Forbidden, Tempted Series (Book 1) (2 page)

She frowned. “How come I don’t like the way you just said that?”

Abel laughed, and again it was a really nice sound. Clear and rich. “Cain is...” Abel twisted his lips, gripped the black straps of his book bag tighter, then glanced at her from the corner of his eye and grinned. “Well, he’s Cain. You’ll see soon enough.”

He didn’t elaborate and she didn’t ask, but the cryptic comment did make her curiosity come out. Abel turned down a hall she hadn’t walked through earlier, probably because all the doors were labeled three hundred and up. Until the last one, room 201.

She snorted, glancing back down the hall. “Seriously?”

Abel was skinny. Pretty much nothing but skin and bones, and supertall. She wouldn’t be surprised if he weighed less than her one eighteen, and he towered over her five-foot-seven-inch frame by at least five inches. He wasn’t exactly swoon worthy, but when he smiled and flashed that deep dimple, it wasn’t hard to see that if he could ever put any meat on his bones, he’d be hotter than any sparkly vamp out there.

Course, his clothes could use some sprucing up—saggy jeans and yellow Doc Martens were a little old-school.

“Here.” He waved. “I’ve got lunch same hour as you. I’ll save you a seat.”

“Thanks.” She smiled.

With a final grin, he disappeared back into the colorful, buzzing hive of students.

“New meat.” Someone snickered from inside the classroom.

Pressing her lips tight, Flint walked in.

The teacher, barely out of diapers—with his baby-butt-smooth skin and light brown hair—smiled at her and said, “You must be Flint Deluca.”

She nodded mutely, trying to ignore the constant hard stares and chatter of her classmates.

He touched the tip of his nose just as the final bell rang. “Process of elimination since you were the last one in. And everyone else”—he eyed the class sternly—“I know from last year. Isn’t that right, boys and girls? So be nice.”

Girls twittered and a boy somewhere in the back of the class snickered. “Stupid name.”

Not the first time Flint had heard someone make fun of her odd name. She rolled her eyes.

“I’m Mr. Wickham, and welcome to twelfth grade chem. Now take your seat.” He turned his back to her, and picking up a piece of chalk, he started to draw something on the board.

Clearing her throat, wishing she could just crawl into a hole somewhere and die, she spotted the only seat available.

All the way in the back corner, and sitting next to it was a brooding giant of a boy, with muscles stacked upon muscles and wearing the darkest pair of shades she’d ever seen.

For a second she wondered why he hadn’t been forced to take them off.

Sighing, she walked between desks, tripping over a bright orange pair of Chucks. A black boy lifted his brows and put his thumb next to his ear and a finger by his mouth.

“Call me,” he mouthed.

And tripping her was the best way to flirt?

With a huff she scooted past, finally able to drop into her seat.

Why did teachers always feel like they had to do that anyway? Make it obvious that you were new?

For once she’d love to just walk inside, sit, and be left alone.

“Hello, class. Like I said earlier, I’m Mr. Wickham. This year we’ll be learning about...”

He was saying stuff, but she could hardly focus on it. She looked to her left, at the wall of muscle sitting silent as death beside her.

He was tapping his pencil on the corner of the desk, each tap pounding like the hard beat of her heart.

Dressed all in black. Black jeans, black Ozzy shirt, black boots with loose laces, black shades... the typical anti-jock, “don’t look at me or I’ll kill your kitten” cretin. But she liked the way he styled his hair—messy but kind of not—and then she noticed when he shifted that he had a tattoo. The bottom of it peeked out from under the edge of his sleeve.

From the little bit she could see, it almost reminded her of a shredded moth’s wing, but with a filigree pattern along the edge. It was strangely beautiful; she wondered what it actually was.

She licked her lips, body tightening and surging with crazy dips in her lower stomach. He had a nice jaw, square and all hard lines. Especially when he clenched it like he was doing now.

Suddenly she was aware of the growing hum of laughter. Glancing up, she looked into Mr. Wickham’s humorless brown eyes. He had his arms crossed and was giving her that look.

The one that made her want to slump farther down in her seat. Especially because all eyes were trained on her. Except Goth. He was still looking straight ahead.

“Ms. DeLuca, instead of making mooney eyes at Cain, pay attention. That way next time I call your name four times in a row, you might actually hear me.”

“Yes, sir,” she muttered, sinking into her chair, wishing she had a hoodie to cover her face with.

Oh jeez, could this day get any worse?

For the rest of the period, she refused to glance at Goth Boy, a.k.a. Cain, keeping her eyes firmly on the chalkboard in front of her.

But that didn’t mean she’d stopped thinking about him. It didn’t seem possible that friendly, scrawny Abel was brother to the antisocial, hot, ripped-muscle—did she mention uberhot —Goth boy.

She sniffed. He smelled good too. Like that woodsy cologne her mom used to buy Dad. Flint’s heart pounded as his pencil-tapping increased. Jeez, he smelled so good. She sniffed harder. It was crazy, but his scent literally seemed to be reaching out to her. If she could have gone into a lab and created her ideal cologne, that would be it.

“Ms. DeLuca.”

Flint jerked as heat crept up her neck and settled in her cheeks.

“One more time, and it’ll be detention.”

The class laughed.

Ugh
. It was official, her life sucked.

F
lint was pretty sure this had to have been the worst day of her life. And it was only halfway over; she’d spilled some sort of blue liquid out of her beaker in chem class, making her hunter-green Tinker shirt look like it’d decided to take an acid trip. Then in gym, she’d tripped over her loose shoelace, taking a face-plant into the bright red wrestling mat.

She was
never
clumsy.

But she couldn’t stop thinking about Cain and that tap-tapping pencil. He hadn’t spoken a word to her all through chem, had refused to look at her even though she knew he could feel her staring.

He’d only tapped harder.

When the bell had rung, she’d gotten up, depressed and moody with no idea why. She’d been shoving books into her bag and when she’d turned, he was there. Standing in front of her. Breathing hard, smelling good, making her heart do some sort of stupid thing in her chest, and even though she couldn’t see his eyes behind the thick-as-smoke shades, she’d felt his glare all over her. Making her feel like she’d stepped through flames, making her tingle everywhere.

Flint had to try to remember how to breathe.

Then he was shoving past her, still without saying a word.

Now she was in the cafeteria, ready to say “screw it,” dump her food in the trash can, and wait outside on the bleachers for lunch to finish.

“Flint!” Abel cried, shoulder-bumping her and making her smile with relief.

“A friendly face.”

“You happy to see me?” His thick wavy hair slipped into his eye.

She nodded. “Yes.”

“Well, come on, I want to introduce you to my gang.”

Flint followed, laughing. “So does it make you guys cool to be sitting with a senior?”

He snorted. “No, it makes you cool to be sitting with us.”

His eyes twinkled and she liked him a little more.

A petite Asian waved at them. The weird flutters in her stomach started up again. It wasn’t that she was shy, but it was always awkward doing the whole “hi, I’m new” thing. You’d think after three moves, it would get easier. But it never did.

It wasn’t until Flint dropped into her seat that it dawned on her the table next to theirs was full of Goths. Black-wearing, thickly muscled ones. All of them sporting shades, and at their silent center... sat a very brooding Cain.

“Rhi couldn’t make it,” the Asian girl said from the corner of her mouth.

Abel rolled his eyes. “Lemme guess, working on her routine or something?”

“Or something.”

Flint swallowed hard, back running thick with goose bumps as she felt the force of Cain’s heated stare penetrate her thin cotton shirt.

The Asian girl smiled and held out her hand. “Hey, I’m Janet!” she chirped, flashing a deep right dimple. She wore cat’s-eye glasses and was dressed in a colorful blue-jean skirt and cream top. Her bangs were blunt-cut and straight, and her hair was beyond perfect. Beautiful, black, and thick. So the antithesis of Flint’s wild auburn waves.

Grateful to have something to focus on other than Goth Boy, Flint smiled weakly at Janet.

“Hey,” she said, shaking hands.

The tinkling jangle of Janet’s ornately decorated golden wristbands drew her eye. Different from anything Flint had ever seen before, they barely moved, almost seeming to be painted on, and yet they definitely made a chiming noise. Which was weird.

Flint didn’t much do the jewelry thing, but she might for the slim bracelets. They were gorgeous, looking crafted by a master goldsmith. “Hey, where’d you get those?”

Janet glanced up and a brief flash of... something... danced through her eyes. As quick as it appeared, it was gone. Flint blinked and shook her head, wondering if she was going crazy. For a second it’d looked like the golden flicker of flame.

“Oh this.” Janet wiggled her wrist, and deep brown eyes with no trace of whatever Flint’s crazy mind had conjured up smiled back at her. “Mom bought it from some witch doctor in Budapest.” She shrugged and pressed her lips tightly together.

Budapest. That was awesome, but Janet was giving off strong vibes that the topic was closed.

Turning toward Abel, Janet nibbled on a french fry and said, “New meat, huh?”

Abel nodded at her knowing look, a deep scarlet blush staining his cheeks. He muttered something and then took a huge bite out of his tuna-fish sandwich, leaving crumbs on the corners of his lips.

Flint wiggled in her seat, feeling suddenly strange. Like there was a silent conversation happening between them, something they didn’t want her to know about but that somehow involved her. She frowned, weirded out and wondering if maybe she should go out to the bleachers after all.

Janet shook her head, wiping away whatever censure she’d turned on Abel and again the mood was back to normal.

Maybe she was going crazy? Maybe Cain’s stare-down in chem was making her way more prone to seeing things that weren’t there.

“So where you from?” Janet blinked huge owl eyes at her, tone chirpy and not in the least bit annoyed like it’d seemed to be earlier.

Flint picked at the gooey cheese on her slice of pizza. “Everywhere.” She grinned. “Though no place as cool as Budapest.”

Janet snorted. “Really? That sounds
cool
.”

But the way she said it made it sound anything but. Janet popped a fry in her mouth.

Flint pushed her tray away, her nerves taking up too much space in her stomach for her to think about eating right now.

Feeling a strange need to redeem herself, she said, “But we just moved here from LA.”

“Ooh, wicked.” Abel grinned and sucked loudly on the straw of his chocolate milk. “I’ve been a couple of times. Loved the Whiskey, you ever go there?”

Flint laughed, forgetting about the hot press of eyes on her back thanks to Abel’s inquisitive gaze. The Whiskey a Go Go on the Sunset Strip, the hottest club for up-and-coming rock bands. You were the epitome of cool if you could get in. But you could never get in. Not unless you could find somebody to hook you up with tickets.

“Umm, no... It was always sold out. How did you get in there, anyway?”

Abel wiggled his dark brows. “I gots my secrets, girl.”

Laughing, she popped a green grape in her mouth, its sweet juices bursting on her tongue. Rearranging her plates of food, she opened her carton of milk. This school wasn’t so different from all the others she’d ever gone to.

Perky blondes and smoky-eyed brunettes sat at the center tables, reigning like a bunch of queen bees as the jocks and studs circled them like sharks. Beside them were the cool—but not quite cool enough—groups of boys and girls. Dressed in nice clothes with the latest haircuts, eyeing the squealing cheerleaders with green-eyed envy. At the fringes were the outcasts. Some tables consisted of one boy or girl, bent over a book, eating and reading and pretending the rest of the world didn’t exist.

Then there was her side. The dark side. She snorted and took a sip of the lukewarm milk. Grimaced—
gross
—but she was thirsty.

It was an appropriate title though. Totally strange, but most of the kids on this side were dressed darker. Not all of them sported black head to toe, but they weren’t in the bright, cheerful colors of the other side, except for Janet.

She was a special kind of snowflake.

But only the ones sitting with Cain wore the shades. Unlike him, however, they were both blonds and looked eerily identical—from the full bottom lips, to the strong, aquiline noses, right down to the slightly cleft chins. They must have been twins. But even they weren’t the strangest things sitting on the dark side.

The table closest to the lunchroom doors was full. Eight heads tipped forward, whispering low, barely pausing to eat as they obviously discussed something of monumental importance.

Like maybe what kind of hat Justin Bieber wore on the Letterman show last night. Probably not though. With their washed-out complexions and formless, baggy clothes... they were likely plotting what would be the best time to bomb the school.

Flint shivered at the thought.

One of the heads popped up and Flint flinched as the bloodshot gaze lasered across the room and landed square on her face. Several tables sat between them, but the girl was studying Flint without blinking, making no bones that Flint was the bug under her microscope. And then it dawned on her; it was the same girl who’d bumped into her that morning.