Cruel Magic (Royals of Villain Academy #1)(14)

For the first time, I noticed the gleaming leaf pin by the neckline of the girl’s shirt. She was one of the Nary students Professor Banefield had mentioned.

And this jerk had talked about putting her into a stupor the same way you might mention leashing a dog.

He was already sauntering closer to me, leaving Victory to trail behind him. He tossed the cloth bag onto the dining table, and I caught a whiff of a meaty, citrusy smell that made my mouth water. My stomach probably would have gurgled again if it hadn’t balled into a knot of repulsion.

“I think we got off on the wrong foot earlier. I’m Malcolm Nightwood, the Nightwood scion.” He made a grand gesture toward himself and pointed to the copper-haired guy who’d come up beside him, who offered a cheeky wave. “This jackass is Jude Killbrook.” Then to the beefy guy, who was watching me with a small smile that didn’t really fit his otherwise stern expression. “Our resident blockhead, Connar Stormhurst.” Then my former captor/rescuer. “And the stuffed shirt over there is Declan Ashgrave.”

My eyes leapt to the guy with the bright hazel eyes, whose voice had been so gentle in the midst of the carnage this morning. “We met earlier,” he said, in an even tone I couldn’t read. “Welcome to the pentacle of scions.”

So he was the Ashgrave I’d heard the head of the group talking to. He stood a little more rigidly than the others, but he didn’t look any more bothered by Malcolm’s casually insulting description of him than the other two did. Did he actually like this guy?

They were waiting—for me to return the introduction, obviously. “Rory Fra—I mean, Bloodstone,” I said, stumbling. “Rory Bloodstone.” For now. I motioned to the dinner he’d brought. “You really didn’t have to.”

Victory let out a sound like a muffled snort. The guys ignored her.

“You’re one of us,” Malcolm said. “We look after our own. You’ve made it to the right place, with the right friends—good-bye to the prissy joymancers.”

That last remark took me from bristling to furious in an instant.

“What if I’m not interested in being friends?” I said.

Malcolm chuckled. “Who are you going to hang out with, then—the feebs and the wimps like you had before? We know where you belong.”

My voice came out taut. “No. I know where I belong. And it’s nowhere near jerks like you. So why don’t you get the hell out of my dorm room and bestow your ‘friendship’ on someone who wants it?”

The room fell into total silence, all of my dormmates watching us. Connar’s folded arms tensed. Jude let out a low whistle, but his smirk had hardened.

“You just got here, darling,” he said. “It’s a little early to start drawing battle lines.”

A flush colored Malcolm’s neck. His coffee-brown eyes flared with anger. “I think you need to remember who you’re talking to.”

“I know exactly who I’m talking to,” I said. “A superficial, insecure asshole who cares more about family names than who someone is and has to resort to insulting and tormenting everyone he thinks is less than him just to feel good about himself. Why the fuck anyone would want that in their life, I haven’t got a clue.”

One of the girls gasped. If Malcolm could have incinerated me just with his gaze, I think he would have.

Despite his expression, his voice came out cuttingly cold. “If that’s how you want to play this, be my guest. We’ll see how quickly your feeb-dressed untrained ass comes begging us for a hand up when you see what the world is really like. And when you do, you’d better be on your knees and ready to open wide.”

He spun on his heel and stalked out. The other three guys followed him, not even Declan glancing back. My chest twisted as he disappeared out the door.

It looked like he was just as much of an asshole as the rest of the scions. Why the hell had he tried to be kind to me this morning if he was going to stand by while his friend talked trash about everyone and everything that had mattered to me?

“You do know how to make an impression, don’t you?” Victory said with a sharp little smile that looked a bit smug.

The adrenaline rush of my anger ebbed, leaving me empty. I gestured to the bag Malcolm had left behind. My stomach panged, but I knew if I ate one tidbit of the meal he’d brought, Victory would be running to him to crow about how I’d already accepted his charity.

“If anyone wants extra dinner, you’re welcome to it,” I said, and ducked back into my room where I could be alone with all the painful sensations inside me.





Chapter Six





Jude





Saying Malcolm was pissed off was like suggesting the Atlantic Ocean was a tad damp. He kept his head high and his gait steady as we crossed the landing to his dorm room, but I’d known him my whole life, and I could read his anger in every tensed muscle and flick of his gaze. He strode into the common room, where a few of his dormmates were chatting around a coffee table, and swept his arm through the air.

“Everyone out. We need this space.”

His smooth baritone penetrated the doors. It was nearly nine o’clock at night, but every guy in here knew better than to argue with Malcolm Nightwood.

The three in the living area scrambled up and hustled past us without a word or even eye contact. A couple of guys who’d been in their bedrooms slipped out and fled too.