Demon Kissed - Katie May Page 0,70

Okay. I gotta go. But we’re good and I’ll see you later, ‘kay?”

I nod as the bell rings, officially signaling how late I am to the world. I turn with a sigh, ready to tromp to the office and request a late slip, when I see Janie St. James leaning against a locker, studying me through slitted eyes.

“Who was that?” she asks, jerking her chin at Akor’s retreating back.

I shrug. “A guy I know.” I highly resent the way that she makes our school uniforms look like schoolgirl porno outfits. Mostly because I know I don’t.

“Zolroth will find this interesting.”

Ohhhh. She thinks I’m a cheater. I level her with a confident, sultry gaze that is the opposite of my usual persona. “He knows.”

And then, I leave stupid Janie St. James with her mouth gaping open, a thrill flitting up my spine as I turn the corner and walk away.

Damn. I have to try so damn hard not to fist pump or ruin my badass, intrigue, naughty bitch status with a shoulder shimmy. But it proves too hard. I’m about to ruin it. I know I am. But then I see the counselor’s door straight ahead.

Sanctuary.

And maybe…possibly…answers about Raz.

I duck inside, only to see two senior girls who I personally know are dating soccer jocks. They’re making out right in the middle of the counselor’s office.

“Really?” I shove them apart in disgust and walk over to Van’s office. His door is open, with the perfect line of sight towards the two girls going at it, but he’s not even looking. He’s playing Sims on his computer.

I shut his door and sling my bag down to my feet, then walk over to stand beside him, where the blinds are letting little stripes of yellow light line his back like he’s a prisoner. Aren’t we all in this place? I think wryly.

“Why do you even make them do that when you don’t even seem to care?” I ask him.

“Who do what now?” he asks, finally tearing his eyes away from the coffee shop he’s currently running. His character has a little apron and everything.

“Those girls.” I gesture toward the door with a disapproving shake of my head. “They both have boyfriends, you know.”

He sighs and leans back in his chair. “I can’t help it. The power just wafts off of me like cologne or something. Trust me. It’s just as obnoxious for me as it is for you. Maybe even more so.”

“Really?” I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Two hot girls making out is obnoxious?”

That makes Van swivel in his chair. “Yeah, it is. All I do is emit pheromones. Nothing else. And yet, people are willing to throw their partners to the side to get hot and heavy. It’s disheartening. I mean, really, it shows how love is just a cheap façade.”

I recoil. “You can’t actually mean that!”

Seeing his beautiful face drop, the way he bites his lip and shakes his head, makes my heart deflate. He does mean it. What a horribly sad existence. I search for any little snippet of hope. “But…but you like rom-coms!”

“’Cause I wish they were real. I wish romance was real and lust…sometimes, I wish it wasn’t.” His wistfulness drifts up to me like a child’s balloon caught in the wind, one second bright and bobbing, the next second caught by a gale and ripped away.

And in that way, Van and I aren’t so different. He wishes that sweet, pure as honey love is real. I still believe it is—the kind of love that can sweeten life’s little moments and put a smile on your face. The kind of love that I think I see from couples who are ninety and sit on their front porch, rocking in their rocking chairs, hands clasped. That’s what the neighbor Mrs. Johnson and her husband used to be like, once upon a time.

I sigh. “Me too.”

I don’t know of a way to convince Van that he’s wrong about love, not yet anyway. Because even after I’ve pined for William for years, I can’t say the hot-as-sin demon hasn’t turned my head. Not that I’d ever do anything. I haven’t done anything. Won’t do anything. (Don’t look at me like that. I won’t.)

Part of me wants to point out my own self-control. But another part of me doesn’t want to start an argument with him, not when I need to know what happened to Raz.

So instead of waxing poetic about love, I lick my dry lips and go take a seat