Fiery Little Thing: A Dark Academy Romance

If Blaze doesn’t walk out of that bathroom in the next fifty seconds, several possible things could happen.

One option is to kick the door down. She pushed me out over two hours ago, and I don’t like how silent she is in there. It doesn’t help that she was groaning on and off earlier. When I tried opening the door, she almost took my hand out when she slammed it in my face. I nearly lost my eye during my second attempt—it turns out she just needs to be injured to have impeccable aim with her shoe-throwing.

The second option is to track McGill down and flatten his frontal lobe against his spinal cord—which, in all honesty, is going to happen either way.

The third is the same as option two, plus a trip to Jonathan Whitlock Sr.’s house, where I do the exact same thing to him.

There’s a dip in the carpet from where I’ve been pacing, and the room smells of smoke from how many times I’ve lit my lighter. Sweat has started to gather between my shoulder blades because half an hour ago, the little shit said she’d be ready in ten minutes. But she’s still in there. And she won’t let me see her to make sure she’s okay. If I had known she’d take forever, I would have waited to get dressed instead of suffocating in this suit.

Huffing, I discard the jacket of my tux onto her bed and resume pacing, rolling the wheel of my newly acquired lighter as I do.

I pull out my phone and check the news for the latest updates on Oskadine. Every single headline is about how Osman Pharmaceuticals is ready to start mass-producing the medication that my grandfather started working on before he died. Seeing my family succeed turns my sour mood from bad to worse.

My parents should enjoy their success while they can. They won’t have it for much longer.

Stomping up to the bathroom, I angle my head to the door. “How much more time do you need?” I bite out.

There’s a yelp followed by a clatter against the bathroom sink. “For fuck’s sake, Kohen,” she growls. More clattering ensues. “If you ask me one more time, I’m never coming out.”

I take a deep breath at the sound of her voice. “Don’t make threats you can’t back up, Thief. You’re cute when you’re thrown over my shoulders.”

A cupboard slams. A scuffle. Cursing. “I am not cute.” I stumble back when the door whips open. “Do I look fucking cute to you?”

“Certifia—” The word hangs as I take in her appearance.This belongs to NôvelDrama.Org - ©.

My eyes travel up her body, devouring each and every inch of her like it’s my last meal, and she’s the most mouthwatering thing I’ve ever seen.

Jesus.

Fucking.

Christ.

There’s not a word in the English language that could encapsulate just how stunning she is.

The lace hemline of the silk skirt teases up the side of her thighs, exposing creamy white skin beneath fishnet tights. Black gloves hug her arms and stop around her bicep. The leather corset has pushed her tits up to the point where her nipples are almost peaking over. My fingers twitch with the need to unlace her so her tits can go where they rightfully belong: in my hands and mouth. I’m going to have a hard-on the entire night if she walks around looking like this.

A black ribbon is tied around her neck, and even though neither of us has a religious bone in our body, two rosary beads drape over her collarbones and hang between her cleavage. My lips tug into a smile because her accessories are just things she’s stolen from the school. Her copper strands are styled into messy, blown-out waves, making the thick smudge of kohl around her eyes seem more unhinged.

My allowance has never been better spent.

Her scarlet-painted lips turn up into a saccharine smirk. “You stole my look.”

It causes physical pain to look away from her and down at my suit. The lace pattern on her dress is identical to the fabric off my lapels. Instead of a tie, like her, I’ve opted for rosary beads and a chain. The best part? The little blunt cut of hair.

We’re a match made in hell.

Blaze nods at the cross hanging over my chest. “Won’t you accidentally get exorcised wearing that, or are your demons built in?”

“I plug into mine,” I drawl, feeling my dick harden as I get lost in the way she looks.

I want to put her in thirty different positions and fuck her in each one. I’ve never been a man of God, but I would get down on my knees and worship her until the day hell takes me. She’s radiating feral energy, and I want to consume every last drop.

The best part? She’s all mine.

The closer I look, the more I notice the flaws in how she’s put herself together, and it turns my stomach into tight knots. No amount of makeup can hide her sunken eyes or the purple hues beneath them. Blaze can spend hours in the bathroom; it won’t make the blues of her eyes any less drained. The dress is ever so slightly crooked, dots of mascara are scattered over her eyelids, and there’s a barely noticeable uneven line on her black eyeliner. The patch of blue and purple along her chin and shoulder has seemingly vanished beneath the makeup.

Then my eyes drop to the gloves hiding the bloody bruises along her hands, and realization turns my knuckles white. That’s why Blaze was taking so long.

One day, she’ll figure out how to ask for help.

This woman, who’s all hard edges and burning rage, is covered in scars inside and out. Some of the wounds are still gaping, bleeding a sea of red as she holds her head up as if the world isn’t out to get her. She’s the strongest person I know, and I want to spend every day making sure she sees it too.

My brows knit together as I eye the reflection glinting off her gloved fingers. Three silver rings decorate them. A chunky bracelet that’s too big for her sits on her wrist, threatening to fall off with the slightest movement. When the fuck did she steal that from me? I know for a fact I was wearing those when I walked into her bedroom three hours ago.

Blaze raises her middle finger, where a black sapphire ring sits proudly against her black gloves. “What do you think of my new ring? The previous owner didn’t take care of it very well.”

“Give it back.”

She looks good wearing me.

Blaze drops her arms to her sides after wincing partway through crossing them. “You said I could keep it if I steal it.”

“Only if you’re my date,” I point out.

“Yeah. That’s going to be a hard no from me.” Her lips twist into a coy smirk as she attempts to saunter toward me, but it comes across as an awkward limp instead. Still, ten out of ten. It worked. I’m hard.

“A girl like me is in hot demand.”

My dick deflates.

“If you walk in there with anyone but me, their family won’t have a say on whether they get cremated or buried.”

She moves around the pile of shoes in the corner with the balls of her injured foot. “Dead is most people’s best color anyway.”

Dr. Van der Merwe’s sessions clearly aren’t working for her.

I grab a pair of boots from my duffle bag and drop them on the floor.

“Where’d you get those from?” Blaze asks, eying the combat boots suspiciously.

I shrug.

She cocks her hip to the side. “I’m the klepto here. You know that, right?”

“And yet you look so pretty against flames.”

She needs to be comfortable, and comfort won’t come from heels or someone else’s shoes. Plus, she deserves to own something she didn’t get secondhand.

Blaze snorts and slowly lowers herself onto the bed. I grab the boots before she can, ignoring her incessant protests as I slip her feet into them, lacing them carefully to not add too much pressure on her ankle.

She wiggles her feet as I tie the last knot, then help her up. “I’m like a fucked-up Cinderella.”

“Are you going to turn into a pumpkin at midnight?”

“Really? A ginger hair joke? What are we, in middle school?”

I stare at her blankly. This is the girl I fell for. Not the fiery hair or the blue eyes, but the explosive personality. Filling a whole place with her presence. Throwing jokes even when exhaustion lines every inch of her silhouette. As long as she has room, my girl will always burn. But no fire lasts without someone giving her the things she needs, and she’s been slowly dwindling out for years.

Holding the door open for her, she limps ahead and tries to stay two feet ahead of me as we make our way to the hall. The corridors are practically deserted with everyone already at prom—which means she’s out of luck if she thinks anyone can save her from me.

The closer we get to the venue, the harsher her breathing becomes and the slower she moves. Music pulses through the air from the hall in the distance, and people filter in and out of the gothic structure, mingling on the lawns before heading back in.

Blaze gravitates towards me, just enough to brush her arm against mine as if double-checking I’ll catch her if she falls. I pull her gloved hand into mine just before we reach the first lot of students on the lawn, and I’m careful to avoid knuckles as I tug her tightly to my side.

“Hey!” she protests, but half-asses her attempt to get away. “That’s for dates only.”

“Do you ever want to come again, Blaze?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “I don’t need your assistance or permission to come.”

“You will if your hands are tied. Hold my goddamn hand, Thief. Say you aren’t my date one more time, and you’re walking into the hall with your panties ripped, and my come dripping down your leg.”

Blaze curses my name fifty different ways beneath her breath, but agrees with an air of reluctance that doesn’t match the smile beaming across her lips. The moment makes me pause.

She’s smiling.

She’s smiling at me.

It’s intoxicating. A euphoria I never thought I’d understand. I see how addiction starts now. That was the missing piece—the slice that perfectly fixed every wrong. Maybe this isn’t the start of an addiction; it was always there. I’ve just found the correct dose.

“Don’t look at me like that.” Blaze whispers, staring up at me with her eyes the color of the hottest fire.

“Like what?”

“Like you want to eat me alive.” Her gaze goes down to my lips, then back up.

“I’ve been dying for a taste of you since the moment I was born.”

Her sharp inhale rings in my ears. Everything about her commands me. “Don’t say things like that.”

“Then shut me up.”

Blaze hesitates for only a second before her scarlet lips ascend on me, stamping her mark in red on my cheek. I’ve waited a lifetime for her to touch me with something other than the tips of her claws and the points of her sharpened teeth. But the soft press of her lips is too fleeting.

“I’m wearing you; it’s only fair that you wear me too,” she explains, grinning at her handiwork.

I glance down at the bite mark permanently etched into my skin. “Cover me in it then, Thief. Make me yours.”

This time, there’s no waiting. Blaze launches straight for my neck like she’s a fucking vampire. The kiss is aggressive like she’s trying to conquer instead of just claim. The lunatic doesn’t stop at my neck. She leaves a trail of lipstick marks down to the collar of my shirt. When that doesn’t sate her, she whips my blazer aside and stamps another mark in the center of my pec—I’m not sure if she realizes that the heart is in the center of the chest, but I’ll take it.

I pry her head back to slam my lips to hers and assault my senses with cherry and smoke. By God, she’s fucking perfect.

The klepto grabs a fistful of my shirt and burns her stare into me as she says, “If anyone touches you, I’ll rip their ear off with my teeth.”

Satisfaction ripples down my spine as my brows lift. I always knew she’d be the jealous type. “Why the ear?”

Blaze gently tugs me down to her lips. “They don’t get to touch and hear you speak too. I don’t like knowing you talk shit to someone other than me.”

Oxygen punches out of my lungs as she shoves me back. Copper hair whips in my face as she saunter-limps to the front door, where a teacher checks off attendance. Her long legs peek through the slit of the dress with every step she takes, and it’s hard to think of anything but what she’d look like wearing nothing but those tights.

“Hurry up, date,” Blaze throws over her shoulder, the silk skirt molding around her ass as she moves. “Before my acceptance expires.”

I’m going to have gray hairs by the time I’m twenty.

We get into the hall without a hitch. Blaze acts like there aren’t Halloween decorations everywhere and beelines straight for Charlie. The place is cast in blue and red hues. Purple light seeps through clouds of smoke, blanketing the dance floor and surrounding tables. Fake cobwebs hang from chandeliers and between the branches of artificial trees. Headstones sit on the center of round tables decked out in crystal glasses and wilted flowers, and skeletons hang on the walls.

How this theme got approved by the school board is beyond me.

I spend the majority of the time watching my date beeline everywhere while downing five glasses of spiked punch—courtesy of Liam. I’ve never seen her so elated without the involvement of drugs, dancing and hobbling around with Charlie, arguing with Charlie, then throwing utensils at Aaron… with Charlie.

At one point, Blaze gets up in the quarterback’s face when he accidentally bumps into her. He opened his mouth and promptly closed it when he saw me behind her. The entire night is filled with her starting fights and stuffing my pockets with all the items she’s stolen while simultaneously complaining that I should have gotten her a dress with pockets.

McGill silently scrutinizes us in between schmoozing with the other staff. But even drunk, Blaze’s sticky fingers prove exceptional. After over an hour of watching her narrowly avoid getting murdered by the other students on numerous occasions, I call it quits. Blaze has had enough time to herself. It’s my turn now.

She squeals when I loop my arm around her waist and carry her at my side to the center of the dancefloor. “Use your words, fucking Neanderthal.”

“Stay still. You’re going to hurt yourself.”

The eyeful of tits I, and the entire student body, get when I look down makes me question whether I want to let her stand on her own.

Then I hear Aaron laugh close by, and I couldn’t put her down faster if I tried.

I hold her close to me to take the weight off her feet. The way she immediately wraps her arms around my neck makes me forget about everyone else in the room. She pulls me from side to side as we dance to the music. There’s nothing graceful or sensual about the way she moves. Everything about it is carnal and unfiltered, completely thoughtless, as her body becomes a vessel for the music. I could watch her dance all night.

The charcoal around her eyes makes the glacial blue of her iris sharper against her sweat-stained skin. Strands of orange hair stick to her face, and her ruby-tinted lips have lost their rich color. She’s still just as beautiful as she always is.

Blaze takes my hand to twirl herself, and I catch her before she stumbles into the jock she’s been beefing with all night. “Before Seraphic Hills was turned into a school, the nuns treated this place like an asylum for people who they believed were possessed by the devil.”

She narrows her eyes at me in a way that says she won’t hesitate to slap the shit out of me should the occasion require it. “Are you saying this because I have red hair?”

I cut her with a scathing glare. “I’m saying it because you’re the craziest person here.”

Self-satisfaction colors her cheeks as she pats my chest. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Osman.”

“Is that why you’re blushing?”

“It’s called makeup. Don’t get too cocky.” She pushes my shoulder playfully.

My dick—that’s been at half-mast all night—perks up at the mention of the word cock. “Say that last word again, and we’re going to have a problem.”

“What? Cock—”

I press my thumb against her lips, and her eyes flare as she takes it between her teeth. Jesus fuck. “There are five exits. The one on the left beside the stage leads to a trap door. Who do you think will be louder, you or the music?”

“Ohh, is that what that thumping sound is?” she asks, releasing my thumb and missing the insinuation entirely while she bobs her head to the beat.

Her jokes are fucking horrendous.

So is her dancing.

Her singing? Next-level terrible.

And I still wouldn’t change a single thing about her.

She stops suddenly and pokes her finger in the juncture of my jaw and neck. “Where’d you get that scar?”

My heart warps. I’ve had it for over seven years, and this is the first time Blaze has noticed it. I clear my throat and sway stiffly with her. “I shoved a boy you were having a screaming match with. A minute later, you told me you hated me, then threw a book at me.”

She squints like I might pull out a video of the day. “I have no memory of this.”

I chuckle. “Probably because you did shit like that weekly.” There’s no such thing as a dull moment as long as she’s involved. “We’re scars to each other, Blaze. You can like or hate it; we’ve stuck together longer than anyone else.”

Blaze scrunches her nose. “Because you wouldn’t leave me alone.”

“Then your lonely world would have gotten smaller.”

Her finger grazes over the small scar. “Just confirming, is the scar from me or the boy?”

Of course, that’s what she got out of the conversation. “The book.”

Her eyes brighten. “Was it English Grammar for Dummies?”

I blink. “What?”

“Inside joke,” she sighs.

“With who?” Fucking Duke? Elijah?

“You had to be there, I guess.”

Anger zaps through me at her words as McGill comes into view at the corner of my eyes. “Miss Whitlock, may I—”

“Fuck off, old man.” Blaze and I say the first part in unison. The second is all her.

His eyes drop to the red lipstick stains on my collar, then to the evidence of the same crimson still on her lips. I don’t like the callous gleam in his eye, the threat-tipped words he pairs with it. “Excuse me?”

I start to pull her behind me, but the klepto shifts her body instead, standing a foot away from McGill as if she’s shielding me from him. Blaze lowers her voice and says, “I’m doing as my grandfather asked.” The notes come out ominous and dramatic, as if she’s trading state secrets.

McGill watches her curiously for a second before swinging his gaze to me as if trying to see if I have any inkling of what she’s talking about—I do. But he doesn’t need to know that.

“Very well.” He nods. “We will discuss this tomorrow.”

She nods stiffly, but as soon as he turns away, she flips him the bird. We both watch as he slinks away back to the side of the stage, where a group of teachers is doing an even worse job watching over us than the security guards.

“He needs to go,” I mutter.

She leans against me, lifting her ankle off the ground as if it hurts to stand on. “You took the words right out of my mouth, lover boy.”

“Tonight,” I clarify. Blaze is sorely mistaken if she thinks there’s any chance they’re having their discussion tomorrow. For now, I want to watch my little thief move in that black dress and look at me like I’m someone she can trust.

“Should I head out first, then you join me later?” she asks.

“I told you, we’re coming and leaving here together. That’s never going to change.”