Angry God (All Saints High 3)

When Arabella’s lips touched my dick, I realized it was real, and it was happening. Fortunately, my cock was hard from the prospect of moving something in the little English Rose’s chest. Her defiance infuriated me. Her rejection angered me. And I still wanted to fuck her up a little before we moved to England, make sure she was sufficiently mortified.

I looked at Lenora with my most unaffected expression, locking eyes with her as Arabella’s head bobbed back and forth at my waist for everyone to see and laugh at.

She stared right back at me. But this time, her face said something else. War.

I heard Arabella sucking and moaning around my shaft and hardened more as I stared at Lenora, imagining it was her lips on me.

Submitting.

Cowering.

Raising the white flag.

There was noise around us. So much noise. Yet somehow, I could hear her silence clearly. Loudly. The way she digested everything.

“Push me, Vaughn, and I’ll push harder. I’m not the same girl you threatened in Carlisle Castle,” she’d warned after she stitched me up. I believed her.

“Do your worst,” I said out loud, looking straight at her, ignoring Arabella as she tried her hardest to get me to come. I couldn’t even feel her.

Lenora smiled, but the fire in her eyes was out.

This was the one war England was not going to win.

That night, I dreamed I was a warrior in a Fae world.

In the dream, I had a spiked sword and a huntsman’s raven cape and gauntlets. My natural blonde hair danced in the wind like snakes. We were in a magical forest, of all places. The kind where orange and yellow sunrays seep past green branches and butterflies roam free.

Vaughn and Arabella were my captives, trapped in ivy against a thick tree trunk, their hands laced together.

I pierced the sword through Vaughn’s heart first, watched as blood poured from his mouth as he struggled for his last breath, his face still cold and defiant. Next was Arabella. I stabbed her numerous times in the chest. She laughed and laughed and laughed, and I just kept stabbing her.

“Die!” I yelled. “Why won’t you die?” Warm tears stung my cheeks.

But Arabella refused to die. She broke off the ivy chains and advanced on me, zombie-like, leaving a dead Vaughn chained to the trunk. She grabbed my shoulders and shook me.

“Lenny!” she screamed.

“Lenny! Lenny! Lenny!”

My eyes popped open, and I darted up in bed, panting. Poppy sat on the edge of my mattress, staring at me with a mixture of horror and pity. She was wearing one of her little satin pajama sets.

She frowned, running her thumb under my eye. “You were crying in your sleep.”

I shifted uncomfortably, coughing. My throat felt groggy, my entire body foreign to me, like I was trapped inside it. So much for the new me. I sucked—not as hard as Arabella, granted, but I still did. All it took was one shove from Vaughn, and I was distraught.

The jolt of jealousy I’d felt when Arabella sucked Vaughn off earlier today had shocked me into submission. I felt helpless, weak, and nauseatingly miserable. My fever spiked every time I thought about them touching each other. And I thought about it all the time.

There was something I hadn’t told anyone. Not even Poppy.

An altercation involving Alice, Arabella, and Soren shortly after the pool incident with Poppy. In fact, the day after Arabella and Vaughn came back from Indiana.

It happened after PE class, in the girls’ locker room—the whole cliché, American high school nightmare wrapped in a barbwire bow. I changed my clothes next to my locker, somehow squirming out of my sports bra and shorts after putting on a black dress. It was extremely uncomfortable, but it beat being seen naked for even half a second by miles. I didn’t trust people not to barge in and take pictures. I knew I was a target, and I refused to give anyone in this school more ammo than they already had.

I was in the middle of closing my locker when someone else did it for me.

A hand shot from behind my back, slamming the metal door shut. It flew from impact, crashing against my face. My nose went numb before the burning sensation took over, and I felt warm blood dripping from one of my nostrils. I blinked, too stunned to understand what was going on.

“Hello, Drusilla,” Alice drawled.

Ever since the janitor room incident, she’d alternated between this and Vampirina. Everyone seemed to adopt the nicknames. Not that I cared. Better to be Drusilla than the airhead extra whose only role in the show is to parade her tits and blurt stupid one-liners for comic relief.

I turned around, refusing to cower, wince, or pinch my nose to stop the bleeding.

Arabella and Soren were standing behind her, their arms folded over their chests, grinning.