Page 81 of Vicious Kings
"This isn't a romance, you delusional—" I cut myself off before I can finish that sentence with something that gets me executed for treason. "Look, I already told you. I'm not interested in being your pet."
"And I enjoy taming exotic, violent creatures." He gives a smile that would probably be the death of any other omega inn this room who happened to be on the receiving end of it. "Which makes you perfect."
So this is what people mean when they say they're seeing red. It's literal. "Find someone else. I'm sure there are plenty of omegas who'd love to be 'tamed.'"
"That rather defeats the purpose, doesn't it?" he challenges. "Besides, none ofthembroke my nose." He says it like it's a compliment. Like violence is foreplay in his twisted Fae brain.
Which, knowing what I know about the Fae, it probably is.
"I'm going to keep doing this," he says, resuming our walk toward my next class. "Showing up where you are, making myself unavoidable."
"Until I agree to be yours?"
"Until you realize you want to be mine," he counters. He stops outside the classroom, handing me my bag with a smile that should be illegal. "There's a difference."
"That's never going to happen."
"We'll see." His eyes hold mine for a beat too long. "I do enjoy a challenge, Billie. Now come, let's go learn the fascinating intricacies of Fae Penal Code. Something tells me you'll run up against it sooner or later."
With a wink, he disappears into the classroom.
I grip the strip on my bag so hard I'm sure it'll leave an impression for days.
Better than his neck.
I'm going to have to wait for that particular indulgence.
Twenty-Four
BILLIE
The rest of the day passes in a haze of Corvinus-shaped interruptions.
He's in my Fae History class, sitting in the back row and asking questions about the war against the Unseelie that make the professor stammer. Questions he absolutely knows the answers to at that.
He's in Courtly Etiquette, demonstrating proper form with a grace that makes Madame Renardier practically weep with joy.
He's fuckingeverywhere, and each time I see him, that smile gets a little wider, a little more knowing.
By the time I escape to the courtyard after my last class, I'm ready to commit actual murder with my bare hands.
The gardens are quieter this time of day, most students either in class or holed up studying. I find a bench tucked between two flowering bushes that smell like vanilla and let myself collapse onto it.
My feet throb from racing between buildings, trying to stay one step ahead of a prince who apparently has nothing better to do than stalk me like a particularly persistent predator.
This is not how this mission was supposed to go. I was supposed to infiltrate, seduce Corvinus, and kill him. Clean and simple. The Shepherd's plan laid out in careful detail.
Except I can't seduce someone I want to disembowel. And I definitely can't strike when he's surrounded me with so many witnesses that a mouse couldn't sneeze near me without someone reporting it to campus security.
I'm fucked.
Completely, utterlyfucked.
"There you are."
Oh, you've got to be fucking kidding. I turn around to find Corvinus striding toward me, but before he can reach the bench, something I can only describe as a translucent pigeon appears out of thin air and blocks his path.
What the…
