Page 106 of Wicked Vile King
"Yeah?"
He grins over his shoulder at me, afternoon sun playing in his hair. "My favorite color is black."
As he holds my hand and guides me back to his dorm room, I thinkof course it is.
EPILOGUE
SAINT — SIX WEEKS LATER
Isit beside Willow on the roof of the Academy, looking out at the expanse of forest stretching in every direction and the gravestones that peek through the fog and the last breaths of dusk. We've been up here for hours, and normally, the boredom would be creeping up the back of my neck to burrow in my skull. Hell, it probably would have already driven me crazy.
But not today.
And not with her.
Not ever.
She is the antidote I've been looking for. She tells me the most mundane shit, what scandal has befallen the girls' dorm—it's the case of the missing tampons—and how her roommate wants to be an artist when she escapes this place. Yet, I'm not bored. I could listen to her speak for hours. We talk, we fuck, we sleep, yet I never get tired of her.
She's an anomaly of the best kind.
It's been six weeks since the good doctor met his maker, and as I predicted, his death has been swept under the rug.
I heard his mother flew in not long after they found the body and demanded a full police investigation. She quickly changed her mind, however, when confronted with the truth and ultimately decided that keeping his reputation pristine was more important than finding out who came for payback. Rumor is that Dr. Boucher is interviewing psychiatrists now to fill the empty position.
Even better, in a few short weeks, Christmas will be here, and although I can't give Willow shit in this place, not unless it's searched for contraband and approved by Headmistress Graves first, I've paid the dining hall staff to make her favorite cookie, something called snowballs. I understand they're never covered with enough powdered sugar, so I also paid for extra powdered sugar.
Then Chryseum will open its campus for family visits, and I'm sure her father will probably come and maybe my parents too. They'll all look at us like we're the problem, demand a hug, and that will be the end of it. At least this year though, I'll have her beside me to get me through the holiday torment.
Willow reaches over and runs a hand through my hair, ruffling it. Normally, I'd kill anyone else for doing it, but it seems to make her happy, and her happiness directly correlates to my happiness. Plus, it helps that her fingernails feel good as fuck on my scalp. I don't give her the satisfaction of a groan though. I'm going to need her to actually work for one of those.
Speaking of earning rewards, I steal a glance over at her. She's already ditched the tights she callsitchy leg devices, so it's just the skirt and her flats left. Her legs are long and pale against the dark expanse of the Academy roof.
Mmm, I can work with that.
"Pet," I say to her lazily. She turns and looks at me, her hand falling from my head to her side.
"Hmm," she says, raising an eyebrow.
I tilt my head in her direction and purse my lips. "Do you trust me?"
"Mhmm." She nods, and I don't know how the hell she does it, but I swear that nod is sarcastic. "What do you want, Saint?"
Ah, smart girl.
"Take off your underwear," I tell her.
"And what if one of your creepy friends comes up here?" she asks.
Now, it's only happened one time with Kill, who cursed, shielded his eyes, and spit at me, "Ugh, put your fucking balls away."
I'm still annoyed with him about it, though I'm not about to let her know it.
Instead, I lean in close and let my words slide across her cheek.
"I'll blind them for looking at what's mine. Now," I grab her collar by the metal ring and reel her in tight, "take them off or I'll take them off for you."
The unspoken threat dangles in the air. That I'll take them off for her, shove them in her mouth, and edge her for a couple of hours. Still, I see her read the threat loud and clear, probably because it's exactly what I did last week.
