Page 39 of Wicked Elites

I longed to flip open the pages and read more about Cormac’s twin, but I put the diary aside. If anyone had the right to read through its contents, it was him. After inspecting my room for other signs of nefarious activity, I placed the diary in my bag and made a note to hand it to Cormac at the earliest opportunity.

Dreams of dead girls who looked like Cormac kept me awake for half the night. Ashley wasn’t on her side of the room, and her absence made my skin prickle into goosebumps.

I couldn’t tell which spooked me worse, knowing that someone had broken into the room to destroy Mom’s portrait then straightened it up again, the presence of the diary, or the knowledge that I might be sleeping in Corrine’s bed. All three were as terrible as the other.

I forced my eyes shut and distracted myself with thoughts about those assholes.

Prakash’s beautiful, scowling face, Sebastian’s lips, his roving hands, and Leopold’s glistening erection danced through my mind, working me into a lather of indignation and lust and an inexplicable yearning that chased away all thoughts of dead girls and stalkers.

A few fevered strokes of my throbbing nub later, and I shattered into a core-clenching climax that pulled me into a deep slumber.

I missed breakfast and my first period but made it to English ten minutes early and sat close to the back. Miss Claymore’s brows rose in question, as most people were still in classes, but I didn’t explain myself. The deputy headmistress probably knew the class schedules and had guessed that I had skipped a class.

As the lecture theater filled, the kings swaggered in. Irritation flared across my skin like an army of fire ants. Because of them, someone had destroyed Mom’s portrait. One of them had to know something.

I bolted out of my seat and glared up at Sebastian. “Someone was in my room last night.”

“Are you trying to make me jealous?” drawled Leopold.

I ignored him and focussed on Sebastian, who glowered back, his handsome features a sculpture of ice. I prodded him hard on the bicep. “They ripped up a watercolor family portrait.”

Leopold cocked his head to the side. “Can’t you go back to the painter and ask for another one?”

“My mother painted it.”

Sebastian’s cold mask melted, and compassion shone in his green eyes. For a moment, he reminded me of the guy who had driven me home from Hessington Hall. The guy who had opened up to me and understood the sadness in my heart. The guy who had given me my first kiss and awakened something in me I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.

“I didn’t send anyone to your room,” he said in a voice as gentle as a caress. “Neither would Leo.”

“I know you didn’t, but someone out there thinks I’m taking up your attention and wants to send me a message.”

He gave me a slow, understanding nod. “Hence, the broken portrait.”

“And notes made from cut-out newspapers.”

Sebastian grimaced. “I can’t think of anyone fixated on me enough to go that far.”

Leopold gave his friend a nudge. “What about—”

“No.” Sebastian grabbed Leopold and jostled him to the back of the lecture theater, where they exchanged hushed and angry whispers.

Curiosity burned in my chest, fueled by the pounding of my heart. Someone was out to get me. Leopold knew their identity, but Sebastian was in denial.

I glanced in the direction of the queens. Geraldine and Bianca both glowered at me from across the lecture theater. Maybe Sebastian wanted to protect Bianca from suspicion.

I edged toward the kings to catch a name, when a voice from behind said, “Has it crossed your mind that you don’t fit in?”

“What?” I turned around and glared into Prakash’s dark eyes.

“The pranks, pig slurs, that disgusting bet. And now someone has broken into your room and damaged a precious and irreplaceable object. How much more of this will you take before you finally get the message?”

“Which is?” I folded my arms.

Prakash’s eyes hardened, and he leaned into me, filling my nostrils with the intoxicating, citrus scent of bergamot. “There’s no place for a girl like you at the Brittas Academy.”

“That’s harsh,” Leopold said from behind. “You could have at least waited until I’d won Geraldine’s bet before trying to chase her out.”

I whirled around and slapped him on his pec. “You’re a pig.”