Sancte Diaboli Part One (The Elite King's Club 6)

I straightened my skirt and flipped my hair over my shoulder, gazing up at the house. “Nice house. This yours?”

Brantley looked between me and the other guy. “Nah, a friend’s.”

We began walking to the front of the house, when Brantley opened the door and entered, leaving the other one close behind me. As soon as I was inside, I stopped breathing. It was like a museum, not a home. With glass windows, stairs, and no family photos, just art. It was the opposite of what I was used to. I didn’t realize I had stopped walking until I felt a metal clasp click around my neck.

My hands rose to the front. “What?”

The guy who was behind me tugged on the lead. “You said you wanted to play a game, so guess what?” He rounded my body until I was in front of him, and my eyes flew between him and Brantley, who was now stopped at where the glass walls opened out to the outside dining area.

“Let’s fucking play.”

Saint

A party. He’s had them here a few times in the past, but those times I’d been told to stay in my room. Over the past few days, I’ve met his friends, been to a new house, seen them fight, and I still don’t understand the dynamics among them all.

Kore licks at my fingers after I close Medusa’s enclosure. “I know. I have been spending time away, but you have Hades and Medusa.”

I’m staring at the stained hardwood door when there’s a loud knock. If you look close enough to the pattern that naturally spills over the wood, you can see faces of evil. Brantley doesn’t knock, so I instantly know it isn’t him.

Taking the steps to the other side of the room, I squeeze the handle and swing it open. Bishop stands at the threshold, his hands buried in his jeans pockets with a hoodie resting around his neck. My mouth dries and my palms itch. I have to rub them down my thighs just to stop fidgeting.

“Hi?”

“Can I come in?” He gestures to my bedroom, and I step aside, allowing him to pass through. He’s not as tall as Brantley, but then not many people are. He’s strong, though, quite obviously spending just as much time lifting weights as Brantley does. His hair is either the darkest blond or a light brown, his skin kissed by a thousand suns. I shut the door behind me and then stop. Should I shut the door?

“It’s fine,” Bishop answers my unspoken question, walking to the other side of my room until he reaches the Italian silk curtains that shade out the sun from reaching into my room. I don’t answer as I make my way farther in, back to my makeup counter and light mirror.

“Is everything okay?” He lowers himself onto my bed, leaning against my marble headboard. His eyes remain passive on mine, but he doesn’t speak a word.

My mouth opens, and just as I’m about to say something, I spin around so my legs are beneath the dressing table and pick up my eyeliner.

“You’re different,” is all he says, and my hand hovers over my left cheek.

“Does that always have to be a bad thing?” I ask, but in the back of my mind, I can already feel myself wanting to ask why he’s in my bedroom. Or maybe this is normal?

When he doesn’t answer, I look up at him through the mirror, finding him still watching me, his hood now over his head. He swallows roughly, his throat contracting around the movement. “No. It’s not. Well,” he adds, tilting his head to the side. The way my bedroom light hits his jawline makes it appear as sharp as Brantley’s. I’ve always loved boys with a nice jaw. From what I saw in movies, anyway…

“Well?” I prompt him to continue, while stroking the liner over my bottom lid. I try for coy. Maybe if I seem disinterested in his answer, he will answer me.

“Has Brantley told you anything about his family?”

After finishing both eyes, I shake my head and turn back around to face him, clutching the silk tie that’s holding my bathrobe closed. “No.” My voice is soft, but the truth is harsh. I bring my focus back to him. “He doesn’t need to. I think I know enough.”

Bishop stands from my bed and moves around my room with familiarity and confidence until he’s directly in front of me. His index finger comes below my ear where he applies gentle pressure. I hold my breath and close my eyes as he drags the tip of his finger directly down from behind my ear to my collarbone. “Hmmm, is that why he branded his name down your neck?”

My tongue flicks over my bottom lip as my eyes reopen, and I’m looking up at Bishop from below. He towers over me, but I’m not uncomfortable. He doesn’t make me feel the way Brantley does. He doesn’t suck the oxygen directly out of my lungs any time he’s near.