Page 21 of Roses & Ruin

“Rose,” he murmurs, low and warm. I never knew a single syllable could flood me with such heat. The flip in my gut has me dizzy. I bite my lip to keep from making an embarrassing sound.

Hayden’s eyes go right to my mouth. I do make a noise then, a tiny one. Just a hitched breath, and his gaze flies up to mine, suddenly moving fast. He takes in my face in a rush, like he’s only got five seconds to memorize which of my freckles are where. I stop breathing when his attention slides down my neck and slowly traces the leather straps of the harness I’m wearing.

Every inch of my body now blossoms into goosebumps. I’m fighting hard not to let my eyes fall shut. God, this is just him looking at me. What would I do if he ever put his hands on me?

His mouth?

“You’re staring,” I whisper, echoing his earlier words. Hay-den’s head snaps up. He clenches his fists, and I hear his knuckles pop.

“I’m not staring. I’m…thinking.” For a moment, we simply study each other. But then he looks frustrated, his expression fracturing. He opens his mouth. “I—”

Wild, shrill howling erupts all around us. A chorus of dozens of voices, many inebriated, scream, crow, bay. The midnight howling.

“That’s my cue,” Hayden says coolly, backing away.

No. No way. I shoot to my feet.

“Wait!” I cry, wringing my hands. “You said I could ask you every question in my head.”

“I didn’t say I’d answer them,” he says, turning around and stepping through the gate, disappearing into the shadows beyond.

“Hayden,” I plead, rushing after him.

He’s gone, of course. My shoulders slump. What the hell was that? The howling continues, farther away now. They must be sprinting around campus, howling and howling.

I want to throttle every last one of them.

Chapter 7

It’s the poisoned lamb stew nightmare. The table is already set when I arrive, the bowl steaming in front of me. The room is all dark wood and candlelight, the air close, my corset pulled tight enough to make each breath a struggle.

Sometimes, even in the thick of this nightmare, the world feels too real to be a dream. The table’s rough grain under my fingers, the rich and metallic scent of the stew. And threaded through it all is a quiet, unnerving sense that I’ve been here before. That I’ve lived it, as though this moment is a memory.

I eat my third bite of meat and onion broth, and the unbearable cramping of my muscles and stomach begins. It hurts, god, it hurts, but right now, instead of the terror, I’m just aching for it to be over. Finally, I think as I collapse to the floor.

The moment my heart stops beating, I open my eyes and heave a long, weighty sigh. The dorm room is still dark. Scrubbing my face, I sit up in bed to check the time: four a.m. I glance over at Delia’s bed, even though I know it’ll be empty. She’s still out with Amber.

Alone in the dark, I’m suddenly struck by the memory of Hayden’s dark gaze lingering on my bare neck in the library courtyard. The strange storm in his eyes when he murmured Rose. A shiver courses through my body. I crush my face into my pillow, letting out a low, pained sound.

See, this is how far gone, how totally screwed, I am. Because even when I’m dreaming of dying from poisoned meat, there’s only one thing my brain wants to think about right now.

“Hayden,” I whisper, because I want to hear it again.

Here is what I know: The boy who saved me last year is real. His name is Hayden. But he insists he doesn’t know me, that he wasn’t on that bridge.

So why is he lying? Why run from me in the library, only to appear in the courtyard minutes later like nothing happened? Why is he even at Payen?

I should’ve gone off on him. Demanded answers. Made him explain what he’s hiding. Instead, I just stood there, caught in the gravity of him: the way his voice settled under my skin, the way his gaze lit a fire deep inside me.

He is hiding something. I know he is. So why does it feel less like I’m being pushed away and more like I’m being pulled in?

I check the time again. It’s six a.m. Two hours? I’ve been lying here angsting, tossing, and turning for two hours about a boy? I throw the covers off me and hop out of bed, smacking at my cheeks to wake myself up.

I’m exhausted, unbelievably so, but I know that there’s no way I’m falling back asleep now. I wish Delia were here. She’d know what to say, have the perfect idea for a distraction. As it is, that’s up to me now.

Something I’ve happily discovered about college life: It’s perfect for insomniacs. No matter what hour it is, someone’s always up. It’s soothing to hear someone humming in the shower down the hall in the middle of the night. The dining hall is open until midnight, and depending on your major, many buildings on campus are accessible twenty-four seven if you have the building code.

During our second painting class, Julian gave us the code to the arts building. “So those of you who want to improve can take the opportunity to practice in the studio. And believe me, some of you should take that opportunity.” Julian didn’t glance my way, hadn’t once since that awful first day of class, but his words still stung.