Claimed by my Bully Brother

The Boy Who Caught Me

Seraphina

Ooops!

My heel slips on the polished marble of the grand staircase.

For one terrifying second, there’s nothing beneath my foot but air.

My body tilts forward.

The staircase drops three stories.

My stomach lurches.

That’s it.

You’re wondering how I ended up in this situation? We’re on the same page.

I’m also wondering why I have to die on my first day at Blackthorn Academy. I haven’t even agreed to stay yet, before its architecture is trying to kill me.

Is it because I said I hate it here?

Who wouldn’t? Anyone who despises the luxurious lifestyle of the rich less intensely than I do.

This place is built like a palace… vaulted ceilings, towering windows, marble everywhere. This kind of place is designed to remind you that wealth has architecture.

I just want a simple life.

That’s where Mom and I don’t agree. She claims her pursuit is my safety, and coming to Blackthorn guarantees my protection.

Protection from what? The same…

A hand clamps around my waist.

Hard.

Before gravity can complete its task, my body jerks backward. A gasp escapes me as I’m yanked against something solid.

I think someone solid.

I blink.

Does this mean I’m not going to die?

For a moment I just stand there, stunned, breathing too fast while the world slowly stops spinning. Then I look up.

For a moment I just stand there, stunned, breathing too fast while the world slowly stops spinning.

Then I look up.

He’s taller than anyone I’ve ever seen up close. Dark hair falling slightly over sharp eyes that look like they’ve already judged the entire world and found it disappointing.

His hand is still wrapped around my waist. Quite too intimate, if you ask me. The only person who has held me up this close and isn’t my gender is my dad. It feels as though he is torn between saving me and letting go.

I think I’m still going to die.

Just not by Blackthorn’s structure… and maybe not today if this fine as hell man decides not to let go of my waist.

His gaze drags slowly over my face, studying me in a way that makes my skin feel too tight… like he’s trying to figure out something about me. Or decide something.

Finally, he releases my wrist.

I open my mouth to thank him.

He leans closer instead.

His voice brushes my ear, low and calm.

“Careful.”

I feel the words more than hear them.

“Some falls change your life forever.”

Then he lets go.

Just like that.

And walks away.

What the hell?

I should leave.

I should go back to mom who is waiting for me in the principal’s office.

I should remember that I already hate this school.

Instead, I follow him.

My feet just move.

He walks through the corridor like the building belongs to him.

Students move out of his way… and my way too.

I can hear whispers… Students alerting others of his presence… students asking who I am.

He turns a corner.

I turn the corner after him.

And slam straight into his back. He stops so abruptly I barely catch myself.

Great.

Slowly, he turns around. His eyes drop to my face. Then lower. Then back up again.

Assessing.

“Why are you following me?” His voice is flat.

That’s true. Why am I following him? I have no freaking idea.

He crosses his arms. One of his eyebrows lifts slightly.

“You don’t speak, do you?”

Me? Everyone who knows me says I’m talkative. In fact, Dad and mom avoids me sometimes, coming up with excuses even I know are lies.

He tilts his head. “Do you know who I am?”

This is probably the part where I’m supposed to recognise some local king of teenage royalty, right?

“No!” I answer in my head. “I don’t know you just as I don’t know anybody else here.”

He tilts his head even lower…and closer, his lips almost brush mine.

I step back, instinctively.

That’s when reality snaps back into place.

What am I doing?

“Get a hold of yourself.”

He doesn’t say anything else. Doesn’t introduce himself. Doesn’t wait. He just turns and walks away again.

This time I don’t follow.

I stand there for a moment, staring after him.

Then I shake myself and head back toward the administrative wing.

I find mom standing outside the principal’s office with a man whose face is shaped like a permanently offended potato.

The brass plate beside the door reads 'Headmaster Archibald P. Bumblethorpe'.

I laughed so hard when we first got here that mom had to pinch my side.

Mom notices me first.

“Sera! Where did you go?”

“Exploring,” I say.

The headmaster clears his throat importantly.

“Miss Whitmore, I trust you’ve had the opportunity to admire our facilities?”

Admire.

That’s one word for it.

“Sure,” I say.

My mother sighs softly.

“I’m sorry. Seraphina isn’t as complex as she seems. She just has a few concerns about the school.”

A few concerns? That’s a polite way of saying I spent the entire car ride explaining why I refuse to spend my final school years in a museum for rich teenagers.

Headmaster Bumblethorpe looks wounded. “I’m very sure Miss Whitmore will like it here. Our institution has educated some of the most influential families in the country.”

“Congratulations,” I respond.

Mom gives me a warning look. The one that tells me to behave.

Bumblethorpe folds his hands. “Perhaps Miss Whitmore should explore the campus more thoroughly before forming conclusions.”

I glance down the corridor. For a second, I imagine a pair of cold grey eyes watching from the shadows. A hand catching my wrist.

Slowly, I turn back to Mom. “I think I’ve seen enough,” I exclaim.

Her shoulders relax instantly. “So you don’t…”

“I want to stay.” I interject.

Both of them blink.

“That’s good. That’s really good.” The principle says repeatedly, excited.

Mom studies me carefully before pulling me aside.

“You spent the entire morning saying you hated this school.”

“I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

Why? Isn’t this what she wants?

I shrug lightly.

“There’s a fish here I think I can catch.”

Her eyes narrow.

“You’re into fishing now? Do they encourage that here?”

I smile.

“I think I’ve already got the hook in.”

“You have?” Mom doesn’t understand a thing I’m saying. I’m glad she doesn’t… because I’m beginning to think I’m going to die by the exact thing she’s trying to protect me from.

“Sera, why aren’t you answering my questions?” She lays out her concerns. “Is there anything you want me to get for you?”

“I need the bait," I say.