A Human In Vampire Academy

Chapter 4

Ria's POV

I backed up until my back met the wall, the room was too quiet and too clean, the scent of him already settled into the sheets and the curtains like it had been waiting for me.

Marcus didn’t move at first. He stayed a few steps away with his hands in his pockets, watching me with those gentle, careful eyes.

The two punctures on my neck still burned under my fingers, and every time I pressed them the memory of his mouth there rose again, hot and wrong in a way that made my stomach twist.

“You bit me,” I said, and the words came out smaller than I wanted them to. “You bit me and then you brought me here.”

He tilted his head, and looked me straight in the eye. “You put your arm around me and asked if I needed help. I took what you offered.”

“I didn’t offer you my neck.”

His mouth almost curved, but the expression died before it became a smile. He looked better than he had in the hallway—the grey was gone from his skin, the coughing had stopped, and the sharp grey of his eyes was clearer now, almost bright. I could still see the faint smear of blood at the corner of his mouth where he hadn’t wiped it all away.

“I can’t feed on ordinary humans,” he said. His voice stayed even, but his gaze dropped once to the marks on my throat before he pulled it back. “Their blood makes the sickness worse. Yours didn't. I didn’t mean to take as much as I did. You collapsed before I could stop myself.”

My heart knocked hard against my ribs. “So you carried me here instead of taking me to the infirmary.”

“Yes.”

The single word sat between us for a while and I looked past him for the first time and saw the dark wood of the furniture, the heavy curtains drawn against the daylight, the black sheets still rumpled on one side of the bed, and his jacket thrown over the back of a chair.

This was his room. I was alone in it with him, and the door was somewhere behind him.

“Let me go,” I said.

“In a minute.” He took one step closer. I pressed harder into the wall, but he stopped just short of touching me. The space between us thinned until I could smell him—lavender under the faint smell of my own blood. “I need to ask you something first.”

“No.”

“You haven’t heard the question.”

“I don’t need to hear it. You bit me, you brought me here without asking, and whatever comes out of your mouth next is going to be worse.”

He didn’t argue. He only shifted his weight so that one hand came up to rest on the wall beside my head, close enough that I felt the heat of his forearm through the air between us. My breath caught. His eyes stayed on mine, steady and even while his other hand lifted and brushed the side of my throat just below the bite. The touch was light, two fingers tracing the line of my pulse, and it still made my knees unsteady.

“I can pay you,” he said quietly. “A measured amount every few days. Enough to keep me stable. I’ll give you money, protection, whatever you want that isn’t illegal or public. You won’t have to deal with Weems alone. You won’t have to worry about Jolyne or anyone else. I’ll handle them.”

I laughed, until I saw the cold stare of his eyes. “Oh, you're serious.”

“Yes.”

“You want to buy me like a blood bag that happens to have legs.”

“I want an arrangement,” he corrected, and his thumb pressed once, lightly, against the edge of the wound so the marks throbbed under his touch. “One that keeps both of us alive. You don’t have to like me. You don’t even have to speak to me outside of it.”

My pulse jumped under his fingers. He felt it and his gaze flicked down to the place where his hand rested against my skin, and for a moment the careful distance in his expression slipped.

The air between us felt thinner. I could see the slow rise of his chest and the way his jaw tightened like he was holding something back that he didn’t want me to notice.

“I’m not doing that,” I said. My voice was smaller than I wanted it to be. “I’m not letting you drink from me, I’m not taking your money, and I’m not staying in this room another second.”

I tried to step around him. He didn’t grab me. He only moved with me so that his hand stayed on the wall and his body stayed between me and the door. My shoulder brushed his chest. The contact was brief, but it sent a low, unwanted heat up the side of my neck where his fingers had been.

“Ria.”

He said my name in a way that made heat flush up to my cheeks instantly.

‘Why am I reacting like this? This is so embarrassing.’

“You’re scared,” he murmured, and his free hand lifted again, not quite touching this time, only hovering near the place his mouth had been. “That’s fine. You should be, but you felt it too, didn’t you? When I bit you. It wasn’t only pain.”

I hated that he was right. There had been a second, right before everything went dark, when the sting had turned into something else—warm and pulling, like my body had recognized him before my mind could catch up. I didn’t want to remember it, and I especially didn’t want him knowing I’d felt it.

“Move,” I whispered.

He didn’t. His fingers stayed where they were, close enough that I could feel the cool of his skin against the heat climbing up my throat. “If you walk out of here and pretend this didn’t happen, Weems will find out what your blood can do. She already suspects. That’s why she brought you here.” His voice stayed low. “I’m offering you a way to stay ahead of her. You can hate me while you do it.”

I turned my face away. My cheek almost brushed his wrist. The scent of him was stronger this close, and for a moment I couldn’t tell whether I wanted to shove him back or lean in just to see what he would do.

“I don’t want your deal,” I said. “And I don’t want you touching me.”

He dropped his hand. The absence was worse than the touch had been. Cold air rushed over the place his fingers had rested, and I felt it all the way down my spine.

“Then go,” he said. The words were quiet, almost gentle. “The door’s unlocked.”

I didn’t move. My legs wouldn’t listen. He was still too close, still watching me with those grey eyes that no longer looked hungry. They looked like they were waiting for something I hadn’t said yet.

Somewhere down the hall a door slammed. Voices rose and fell, laughter carrying through the walls.

Marcus stepped back. The space between us opened again and I sucked in a breath like I’d been underwater. My shoulder still felt the brief press of his chest. My neck still burned under the collar of my shirt.

“Think about it,” he said. “You have until tomorrow night. After that I’ll assume you said no.”

I pushed off the wall and made it past him. He didn’t stop me. He didn’t follow. I reached the door with my fingers shaking on the handle and looked back once. He was still standing where I’d left him, one hand loose at his side and the other curled like he was remembering the shape of my throat.

“I’m not yours,” I said.

His answer was soft enough that I almost missed it.

“Not yet.”

I opened the door and left before I could ask what he meant. The hallway was bright, too bright after the dim of his room, and my neck burned under my collar. I could still feel the touch of his fingers there and worse—I could still feel the part of me that hadn’t wanted him to stop.