Cruel War (The Gilded Sovereign 1)

“Hell is so far from where you are right now, darlin’. Can we not do this bullshit?” he questions, waving his free hand in the air between us.

“Do what bullshit exactly?” I question, pulling free from his hold.

He runs his fingers through his wavy dark hair, causing the strands to point in all directions, which only makes him look more alluring than I’d care to admit. He’s far too handsome for his own good. When he meets my gaze, I note the flecks of green in his irises; they glint like shimmering jewels when the sun hits them just right.

Shrugging his broad shoulders, he offers me one more grin before responding, “I’m not the asshole you think I am.” He shoves his hands into his jean pockets, lowering is head, so he can peek at me through those thick black lashes.

“Oh? And your display last night wasn’t you trying to get into my pants?” I question, arching a brow at him. I cross my arms in front of me, folding in on myself, causing those gem-like eyes to dart toward my breasts.

The low chuckle that vibrates through his chest makes my heart flip, and my stomach flutters nervously when he steps closer to me. The air is thick with the scent of his cologne—mint, and sandalwood—and it’s intoxicating.

“I never said I don’t want to get into your pants, pretty girl,” he tells me in a hushed tone. “I just said I’m not an asshole. Let me take you out?”

“Hi, Ares,” a dark-haired girl steps up beside him, practically climbing up his body. He’s tall, probably just over six feet, broad-shouldered with strong, muscled thighs, and this petite little thing could easily crawl up his leg like a kitten wanting attention.

“What the fuck do you want, Kelli?” he bites out, his eyes flashing a darker shade of caramel as he turns to look at her.

“Just saying hi.” She smiles sweetly, then pins me with a glare that’s meant to have me stepping back, but I’ve dealt with bullies all my life, and this is nothing compared to what I’ve been through. Jealousy burns in her gaze, which doesn’t faze me. “Who’s this?”

“This, is leaving,” I utter, before making my exit from what is turning into an impossible situation. I knew Ares would be trouble, and I want no part of it.

I’m far from Ares and his groupie by the time I allow myself to inhale a calm breath. I don’t do drama, and girls like that, are more trouble than I’d like to put up with.

I’m up the steps and near the entrance when I find Rukaiya again.

“What happened there?” she asks, arching a perfectly sculpted eyebrow at me.

“He has some chick crawling all over him. I don’t want this bullshit, all I need is to study and graduate. That’s my focus for the next four years,” I tell her.

“He’s hot, though,” she murmurs conspiratorially with a giggle, and I can’t deny she’s right. He is hot, he’s every girl’s perfect guy, but that’s the problem. Every girl here wants him, and he’s likely had most of the girls on campus.

We head into our first class of the day, which is History. I’ve always had a fascination with this subject—since I was a kid—and soon, I’ll get to list it as one of my majors.

“Everyone take a seat.” The man at the front of the class is not Professor Harding, who we had a few days ago and I wonder where he is. The man before us is dressed in a pair of black slacks and a white button-up shirt. He doesn’t look like the teachers I envisioned who would be here or the ones back in D.C. at my old school. His dark hair has a smattering of gray giving him a salt and pepper head of hair, which tells me he’s much older than we are.

Brown eyes, framed with black-rimmed spectacles, glance around the room. Based on how he looks, I’d put him at about mid-forties.

Rukaiya and I find a seat in the back of the class, and I pull out my notebook and pen. Before the doors close, my heart leaps into my throat when Ares saunters into the classroom and greets the man at the front as if they’re friends.

As soon as the teacher faces us, I see it. They’re related. They have to be. Both have those luminous eyes that seem to look right through me. The same jawline adorns both men, and there’s a hint of mischievousness that is clear in their smiles.

“Is that his dad?” Rukaiya hisses under her breath at me.

Shrugging, I whisper, “I don’t know.”

“Good morning minions, I’m Mr. Lancaster, I’m standing in for Professor Harding for the next couple of weeks. Lucky you,” he smirks, as he says this, his voice taking on a note of sarcasm, but it’s his name that causes my heart to slam against my ribs. “I’m here out of courtesy, so I’d appreciate your utmost attention. I don’t take kindly to talking in class, and I certainly don’t tolerate tardiness.”