Cursed Hearts (A Crossroads Novel) (2 page)

“Look
at me,” he said. He could feel her pulse beneath his fingertips, racing faster
than his own. “Look at me.” She tipped her head slightly upwards, and then
someone was shouting at them from down the stairs.

Rome
had never seen anyone hide so fast.

“That
was quick,” Christian taunted. “What did it take you, all of five minutes to
bring someone to tears?”

“I
didn’t make her cry.”

“You
could have fooled me.”

“Just
keep walking.”

“Hey,”
he said, tapping her on the shoulder. “Why don’t you come with me? I’ve got at
least ten ways to make you feel better.”

Rome
could literally
feel
her embarrassment washing over him as she turned
her head away, pressing her cheek against the fabric of his shirt.
Uncomfortable couldn’t even begin to describe what
that was like.
Thankfully, it only happened when someone’s emotions were
strong enough, but touch almost always amplified the feeling.

“She’s
not going anywhere with you, so keep walking before you don’t have the ability
to.”

“Yeah,
because clearly you’re a better influence.”

Ariahna
knew the longer she stood there trying to disappear, the more visible she’d
become. She finally loosened her grip on Rome’s shirt, looking up at him with a
passive expression on her face.

“You
can let go now,” she said.

He
still had her backed up against the wall.

Rome
caught the subtle sound of Christian snickering at that. He was leaning against
the banister, arms crossed and eyebrow cocked in the vaguest pantomime of
interest. “If you’ve got something to say, say it.”

“Who?”
Christian said. “Me? No, by all means, please carry on. This is absolutely
entertaining all on its own.”

Rome
stepped back reluctantly. He still felt like he wanted to shield her from this
guy and his charming personality. He took in the sight of her delicate features
and striking green eyes with interest, following the length of red curls down
to where they ended, resting just below her breast. What he noticed most though
was the way she held herself. The way she stared at the floor, refusing to meet
his eyes for more than a second at a time. It was more than diffidence – it was
defeat.

“You’re
Ariahna, right?”

She
blinked at him in surprise.
Her
eyes swept over him quickly, taking in his tattered jeans and strong physique.
He was smiling down at her with brilliant blue eyes. They glistened in the
gentle light, accentuating the seasoned look around them. It was a thoughtful
yet guarded expression he was
giving her –
the kind that indicated he’d been through more than his fair
share of
hardships. But there was more to it than that. Beneath that hardened, cautious
exterior rested an old soul. Where others might have seen nothing more than
hostility, Ariahna saw consideration, intelligence.

But more importantly, she saw sorrow.

“Are
you one of Dallas’s friends?” she asked.

“God
no,” Christian said. “That would make him my friend.”

Ariahna
glanced at the boy beside her before choosing to ignore him. “I didn’t catch
your name,” she said.

“Navarro.
I mean, Rome. Rome Navarro.” He shook his head in embarrassment before
Christian could even draw the breath to laugh.

Way
to make yourself sound like a tool
,
he thought.

“What
are you, James Bond?” Christian said.

“Clearly
I’m not as smooth as all that.”

“Clearly.”

“Do
you perhaps have somewhere else to be?” Aria mumbled.

Christian
smiled. “
Nope. In fact, I bet I’m here for a
reason; probably to protect you from this bumbling oaf. After all, us gifted
students have to stick together,” he said, glancing down at her blue and silver
striped tie. It was really just an excuse to stare at her chest. She had a nice
rack, for a nerd, he thought; and everything about her just screamed virgin.

Aria
smiled at him weakly. “I think I’m going to go. Dallas warned me to steer clear
of anyone claiming to be his friend.”

“Well,
that doesn’t sound very friendly at all,” Christian complained.

“That’s
who that was,” Rome said, snapping his fingers. “Yeah, I am not that guy’s
friend—at all.” He smiled when he realized how that sounded. “He didn’t warn
you off of handsome strangers, did he?”

“Handsome?
You look old enough to be her father.”

“I
do not,” Rome said, rubbing a hand over the stubble along his jaw. “Better than
some baby-faced brat.”

“I’m
fifteen, what do you want from me? Besides, I’ve been told I’m very well
developed
for my age,” he smirked.

“Are
you new?” Aria asked, trying to steer the conversation away from their odd
little argument.

Rome
barely pulled himself away from glaring at Christian long enough to answer her.
“Yeah,” he said. “Is it that obvious?”

“No,
I just saw the school map sticking out of your pocket. Do you need help finding
anything?”

“I’m
new,” Christian grinned. “I need help finding—everything.”

Especially
your room
, he
thought.

Ariahna
wasn’t Christian’s usual type; she looked a little too studious for his liking.
Still, he couldn’t deny the fact that she was easy on the eyes. She was cute
and petite, with an innocent smile and lickable lips. It didn’t hurt that she
had curves in all the right places, either. Not even an hour into the day and
he’d already found his first target. He had to admit, that felt good. Not as
good as it was going to feel to rub it in Rome’s face, but—

All
in due time
, he
thought.

Aria
spared Christian a curious look. She knew he wasn’t a new student. He was
already wearing his school uniform, for one. And besides that, she’d seen him
around campus before.

“I’m
sorry, I’m being rude.” He extended his hand to her in greeting, a deceptively
kind smile painted on his face. “Christian Reed. It’s really the only name you
need to remember.”

Rome
reached over quickly, curling his fingers around Christian’s hand. He squeezed
just hard enough to hear the soft, unsettling sound of his bones creaking under
the pressure. “I’d say it was a pleasure to meet you, but I’d be lying straight
through my teeth.”

Christian
let out a hot, pained breath.

Rome
tossed his hand away a moment later, turning to smile at Aria. He did a
double-take when he realized she was gone. He’d barely caught her wandering
over to the sitting area, and he turned to follow,
hesitating just long
enough to leave Christian with a warning.

“Stay
away from her,” he said.

Christian
narrowed his eyes at him in distaste.

“…Hey,
weren’t you going to show me around?” Rome asked.

“You
looked a little busy.”

“What,
that? We were just messing around.”

Aria
shot him a skeptical smile.

“So,
um… what’s with the ties?
Yours is silver and
blue, but I thought
I saw someone wearing a maroon and gold one when I
walked in.” He pinched the end of her tie as he spoke, letting the fabric slip
out from between his fingers.

Ariahna
smoothed her hand down over the silky material.
The gesture
had seemed a little too familiar, coming from a
stranger.
She tilted her
head
slightly, trying to think of a safe way to explain
the division of the student body.
“Well,” she began, “there are two
classifications for students here at Vardel. Those wearing maroon and gold ties
attend the standard courses. Blue and silver indicates a student that follows a
more… diverse
curriculum. It’s a program the academy sponsors for gifted
students.”

“They
must have a different definition of ‘gifted’ when it comes to boys,” Rome
muttered. She tried not to smile at that, but he could see the amusement in her
eyes. “By the way, I’m sorry about grabbing you like that before. I just
reacted.”

“Are
you saying you’re sorry for saving me?”

“What?
No. What I meant was—” Rome sighed when he saw her crack a smile. “Are you
messing with me?”

She
nodded.

“You
know, you’re acting pretty well composed for a girl who was just crying her
eyes out. Do you want to talk about it?”

She
sat down at one of the long wooden tables, resting her head in her hand. “Not
really. I can’t believe I made such a spectacle of myself.” She was raised to
behave better than that, to keep her emotions in check. Her father would be
furious.

“I
don’t even think anyone noticed,” Rome said. It was a nice lie, but
an obvious one; practically everyone was staring.
What he couldn’t
figure out was if they were gawking at him, her, or
some combination thereof. “It doesn’t really matter what they think, though.
They don’t know you, and they
don’t have the
right to judge you. But don’t tell them that,” he smiled. “People
don’t
tend to like being called out on their shit.”

Aria
looked up at him as he leaned against the table and crossed his arms. Even
through the stern look on his face, she saw nothing but kindness. Her eyes
drifted over his short cropped hair, admiring the golden-brown color and the
way it flipped up in the front.

“You
don’t have to be so nice,” she whispered.

Rome
frowned at her.

“A
little compassion can go a long way. My mother taught me that. She used to say
that when you care about a complete stranger the way you care about family,
that’s when you’ll make a friend.”

“It
must be nice, knowing all the right things to say.”

“Hardly,”
he replied. “If anything, I say all the wrong things at the wrong times. It’s
an acquired skill.” Rome smirked at her soft laughter. “I think sometimes just
having someone there to reassure us when we need it can make all the
difference. It might not even matter who it is, or what they say. It’s knowing
that someone cares – that’s what’s important.”

She looked like she was going to start crying again as
Rome slipped down into the chair beside hers. “Crap, what did I say? I swear I
didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You
didn’t.”

Thank
God
, he thought.

He
wasn’t sure he knew how to deal with anymore tears.

“Did
you still want me to show you around?”

“Uh,
I think I should just hurry up and get to the Dean’s office. But if this
scholarship letter I got was for real, then maybe I’ll see you around?”

“I’d
like that,” she smiled. “Oh, and Rome?”

“Yeah?”

“Admissions
doesn’t really make mistakes. If you’re here, it’s because you’re meant to be.”

***

Kaleb
sat uncomfortably in one of the small, stiff chairs in the Dean’s office, arms
crossed over his chest and feet propped up on the edge of the desk. He’d been
herded into the large room and instructed to wait, which in and of itself was a
bit insulting. To occupy himself, he’d been listening in to the hushed
conversations taking place on the other side of the door. The staff was already
gossiping wildly over his presence, and with
every
murmured word he
found himself gripping tighter and tighter at the bend
of his elbows.

He
was not sulking, he told himself. He wasn’t.

Kaleb
was many things, but welcomed, accepted, those were things he had never been.
They were things he could never hope to be, thanks to his unique heritage.
Kaleb was a vampire. He was a witch. He was the bastard son of a king, and sole
heir to the throne. Being a half-breed came with more than its fair share of
disadvantages. It meant he’d never really had a place to belong. With blood
like that coursing through his veins, it was a wonder he was even still alive.

He
had every right to be upset. He’d been uprooted from his home and left with the
very people he’d been taught to hate. To Kaleb, humans were cattle and slaves,
not peers. A jolt of rage rushed through him and he kicked the side of the
solid wood desk in retaliation, watching as it screeched back a few feet. He
couldn’t believe his father really expected him to go to this stupid school
with these stupid, fragile humans; and worse yet, witches. Kaleb sighed in
frustration, slouching down in his seat. It wasn’t until then that he realized
he had an audience.
Great
, he thought. He’d just thrown a hissy-fit in
front of someone. He rolled his head lazily to the side, glancing at the nervous
stranger out of the corner of his eye.

Rome
tensed as he took in Kaleb’s appearance, realizing belatedly that he was not,
in fact, a girl. His features seemed to thread finely between sharp and
delicate, rendering him difficult not to notice. Dim sunlight glinted over his
olive colored skin, painting shadows on his face. They made him look haunted;
and yet Rome suspected that was the work of
something
far less superficial at play. Icy blue eyes narrowed back at
him through tresses of chocolate-brown hair. It framed his face and cascaded
over his shoulders in long, flowing strands, nearly pooling in his lap.