The Coven (Coven of Bones, #1)(24)

I knew the moment Thorne realized what I’d done, his body tensing as Iban wrapped an arm around my waist and supported me as I stumbled through the first step.

“Here,” Thorne said, raising his wrist to his mouth.

He brushed his suit jacket up his arm, unfastening his cufflinks so that he could roll his sleeve up and out of the way. He sank his fangs into his flesh slowly, holding my gaze with his burnished steely stare. Blood coated his lips when he pulled it away, stepping toward me and raising it to my mouth.

I reared back.

“Drink. It will help replenish your magic.”

I shook my head as I frowned, disgust rolling through my gut. If his blood was inside of me, he’d have certain… access to me, and I would be less able to fight. His compulsion would be stronger. He’d be able to sense me wherever I went; my emotions would be easier for him to feel as if they were his.

“Don’t be stubborn,” Thorne growled, reaching forward to grasp me around the back of the neck so that he could hold me still. He pressed his wrist against my mouth, his nostrils flaring when I kept it clamped firmly shut. “Open your fucking mouth and drink, Witchling.”

“She doesn’t seem to want it, Headmaster Thorne,” Iban said, and something about the caution and disbelief in his voice made me believe it wasn’t something that the Vessels offered often.

“Must you be so impossible?” Thorne asked, finally withdrawing his wrist.

I waited until the puncture marks healed over before I let my lips part enough to speak. I carefully wiped the blood off my face with my forearm, not allowing a single drop or smear to touch my tongue.

“Must you be such an asshole?” I asked, ignoring the choking sound Iban made as I took a step away from Thorne. The younger male was quick to step with me, supporting me as I did my best to walk on my own. My legs felt like Jell-O beneath me, trembling with each and every step.

“At least have the decency to carry her if you want to pretend to be chivalrous,” Thorne barked, and I felt the way Iban twitched in response.

“I’m not pretending to be anything,” he protested, but he made no move to pick me up. That suited me just fine, as having him assist me with walking was embarrassing enough. I didn’t need him to realize I was too heavy and drop me.

“For Hell’s sake,” Thorne groaned behind me.

I took another step, and nausea swirled in my gut when my foot never touched the stone. My world went upside down as Thorne swept my feet out from under me, catching me beneath the knees and placing his other arm around my back.

I squealed as I flung my arms around his neck without thought, the blueness of his stare far too piercing when we were this close.

“Put me down,” I whispered, swallowing down my unease.

Greens were not meant to be off the ground entirely. Even stone tile was better than this Hell.

“Do shut up, Miss Madizza,” he said as he strode forward, making his way down the corridor and toward the entry hall we’d entered the school in. There were no remaining students to mingle, and all was quiet as he headed for the stairwell.

“Rude,” I snapped, squirming in his grip.

“All that will do is make me more inclined to drop you,” he said, his gaze pinned on where he was going as he carried me. He was careful not to jostle me too much as the ache of my depleted magic settled into my bones.

I scoffed. “As if you aren’t already inclined to do that.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled at the edges as a deep rumble began in his chest. It was a rare, genuine smile, and I stared in shock as his lips spread into a wide grin.

“Do you ever get tired of your own attitude?”

“I do not have an attitude!” I protested, my eyes wide. If I hadn’t been too terrified to release him for fear he may drop me, I might have slapped him for the incredulous way he glanced at me from the corners of his eyes.

I could feel the silent, “really?” in that look.

“Is that so?” he asked after a moment. He climbed the stairs as if I were weightless in his hold, even though he and I both knew that wasn’t true.

I was average height with an hourglass figure. My body had a decent amount of muscle packed onto it, all lingering beneath a certain love of chocolate and sweets that softened my curves. I loved my “mid-size” figure, but I’d never met someone who could carry me up several flights of stairs.

“You seem to bring out the worst in me,” I admitted, seething as I had no choice but to admit that while he was difficult and inherently evil, perhaps I wasn’t exactly cooperative either.

He chuckled, shaking his head as he rolled his eyes to the ceiling. “Likewise, Witchling.”

“Do you call all the Hollow’s Grove students Witchling? Is it because you can’t be bothered to remember their names?” I asked, curiosity driving me as he rounded the corner at the top of the third flight of stairs. The farther we went from the earth below, the more I hated this damned place.

“Just you,” he grunted, not offering any further information as to why I was so fortunate to receive a nickname I hadn’t asked for.

“Lucky me,” I groaned as he kicked open a set of doors. The hallway before us consisted of only a single door on either side of the corridor, and he lowered me to my feet in front of the one on the right.

“Key,” he said, holding out a hand.