I raised the lamp over my head, my arm trembling from the weight and my nerves.
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” a voice murmured from the darkness.
2
Fear rooted me to the spot. Someone—a man—was standing in a darkened corner of the stacks. I suddenly understood what it felt like to be prey. I was a hare, cornered by a wily fox; my hackles raised and my heart slamming against my ribcage. I summoned the courage to shout at my would-be attacker, but the oppressive silence of the room, combined with my terror, choked off any sound before it could escape my throat. My lungs refused to expand.
Breathe, I told myself.Don’t show an ounce of weakness.
Gathering every last ounce of self-preservation I possessed, I forced myself to speak. “Whoever you are, you’d better show yourself.”
A low, rumbling laugh cut through the darkness. A lighter clicked, revealing a slim figure. A young man. My first impression was that he was around my age—maybe a sophomore, though not someone I recognized from class. As he approached, the flame illuminated the curves and planes of his face.
Topaz eyes sought mine from beneath a tangle of midnight curls, cascading against his smooth bronze skin. Based on his casual attire—a black jacket and jeans—Isurmised he was likely not associated with the Gilded Circle. He stopped a few feet from where I stood, and my gaze caught on the small gold earring that glinted out from beneath his dark hair.
Definitely not in the Gilded Circle, I thought. Something about the gauntness of his cheeks and the shadows blooming beneath his amber eyes hinted at deprivation.
My second impression was that he was astonishingly beautiful.
All rational thoughts evaporated from my mind. The stranger stopped and leaned over the table to flick on a table lamp. I caught a glimpse of his profile—an archangel cast in bronze. For a moment, neither of us spoke. I still held the unlit lamp over my head, my arm aching from the effort.
I bit back the question I wanted to ask—what are you?—and instead demanded, “Who are you?”
No response.
I spoke again, hating the tremulous quality of my voice. “Were you listening to my private conversation?” Even in the darkness, I was sure he could see the flush rising on my face and neck.
His slender brows rose. “If I did happen to overhear your conversation,” he drawled, “it was hardly my fault. Are you aware that you’ve been practically shouting in the library? Perhaps next time you ought to curb your decibel level.” His lip curled in disdain.
I stared at him, aghast at his brazenness. “I was hardly shouting! Besides, everyone knows the polite thing to do would’ve been to fuck off to another part of the library, not hang around and eavesdrop!”
“I’m not everyone,” he said, shooting me a wry smile. “And you can put down the lamp. I’m not going to attack you,” he added before lowering himself into a chair, seemingly in no rush to leave.
“Why should I?” I demanded, lifting the lamp higher above my head.
“Because you look foolish.” He grinned maliciously. “Besides, a lamp really isn’t the best weapon for self-defense, you know.”
“You might be lying about your plans to attack me,” I argued, though I no longer felt afraid, and my arms were beginning to tremble from the weight of the brass lamp.
He gave a low chuckle. “Are you always this paranoid?”
When I continued to glare at him, he sighed. “If you really are determined to beat me over the head with that lamp, you’d best get on with it.”
I hesitated, considering my chances of getting expelled for bludgeoning this irritating stranger. “Whatever,” I grumbled, lowering the lamp back onto the table. Crossing my arms protectively over my chest, I fixed him with a lethal glare. “Now, are you going to tell me why you were eavesdropping?”
“Don’t flatter yourself,” he said. “I was looking for a book, and then I happened to overhear your very loud conversation.”
My cheeks heated. “At midnight? When the library’s about to close?” I narrowed my eyes, not believing him for a moment. He was definitely lying?—
But the accusation struck a wall in my mind as a realization dawned on me. Not once during our conversation had I detected a single lie. No, that couldn’t be right. Probably I just wasn’t paying close enough attention. Covertly, I tasted the air for any traces of deceit, but I found none.
What the fuck?
I was dragged from my ruminations when he spoke again.
“Oh, yes, what a scandal,” he snorted, fanning himself with a hand in a mockingly dramatic fashion. “August Sinclair’s dirty little secret, finally revealed.”
“His—what, excuse me!?” I sputtered. Indignation andshame flooded my chest, the waves of fury and hurt threatening to break against the stranger’s cool arrogance.