikes—that makes his crime worse.

“I never expected to see you here,” I reply. “Why haven’t you escaped yet?”

A muscle in his jaw ticks as he hands his tray to the obedient guy beside him. Dorian places both hands on the clean table. Hair brushes his brow as he leans towards me. “I said, I need to see you later. The meeting isn’t optional, witch.”

My lips thin and I glare at him. “And I said, my name is Eloise, freak.”

He blinks rapidly. “What the fuck did you just call me?”

“Freak. A blood vampire who eats.” I gesture at his tray. “Born of witches. So... freak.”

He sneers at me. “Call me what you want. People call me worse when I’m not listening.”

“I’m sure they do.” I stand and try to quell the queasiness. From day one, Dorian needs to see that I’m not scared of him. Even though I am, I won’t put up with his shit.

He might be king of Ravenhold, but he’s not as strong as people on the outside think.

Otherwise he wouldn’t be here.

Chapter Five

I’m escorted by the guard Oriana pointed out earlier, who says little but at least doesn’t look at me as if I’m a piece of crap. The other students leave the dining hall in the opposite direction to attend lessons. When Oriana told me she had meditation class, I almost choked on the tasteless mush I was eating.

I expected to face hard physical punishment and the rest of the time locked in our rooms. Then I’m reminded this is a reform school and not a prison.

Allegedly.

The administrative part of Ravenhold is located in the academy's centre, and I'm led to the hallway I entered last night. The broken-down area looks worse in the daylight that streams through the windows.

There’s stained glass at the top of the stairs, a pretty pattern in blues and oranges of a sunset, but metal bars spoil the artistic effect.

I step through into a hallway behind where two identical doors face me, dark wood with wrought black handles. There aren't any signs to identify what—or who—is inside.

A row of wooden chairs with metal legs runs along the wall to the left and they’re marked where people have gouged the wood. Gouged with knives? Claws?

I drift off as I stare at my shoes, and another memory from my childhood sneaks in. I spent my days in a beautiful home on the perfect estate, but loneliness filled my days. Occasionally my