Page 8 of Phantom Flower

He pulled back and looked into my eyes. There was no surprise on his face. He actually looked satisfied, like he had been hoping I would say exactly that.

His hand moved up to the side of my neck, thumb resting over my pulse, feeling how fast it was racing.

“Then we do this the hard way,” he said softly.

He turned and walked away down the corridor. I watched him go until he disappeared around the corner.

My legs were shaking. The word carved into the metal behind me felt like a brand already sinking under my skin.

I forced myself to move before someone else saw me like this. I shoved what was left of my books into my bag, slammed the ruined locker shut, and walked fast.

The insults started before I even reached the main hallway. Two seniors I didn’t know passed me and one muttered, “There goes the idiot.”

The other laughed under his breath and added, “Wonder how long before they drag him out in pieces.”

I kept my face blank the way I had learned to do in Tokyo after the funeral, but the words still stung.

By the time I slipped into the narrow alcove with its single stone bench and the high window, my hands were shaking.

I sat cross-legged on the bench and tried to eat the sandwich I had grabbed from the cafeteria earlier.

It tasted like nothing.

I couldn’t pretend all of this wasn’t getting to me. People who used to ignore me now stared too long or not at all. The ones who stared whispered to their friends, and the whispers all said the same thing: I was the idiot who had kneed Dimitri Morozov in the balls and now I belonged to whatever game he decided to play.

No one wanted to be near me because being near me meant being near his attention. And his attention was the kind that could get you killed.

I was halfway through forcing down another bite when I heard footsteps stop at the entrance. Marco stood there, curls messy, the little black ribbon in his hair slightly crooked like he had been running his hands through it all morning. He did that when he was stressed. His hazel eyes were wide and scared, but he still stepped inside anyway and slid onto the bench beside me without asking.

He didn’t touch the sandwich. He just sat close enough that our shoulders touched.

“Rei, I’m scared for you.”

I looked at him, at the way his fingers twisted in the strap of his bag the same way they had the day before. The only light in this whole concrete nightmare. “Maybe you should stop hanging around me. Go eat in the cafeteria with the normal people. I’ll be fine.”

“No, you won’t.” He shook his head. “And I’m not leaving you alone in this.”

I had never met anyone who got as scared as Marco did, yet he was still choosing to stay by my side. He was so loyal.

We sat like that for a while. He told me how people were avoiding the east wing now that word had spread I was seen with Dimitri here. I listened and nodded and tried to keep my own fear off my face, because if Marco saw how badly I was shaken he would only worry more.

Anyway, it didn’t matter that I was scared. I would still kick back.

Chapter 4

Dimitri Morozov

I stepped out of the shower with a towel low around my hips and another over my shoulders, dragging it through my wet hair. Training had been brutal today. Three rounds on the heavy bag, sparring with Alexei until my knuckles split, and Ilya laughing the whole time like the sadistic little shit he was.

I had expected the usual bullshit from them afterward: Ilya spinning that knife and talking about finding someone to fuck the adrenaline out of us, Alexei grunting in approval.

Instead, both of them were standing in front of my locker in the private changing area.

Ilya turned first, that pretty face split by a smirk that never reached his eyes. “Well, well. You might want to brace yourself, Dima.”

Alexei didn’t say anything. He just stepped aside so I could see what they had been staring at.

My locker door was wide open.