Fiery Little Thing: A Dark Academy Romance

I’m going to kill him.

I’m going to tie him up to a pole and beat the shit out of him.

Yes, there are many hims on my shit list, but this particular culprit’s name starts with E and is the reason I’m hobbling around on crutches with a sprained ankle—the bruised cervix is courtesy of a different him.

Don’t get me wrong, I want to do the exact same thing to that six-foot-something wall of drop-dead gorgeousness, but he redeemed himself too many times within a couple hours to really kick my gears into place.

After he made me come twice, I was ready for round three when he demanded to get Dr. Van der Merwe to reexamine my foot. Then, I limped after the doctor tried sending me away, and Kohen got me crutches and an ankle brace. Maybe it’s overkill, but now I also have a daily dose of anti-inflammatories. My heart couldn’t take how gooey it made me feel.

Figures the only time a doctor has taken me seriously was when a man was there. It’s a good thing Kohen threw hands on my behalf too, because when I looked at my ankle this morning, it was a beautiful shade of cerulean.

What I want right now goes beyond an ibuprofen. It hurts, yeah, but I need my brain to shut the fuck up for two solid seconds, and the only person who can get me what I need is the prick who caused all this to begin with.

If Elijah hadn’t gotten all hopped-up and came at me, neither of us would have tumbled down the bleachers and I wouldn’t have gotten a taste of something I’ll never have.

Screw Kohen for doing those things and saying those things to me. How dare he fill me with that kind of false hope—and his fucking come? I need to purge the memory out of my brain, so cue the bender that I’m going to make Elijah finance as an apology for pushing me down the bleachers.

A petite, box-dyed black head of hair walks past the library, and I crutch faster to catch up. Fucking hell, this is an arm workout.

“Charlie,” I whisper-yell when I catch her sneaking by.

“Huh?” She whips around. There’s a dazed fog in her bloodshot eyes and a lock of drenched hair in her mouth.

Looks like I’m late to the party. Charlie’s half-cast eyes stare somewhere in my general direction as she mindlessly chews on her hair, waiting patiently for me to reach her.

“How’s the leg?” she throws over her shoulder.

A good friend would stay put, maybe walk at half speed, or suggest we sit down so I can catch my breath after spending the past hour searching campus for the little fucker, Elijah. But Charlie simply resumes walking at the same speed as before, like a woman on a mission.

“Great,” I grind out. “Have you seen Elijah?” No point beating around the bush. Whenever she’s in this kind of state, she finds a place to zonk out or someone to fuck her.

She shakes her head, quickly pulling her hair out of her mouth and behind her ear like she just realized she’s doing it. “No one’s seen him all day.”

“How convenient.” If he’s hiding, I’ll sniff him out. “Let me guess, a concussion or something?” Maybe solitary as well?

She shrugs as she rounds the corner and heads down the hallway leading to the dorm rooms. We’ve already had dinner, so it’s only a couple hours until we’re forced to be holed away in our rooms.

“Apparently, he’s in the hospital.”

My eyes widen. “For a concussion?” I’m trying really hard not to breathe heavily right now, but could this girl walk any faster?

“No.”

I stare at her profile, waiting for her to elaborate, but she doesn’t. Jesus Christ, woman. “Then for what?”

She sneers, waving her hand like it isn’t important. “Something about broken bones and shit. I think there was mention of a coma or surgery or something.”

My brow line flattens. “Elijah was standing upright when I left him. For the love of God, Charlie, what the hell do you mean he’s in a coma?”

“Ugh.” She rolls her eyes. I get it. I’d be mad too, if someone was killing my buzz. “Aaron said they found him by the cemetery, passed out, beaten up, and badly burned. That’s all I know. Happy?”

Weird, but also this is extremely inconvenient. Serves him right for being a jackass, I guess. It also explains why he wasn’t in class today.

No wonder McGill was grilling me about my relationship with Elijah this morning. He asked me to explain what happened at the gym five times in ten different ways.

“Where’s Aaron now?” Follow-up questions: is he carrying anything, and is he willing to share?

“Church.”

I groan, loud and obnoxious. That’s quite literally the one place I don’t want to look because it’s so damn far. Crutches and mud sound like a disaster to me.

“Thanks,” I mutter.

“Oh, by the way, he replied.”

A cold film washes over my body, and I swallow the lump in my throat. “What did Kiervan say?”

“Yes.”

I didn’t think he’d respond. It was a long shot that he’d see my message request from yesterday morning, let alone reply to a text asking if he wanted to meet up. Now that I know what type of person he is, I want absolutely nothing to do with him.

“Okay,” I whisper. “Thanks.”

She nods as she takes the exit toward the dorms, and I take the one leading toward the church.

I want to choke on the guilt. It felt wrong contacting Kiervan to begin with, but I still pressed send because it didn’t feel like I was doing enough damage to Kohen’s psyche.

What happened in the medical wing was an accident. It’s never going to happen again—it shouldn’t have happened to begin with.

What are my options now? Mess around and hope I’ll forget about the full-body high Kohen gave me, or trudge through the outdoors for the possibility of a hit?

The latter. Definitely the latter.

I’m not moving anywhere near as fast as I’d like to while trying to avoid detection—especially since I’m like a damn beacon with these crutches. Anyone can hear me from a mile away, and there’s no way I could pass off as anyone other than a student.

It’s not as cold anymore, but we haven’t been getting much more in the way of daylight, and the weather is still miserable half the time. I avoid looking to the left at all costs. The lake always appears more daunting at night, just a black hole that could swallow things up.

I manage to make it to the tree line without getting caught. If any security guards around don’t hear the crutches, they’ll hear how heavy I’m breathing. Here I was, thinking I was substantially fitter from the morning drills.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

I swallow a yelp and spin around, tangling my feet in my crutches only to land on my hurt foot. I rear back from the pain that thunders up my leg and throw my hand out for support on the nearest tree.

Kohen reaches for me, but I attempt to multitask by avoiding him and gaining my balance at the same time. Fortunately, I do the second one successfully. Unfortunately, Kohen’s arms are around my waist, and then patchouli and mint hit me, bringing back the memory of how gentle he was yesterday. Just like he is right now—the prick.

I elbow him in the gut and manage to hobble out of his arms, biting back a wince. He narrows his hazel eyes at me, silently chastising me for a long list of things, I imagine.

“What the fuck are you doing out here?” I glance around for Liam, but he’s nowhere to be seen. The only time Kohen heads out to the church is if Liam is in tow.

“He won’t be there.”

I’m too busy stabilizing myself with the crutches to process his response. When I do, I pause. “Excuse me?” Why wouldn’t Liam be there?

“Your boy,” he explains. “He won’t be there.”

Elijah? “Why do you say that?” I know that. But how does he know that? Last I checked, Elijah and Kohen aren’t exactly buddies.

Kohen shrugs, giving me a blank look. “I told you. Bad things happen to people who touch what isn’t theirs.”

Oh.

Oh.

So I’m an object now, is that it? Some piece of meat to be handed between the guys? I want to be somebody’s, but I sure as hell am not a possession—prized or otherwise.

Although… it does feel a little nice that he’s figuratively marked me as his territory.

But more importantly—and I cannot stress this one enough—“You put him in the hospital!”

He has the audacity to look disappointed. “I was aiming for the morgue.”

I gape at him. He what?

Which part of his response should a rational person be surprised and disturbed by? That he was wanting to kill someone, or that he was willing to kill someone for me? Because I’m definitely nowhere near as disturbed as I should be that he wanted to do the latter.

He grabs me before I can react, tipping the world upside down. “Whoa, what are you—put me down right now, Kohen Osman,” I snarl, beating his back as he balances me on his shoulder.

Of course, he doesn’t put me down. Instead, he tucks the crutches beneath his arm, raises his hand higher up my legs so they sit on the sensitive skin of my thighs, a couple inches beneath the part of me he got overly familiar with yesterday.

The touch of his hands makes my body start priming itself, producing slick as if we’re going to have a rerun of yesterday. And there’s absolutely zero way that’s going to happen. My poor nipples still haven’t recovered. I even considered not wearing a bra today to let them breathe.

“You’re acting like a caveman!” He needs some serious lessons in social skills if he thinks it’s okay to grab a woman’s crutches and then throw her over his shoulder. “You’re not even going to say anything?” I screech, attempting to kick my legs out, but his burly arms hold me down easily. When I tug on his hair, I swear he shivers.

The lunatic responds by shifting his hands higher to slip a finger beneath my panties. I have to bite my tongue to keep from making a noise. Seriously? I thought I was raw and recovering. Now, I feel ready to take another pounding? Jesus Christ. If I keep this up, I’m going to add nymphomaniac to my file myself.

“Where are you taking me?” If I wasn’t worried about being caught out here, I’d scream the question.

Nothing.

Silence.

I hit the back of his head. Asshole.

After several minutes of walking, I get bored of attacking the plane of muscles of his back, and I most definitely stop yanking on his short hair because it only encourages those teasing fingers to move.

I have enough control over my mental faculties right now to know not to succumb to him a second time around. In a month’s time we’ll have finals, then graduation, and I’ll never see him again. He’ll go off to do whatever rich nepo babies do after sucking at school, and I’ll end up in a ditch somewhere after wandering aimlessly for miles.

Survival isn’t an instinct I hold. Living isn’t a thing I understand how to do. I don’t go through the motions or learn as I go. Life goes on, and I stay exactly the same.

There was a time when I tried so hard to be better, to be the person my grandfather would want, and to be the type of daughter who would bring her mother home. I wanted to be good so badly that I became bad. I didn’t forgive, and I didn’t forget. I didn’t get over it either.

I’m tired of it. So fucking tired.

Life hasn’t gotten more accessible; I’ve just stopped pretending I give a damn that it’s killing me.

Even if I wanted to get out of this shithole in one piece, what would I do? Hell, how long would I even last? Whatever, I’ll figure it out.

I’ll be here, and Kohen will be over there. I’d rather not keep seeing what I’m missing out on because I’ll be hooked and on a mission to find the same feeling in random men.

“Put me down, Kohen,” I say, losing the energy for any of this. Anger is exhausting.

“Wait.” The word comes out gruff as he shoulders open the door into the English and Language Wing using a key fob. Where do I get myself one of those? “Be quiet.”

I roll my eyes. “Or what?”

He slips two fingers into me, causing me to get a full-body spasm. I sink my teeth into my bottom lip to stop my cry from echoing down the empty corridors. There’s no point reaching around to slap his hand away as he effectively turns me to putty by curling his fingers and hitting the spot that makes me claw at his neck until I draw blood.

I gasp for breath when he pulls his thick fingers out abruptly, opening the door to one of the classrooms. He navigates between the groups of tables, then lowers me onto one of the desks, and I clamber to stand.

“Stay,” he orders. “I’ll be back.”

“I’m not a dog,” I snap.

“You’re wearing a collar.”

I whip my hand up to my throat, feeling the black ribbon I took from the home economics room. “It’s called fashion. I don’t expect you to underst— Wait. Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” I call out to his retreating form.

He ignores me and keeps walking toward the door with my crutches tucked beneath his arm. I slide off the table to follow him out the door, but my attempts last a single step.

Oh, you little…

“Get your ass back here!” I yell, leaning against the desk to take pressure off my foot.

He just chuckles quietly as he closes the door behind him.

“Kohen! I swear to God I’m going to sell your kidney on the black market if you don’t give me back my crutches!”

I wait for a beat. Then two.

Nope. Nothing. Not a sound.

He’s gone.

I hop on my good foot to the door and swing it open, looking left and right. Where did the—soon to be dead—motherfucker go? Christ, I’m out of breath already.

He left me here. He seriously left me here? Literally, what the fuck? Who takes someone’s crutches like this?

Fuck it. You know what? I’ll give him five minutes. If he’s not back by then, I’m tracking Charlie down, putting my morals aside, and somehow taking both Osman men down. Kohen, by his jealousy. Kiervan, by… I don’t know. Maybe I could frame Kohen for the murder of his brother? Does “trying anything once” extend to murder?

Hopping back to the table Kohen deposited me on, I stare out the window to the Science Wing. It’s not close, but the modern construction sticks out like a sore thumb against the rest of the gothic structures around here.

It’s… almost peaceful sitting in the dark, being somewhere no one but Kohen knows. At least it’s peaceful from the outside looking in. On the inside, I’m itching all over. It feels like any second now, I’m going to suffocate under the weight of my impending failure. When have I ever done anything successfully?

My eyes snag on the desk at the front of the class and my fingers start to tap on the corner of the table. The need to steal something tickles the back of my brain, an incessant buzzing that doesn’t stop. No one’s around. I have pockets.

I gnaw on my bottom lip. If I get caught, the punishment would be so much worse. I wish that fear made the urge disappear, but it only pushes me forward tenfold.

Fuck it. I grit my teeth and jump back off the desk, bearing the pain that slices up my foot and up my leg.

Screw Kohen for leaving me here.

Screw Jonathan Whitlock Sr. for being such a dick.ConTEent bel0ngs to Nôv(e)lD/rama(.)Org .

And screw Elijah for putting me in damn crutches.

I limp over to the teacher’s desk and try all the drawers. I’m not about to sit around and wait for Kohen to come get me without an award. I deserve compensation for my patience, and I’ll take that in any way I can.

There’s no joy in stealing when there’s no pressure. If this is a trap, I’m fucked whether I go through the desk or not. If it isn’t, then the thrill of it isn’t there anyway, so this is a mindless grab to fill the time rather than a compulsive tendency that would have Dr. Van der Merwe scribbling away on his pad. Or is this an impulsive decision?

You know what? It doesn’t matter.

None of this matters. Everything is temporary, and I’m going to die eventually anyway.

“Bingo,” I say when a drawer finally gives.

My shoulders deflate when I see what’s inside. Books? Where’s the fun in this? I pull out the books, piling them on the table, flipping through each one as I go. The History of Literature. The Modern Day Shakespeare. The Art of War. The Aeneid. Pride & Prejudice.

I drop the books back into the drawer and slam it shut. Well, that was disappointing.

All the other drawers are locked, but it doesn’t stop me from trying to wiggle them open. With a little bit more light and the gods’ good graces, I might have been able to pick the locks.

The sound of footsteps makes me still, limbs locking just as I’m about to try the cupboard. It grows louder a little too quickly for comfort.

I make a dash for the spot Kohen dropped me in, ignoring the pain as I drop down onto my haunches behind the desk.

There’s the thrill I was after. The heart-racing, blood-chilling exhilaration that comes with the suspense of waiting to see who is coming this way. I’m a full-time pessimist until it comes to times like this. Part of the joy of situations like this is being anxious enough to know I might get caught and cocky enough that I’ll probably get away with it.

My anxiety-induced racing mind quiets so the sound of the approaching footsteps is all I can hear; I can’t even hear my blood pumping or my quickened breath.

Purpose and intent: the two things I can get for free without scrounging around for cash. It’s always too short-lived, but there’s something to be said about being able to feel every second of it. The sound of my pulse roars in my ears. The way the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. How a chill settles over my skin. It’s almost as good as getting high or having sex with Kohen.

I hold my breath when the lock to the door clicks open, ducking further down and narrowing my eyes to try to make out the person from between the table legs. I grasp the closest thing behind me as the person approaches. Slowly, quietly, I pull a thick book off the shelf.

I grip both sides of the book, ready to beat the shit out of the person with English Grammar For Dummies when they step out of the shadows and into the moonlight.

Boots. Black jeans. Leather jacket. A row of rings.

I leap up and throw my arms up, waving the book around and roaring childishly. Then I drop my arms and look at Kohen blankly.

“You could at least have the decency to look surprised or even slightly shocked.”

He says nothing, but the barest hint of a smile curls his lips. This can’t be good.

I scream just as he wraps his arms around me, catching me as the entire building shudders and a loud bang detonates and lurches my heart into my throat. I whip my head toward the noise just as a giant plume of fire explodes through the broken windows and shattered roof.

Sirens blare across campus as I stare at the violent dance of copper and gold.

The science building just fucking exploded.