Fiery Little Thing: A Dark Academy Romance

“Show me,” I order Blaze. One last time.

“Get fucked.” She crosses her arms and plonks herself down next to my luggage. My dorm room is even more cramped than usual since all of our things are packed into the bags on the floor. It’s graduation and move-out day, and the little shit is violating the uniform code one last time by wearing bright red lipstick. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

I lift an eyebrow. “Is that a challenge?”

“It still fucking hurts, you dipshit,” she growls, pushing her bottom lip out in a pout. “Fussing over it won’t make it heal any faster.”

“Trust me, Thief. This is purely for my self-interest.” I reach over only to snatch my hand back when she snaps her teeth at me. The last time I tried calling her bluff, she bit down hard enough to bleed. I’m not in the mood for stitches again. “Let me see—”

“No.”

“Blaze,” I warn.

“You’ve seen it enough times.” She tilts her chin up like a petulant child.

“I’m going to spank the shit out of you if—”

“Ditto, bud. Your ass slaps back when I smack it.”

The muscle in my jaw twitches as I narrow my eyes at her. Why did I think she’d magically become less difficult when she decided she wanted to be with me? It’s been a month since McGill died, and she still insists on fighting me at every fucking turn.

The headlines called McGill’s death a home invasion. The suspect? A tall male who is approximately three hundred pounds. Tracks led to and from the school, which was an unfortunate piece of evidence I had no way of getting rid of. Blaze got off scot-free, while the entire male student body became suspects—though the police couldn’t interview them. Rich kids with even richer parents? The big guns came out straightaway. No questioning unless being charged, and Mommy and Daddy’s top-shot lawyer has to be in the room.

Lots of students openly hated McGill. As for me? So far as everyone is aware, the old man and I have interacted twice. So, in other words, the suspect is at large, not a single eye is looking either of our ways, and my girl is graduating in our horrific uniform while I wear her lipstick stain on my wrist.

This past month has been the highlight of my entire life. Our days have more or less gone the same; we bicker in class then glare at each other and Sarah during lunch. In the afternoon, I’d attempt to tutor her—the key word there is attempt. I love her, but fuck if she isn’t the most insufferable student to have ever existed. Then, once the lights were out, I’d sneak into her room and choke her half to death so she wouldn’t wake up the whole dorm with her screaming.

A couple times, she’s told me to fuck off to hang out with Charlie, and I somehow end up around Liam if I’m not busy at practice or doing Kiervan’s work. Either way, it always ends with me in her bed and another bite mark on my skin to carry me through to the next day.

I raise the silver chain ring I stole back from her an hour ago. “If you want to wear it, you’ll show me.” A psychiatrist would have a field day hearing that our push-and-pull relationship comes in the form of stealing from each other on a daily basis.

Blaze sneers, glaring me down for a solid five seconds before huffing her reluctance. “Fine.”

Smiling internally, I drop down onto my haunches in front of her and pull down her bottom lip where the word KOHEN’S is inked in black onto the soft skin. The part of my soul only she can reach comes alive, pulsing and vibrating as I read it again. Red lips. Copper hair. Blue eyes. She’s my fiery little thing.

I yank my hand back just in time to avoid losing a finger, and she bares her teeth at me. If she wants to bite me, she’s biting me with my name on her lips. And that’s worth bleeding over.

“You’re a psychotic animal,” I mumble, then drop onto the floor across from her, plucking her off the ground and onto my lap. Her warmth seeps through our clothing the second her body touches mine, dispelling any thought that this could be the last time we see each other.This belongs © NôvelDra/ma.Org.

It’ll work, I assure myself. The plan will work. “Do you want to go over it one more time?”

Blaze rolls her eyes. “If we have to go over it one more time, I’m going to forget it out of spite,” she groans. “We split up. Steer the fuck clear of Jonathan. I shut up, behave, and haul ass out of here. You come back with stacks of green sticking out of your underwear. Then we sail off into the sunset.”

Less eloquently put, but pretty much spot-on.

I nod stiffly. I don’t like letting her out of my sight for more than a couple minutes. The fact that I might need to for hours is going to be torture in and of itself. If her grandfather catches her, then I lose everything. Any life plans we both decided on over the past month would go up in flames. Any thought of a future would be gone. My life starts and ends with her. If anything happens to her…

My fingers reach up to curl around her throat and feel her pulse thrum against my skin. She’s alive. I have to keep reminding myself that, but it’s difficult not to think about how easy it would be for her to be ripped away from me.

If she’s gone, then what? My brother’s shadow is long, my father’s is even longer. They both think I’m a failure who’s unworthy to have my last name. They’ve always been wrong about it because they’re blinded by their own narcissism. But if I lose Blaze, they’ll be right in every sense of the word.

I didn’t deserve her before. I don’t deserve her now. Even once I’m dead, I’ll still fight to be worthy of her. I’ve captured and locked away everything she’s ever offered me so I can be buried with it; every time she places her trust in me, or smiles in a way that lights her eyes and softens her shoulders. I’ll keep it all with me. Always.

“Kiss me,” I say. Whether she hears the desperation in my voice or smells the fear emitting from me, the tension unwinds from her muscles as she slumps into my arms.

“Say please,” she chides softly.

“I need you.”

The touch of her lips to mine is nothing short of tender, moving as if we’ve been lovers over lifetimes. She’s telling me all the things I’ve told her, without putting them into words. I’m yours. It’ll always be you. I’ll take care of you.

And I kiss her back saying the three words I haven’t said out loud: I love you.

But the moment crashes around us when one of the teachers yells to get our bags and start heading down. Blaze and I slowly break apart, leaning our foreheads together as the heavy air settles around us. This won’t be the last time we do this. I refuse to let it be.

Tonight, she’ll be in my arms as I fall asleep, and we’ll both be free.

Blaze holds her hand out, palm upward. “You owe me a ring.”

“Marie Whitlock.”

Blaze stomps up the steps and snatches her diploma from Dr. Van der Merwe’s hands while glaring at the deputy headmaster.

A shrill scream echoes through the hall, followed by a “Go Blaze!” from a fist-pumping Charlie. Blaze beams at her and subtly pulls the middle finger at me before trotting off the stage, taking the stairs two at a time.

My eyes instantly snag on Kiervan when I glance back toward the audience up on the bleachers. He gives me a crooked grin that increases my internal temperature by four degrees. Dad is beside him, tapping away at his phone; Mom is doing the same, except she’s simultaneously silently judging any person who walks by her.

I run my thumb over the spark wheel of my lighter and tighten my grip around my diploma, fighting the urge to light the fucking thing. There’s still no sign of Jonathan. He’ll have to show up at some point to collect Blaze, and like hell will I let that happen.

Everyone returns to their seats as the deputy headmaster drones on about the school year, fundraisers, and everything of zero interest to me. Applause fills the air one last time when she gives her final congratulations to the graduates, and I watch a head of copper hair zip out of the side of the hall as soon as we’re dismissed.

The entire student body and every single visitor starts to pool out of the main door and into the blinding sunlight. I clutch the lighter in my pocket, silently counting to ten as I weave through the crowd, keeping an eye out for Jonathan and my girl.

Sweat beads along my back, sticking the white material of my uniform to my skin. The weather has grown increasingly unbearable as we head into summer, and I have to squint just to see over the heads of all the excited students. Some people rush to the lake to take pictures, others hug their parents like surviving the academy is their greatest accomplishment. There’s happy faces and laughter everywhere I look.

A hand clamps on my shoulder, and I whirl around with a scowl.

“Congratulations, baby bro.”

The three words combined with the sound of his voice is enough for fire to start in my stomach, and spread over my skin in a rage of fury and hatred.

My fists tremble around the lighter as I let Kiervan shove me toward our parents. It’s been months since I’ve seen him, and I wish I could have put it off for longer. It’s harder than it should be to keep the glower off my face as I quickly scan the area for any of the Whitlocks.

Blaze better have stuck to the plan.

“Mother,” I grate out when I meet the dead eyes of the woman who gave birth to me. The warmth from her umber skin somehow looks cold, and her lively coiled hair is straight and lifeless.

“Kohen.” She briefly touches my arm unaffectionately with her manicured hand, giving me a smile that does nothing to hide the fact she doesn’t want to be here. I’m thankful the brush of her hand over my blazer is the most affection I’ll receive from her.

The man who sired me hasn’t looked up from his phone once, while the woman who gave birth to me darts her hazel eyes to every student that comes within five feet of her, and she clutches the bright red designer handbag beneath the arm of her white dress suit.

When Kiervan throws his arm over my shoulder and says, “The Osmans are back, baby,” I flick the wheel and release the gas while sliding my thumb over the chamber to stop the flame from catching the pocket of my polyester uniform pants. “What do you say we all go get some ice cream to—”

“No.” If he keeps talking, I might burn him alive.

“Do not cut your brother off,” Mother scolds.

Kiervan gives me a sideways grin as the muscles along my fists vibrate with the need to make my brother one with the concrete. I’ve been in my family’s presence for all of ten seconds and it’s already like I’ve never left. Mother takes Kiervan’s side, Father doesn’t react, and my brother does everything humanly possible to get a rise out of me.

My father stuffs his phone in his breast pocket, inspects me from head to toe, then starts walking to the car park with a dismissive “Let’s go.”

Mom spins on her heels, casting a disapproving glance at one of the giggling girls nearby.

I hold firm in my position despite the shove Kiervan gives me. “No.”

Both of my parents stop, turning back to me. My father cocks a patronizing brow. “No?”

“We need to talk.”

“This oughta be good,” Kiervan snickers from beside me, then takes a big step back to avoid any association with me.

“Go on.” The vein in my father’s forehead pulses, and my mother closes our circle like she doesn’t want anyone to hear.

“My trust fund.” I don’t need to say more than those three words because they know exactly what I’m talking about. “I got accepted into college.” With a full scholarship—they don’t know that though.

“A community one,” my mother scoffs.

“Still a college,” I argue. “There are two conditions to those funds: I’m over eighteen, and I go to college.”

The tendons in my father’s neck twitches as he stares me down. From the corner of my eye, I see Kiervan’s shit-eating grin, and I have to fight the urge to pull out the lighter to catch a glimpse of the fire.

Not yet, I tell myself. Get the money. Get the kill switch. Then watch it blow up.

“That’s not what was agreed,” my father says.

I twist the lighter between my fingers, stamping back images of what my family would look like as flames engulf them. It’s making me question my decision to let them live.

Pictures of copper hair and sterling-blue eyes come to mind as I try to reign in control over my emotions, but it feels like concrete has been poured into my lungs and sucked the oxygen out of the air. The people in my family are like sharks, ready to strike at the first sign of an opening. To them, emotion is a weakness, and I’m the weakest of the lot.

“That’s not what the terms of the trust fund say. Kiervan received his the day he graduated,” I argue. My voice comes out clearly without giving away any of my desperation or homicidal thoughts.

We need those funds.

Blaze and I will need a roof over our heads, food on the table, and cash to make our families bleed for what they’ve done. I won’t have time to work enough hours while studying, and Blaze isn’t exactly going to be the most outstanding employee. Disowning my family while I’m penniless isn’t an option.

“You have done nothing to earn it. Your brother, on the other hand, has. For example, he hasn’t been associating with the wrong Whitlock.” My blood runs cold as my sperm donor continues. “You think I didn’t know about your relationship with her? I know everything, boy. And you have me fooled if you think you will get any of my money to finance her habits.” He draws his phone out of his pocket and resumes walking to the car park. “We are not speaking about this out here any further.” Lifting the device to his ear, he effectively dismisses me.

Mom picks that exact moment to pull out her phone and type furiously as she follows my father, leaving me behind with the spawn of Satan.

I grab Kiervan’s wrist before he has the chance to lay a hand on my shoulder, and throw it off to the side.

Kiervan raises both hands in surrender as picture-perfect innocence gleams in his unfeeling eyes. “Careful, Koko. My claws are bigger than your little kitty’s.” He makes a show of looking around. “Where is she, by the way? Maybe we should introduce her to dear ol’ Dad.” A malicious smile splits across his face. “Or maybe she and I could head into one of the janitors’ closets, and I can give her the Kiervan special.”

Anger lashes through me, red and hot. He stays put when I take a step toward him. My hands stay glued to my side because I’ll kill him if I don’t restrain myself. “If you say her name—or even talk about her—I will gut you. If you’re on the same street as her, I will rip your eyes out and make you choke on them. If you so much as think of her, every inch of you will be covered in sixth-degree burns.”

He chuckles, closing the distance so we’re chest to chest. “You don’t have it in you.”

“For her, I’ll do whatever it takes.”

My brother smiles, showing off his gleaming white teeth. “Then it’s a good thing you’re finished with my assignment, right? If not, Jonathan might want to hear that she’s been trying to contact me.”

“She hasn’t,” I say with so much conviction, the Devil himself would believe it. Blaze wouldn’t hurt me like that. Not anymore.

“He doesn’t know that.” Kiervan’s eyes dart to a spot behind me. “Should we tell him? I’m sure he’d like to know all about her constant harassment.”

I whip around. Sure enough, Jonathan Whitlock Sr. is sitting inside a black SUV with his windows rolled down, searching the crowd as I spot at least five suited men moving with purpose between the throngs of people. Still, Blaze isn’t in sight, but it doesn’t stop the knots tying in my stomach.

If she doesn’t stick to the plan, I’ll kill her myself.

Flicking the lighter again, I glare at Kiervan and follow him to the car. Swallowing my pride, I say through gritted teeth, “The conclusion and references need to be written. Then it’s done.”