Deviant - Black Mountain Academy

Even his name is sexy.

“He likes you,” Marleigh speaks, once again close to my ear as we dance together. I look directly at her, locking my gaze on hers, and I see no humor reflected there.

Shock must paint my expression when I gasp, “What?”

“He likes you. It’s so damn obvious.” She shrugs nonchalantly, as if she’s just told me the weather report is predicting sunshine all week. My heart catapults at the thought of Elian Donati liking me. But he’s a man. He’s mature, older. There’s no way he’d be interested in a senior in high school.

“Who?” The moment I ask, she gives me a don’t-fucking-joke-with-me glare.

“Elian Donati,” Marleigh announces his name directly to me.

“I think you’ve had enough to drink,” I tease, trying to ignore the fact that my cheeks are burning with embarrassment.

“Something tells me you like him too,” she observes with a flirty wink.

“No.” I shake my head. “He’s a teacher, and that’s just weird.”

Marleigh tips her head back, laughing out loud at me crinkling my nose for effect. Can she really see right through my lies? “I’m sure you weren’t just blushing like a tomato because it’s weird.”

“You’re insufferable,” I bite out playfully as we sway to the music. Marleigh laughs, but there’s a knowing look in her eyes. I can’t deny it, and it seems my new friend can see right through my lies.

As the song comes to an end, I excuse myself, telling her I need the restroom, and make my escape. I’m sure Marleigh is about to follow me, but a tall, older guy steals her away, inadvertently distracting her, which I’m grateful for. I need to gather my thoughts.

In the house, I move through the bodies shifting against each other. In the corner of the living room against the soft, comfortable-looking couches are groups of students chattering loudly. I can make out a few words over the chilled, thumping bass of Echoes singing “Guestroom” coming from the surrounding speakers.

The bathroom is locked, and a few shouts come from inside, which makes me laugh. Occupied. I make my way toward the entrance hall and find the staircase leading up. The house has a modern touch to it with glass from ceiling to floor and steel railings along the steps, which brings me out onto a landing. I have two options, up or right. I walk along the hallway, moving deeper down the corridor when I spy an empty bathroom.

Locking myself inside, I use the facilities. I’m washing my hands when footsteps sound in the hallway, but whoever is on the other side of the door doesn’t knock.

“I told you I can’t keep doing this,” a voice says in hushed urgency. “There is an agreement in place, which I would advise you don’t break because I don’t like people forcing my hand,” he states, and I realize I know that voice. I would know it in my sleep. It’s Elian Donati. “Black Mountain is off limits to you. I’m not playing kids games with you. What happened is done, it’s over, and you need to come to terms with it.”

I wait for a response, but all I get is silence. He’s obviously talking on the phone, and he doesn’t sound happy. I shouldn’t be listening in on his conversation, it’s private, but I can’t help myself. Pressing myself against the door, I lean in and close my eyes in an attempt to focus on his voice.

“That night is over and done. A mistake that I will not repeat. I made a vow to move forward, and I always keep my promises.” He sounds angry. The words are practically growled. I wonder if this man ever smiles. “Don’t contact me again.” The threat hangs in his words, and I can’t stop the ice from trickling down my spine.

When it’s quiet once more, I take a long, deep breath before opening the door, thinking he’s gone, but the moment it whooshes open, I’m met with a glare that scalds me with its heat. My stomach drops to my feet, and I suddenly feel nervous.

“I-I-I’m sorry. I was in here,” I mumble, pointing at the bathroom. The rage in his gaze rips me to shreds, and I’m sure if he could touch me, his hands would do the same. His dark brow arches upward, as if he’s assessing my words, questioning if I was listening or not. “I’m sorry.”

“You seem to apologize a lot,” he bites out before taking a step toward me, which has my back hitting the door behind me.

When Elian leans in, his spicy, masculine scent envelops me with warmth, and I can’t stop myself from inhaling it deeply. This man affects me more than I’d care to admit, and when his lips brush over my ear, I shiver.

“Perhaps next time you should be careful of eavesdropping on people. It’s rude.” Before I can find my retort, he’s pushing away from me and moving down the hallway, leaving me gaping at his retreating form.