Page 70 of Pink Ink

I can’t find it when she’s there either.

However, sitting here in the dark, or back in class, with my sketchpad in hand, I find myself enjoying the process of creating again. The pressure is there to do her beauty justice, but the perfectly imperfect drawings have become the rare thing that brings me solace. I’d forgotten what it means to draw for myself, without worry of judgment.

Admittedly, I’m a tad disappointed that she sleeps in pants, fluffy socks, and a T-shirt. I would’ve preferred she slept nude, though I doubt my Reyna-related sensibilities would have been able to withstand such a sight.

I was less like a man and more like a feral beast when her tights were on earlier today. Once they were off, I was sure the chains around my self-control were going to snap.

She was in my office hours ago, and I still can’t get the image of her on my couch out of my head. The sounds she made. The way her legs shook. The outline of her nipples through her bra. The taste of her. The sound of my fucking name on her lips. It sounded like a melody. A torturously tempting one.

She’s lucky she kept one foot on my chair to keep me back. If not, I would have fallen to my knees and shoved my face between her divine thighs. My mouth would have been on every inch of her: her scars, tattoos, her luscious, tanned skin.

If it weren’t going to be a titanic rip-off, I would have asked her to stay exactly where she was so I could draw her.

Butof coursethat acolyte twat had to fucking ruin it. Bloody Shepherd couldn’t have sent me a text like a normal person, could he? No, he had to come and ruin my day. The graying twat sent his latest bloodhound in training to deliver my next assignment, and the curious expression Alex gave Reyna rubbed me the wrong way.

Another member of the Order is on the chopping block. An issue I can deal with tomorrow. For now, I can sit here and justbenext to her.

It was for the best that she left earlier. Something like thatcannothappen again. There are simply too many risks that I can’t afford.

Murder isn’t only an art form, it’s a method of control.

Because of her, I have none. It’s both liberating and vexing.

Worse. It’s addictive.

The same way getting lost in a painting is magnetizing and taking a life is thrilling.

I know what the definition ofobsessionis. I understand its implication. Feeling it is something completely different.

She should never have crossed paths with someone like me. This is the last night I will allow myself to watch her sleep. The next time I’m alone with her, I might try to fuck her. If that happens, she’ll never escape me, because I’ll never let her go.

I’d make Reyna Sinaga mine. But it would cost me everything.

She’s avoiding me.

I keep expecting to see Reyna around campus, except I never do. Not once have I spotted her golden highlights running away from me. Which means one thing, and I hate it.

I was worried when she missed class yesterday. In fact, I assumed the very worst. I thought the Order had gotten to her and my father had put a bullet in her head to ensure I solidify the alliance with House Dornmont. I thought she went searching for my kills and ended up in a ditch.

Joke’s on me, though, because I found her having bubble tea with her friend Kimi instead.

Thinking that she regrets what we did leaves a nasty pit in my stomach. I sure as shit don’t regret it. In fact, the whole interaction is constantly playing in my head. I’ve been sporting a semi for the past week.

I should be happy she’s putting distance between us since it’s apparent that I’m incapable of doing so. Instead, I’m livid beyond measure. I’m not remotely pleased unless she’s somewhere I can see her, and when I do see her, I’m somehow even more pissed off.

This morning, I hid outside of her film-editing class like some bloody stalker to confirm she was alive. I also paid a visit to her screenwriting professor to bump up her grade from a B to an A−. But several hours have passed. I’ve killed people for the Order in substantially less time. I’m not sure what her schedule is like this afternoon, but I’ve been taught how to hunt. I’ll find her.

It’ll all be much easier once I put a tracker on her.

My phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out to read the text.

SHEPHERD:

Confirmed.

Fantastic. More work. Just what I wanted. I don’t exactly find it fun playing assassin for a tyrannical system when it doesn’t benefit me.

Jogging up the steps to my room, I give a curt nod to the students passing by. It’s lunchtime when the university is busiest, so the polite expression slips right from my face after my shoulder brushes one too many people.