Chapter 3: Battle Lines
1014 Words
Chapter 3: Battle Lines
Kael Veyra’s POV
“This is a goddamn disaster.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
“Dramatic?” I stopped dead in my tracks, spinning around to face Draven. “We’re stuck working together for an entire semester, and I’m already wondering how many ways I could kill you and make it look like an accident. That’s not dramatic. That’s a public f*****g service.”
Draven’s mouth curved into that infuriating smirk, the one that made me want to punch him—or kiss him. Nope. Not going there.
“Relax, Veyra,” he drawled, shoving his hands into the pockets of his blazer. “We’ll get through it. Who knows, you might even enjoy spending time with me.”
I let out a sharp laugh. “Highly f*****g doubtful.”
We’d barely made it five steps from the lecture hall, and I was already regretting every life choice that had led me to this moment. Working with Draven Ashford was like walking a tightrope over a pit of snakes—dangerous, nerve-wracking, and guaranteed to end in disaster.
“So, what’s your brilliant plan?” I asked, crossing my arms as we reached the stone bench near the courtyard fountain. “Because I’m not carrying this project while you coast by on your smug-ass charm.”
Draven chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent an unwelcome shiver down my spine. “Smug-ass charm, huh? I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“It wasn’t.”
“Noted.” He leaned casually against the bench, his gray eyes glinting with amusement. “Here’s the deal, Veyra. We can either keep sniping at each other, or we can focus on actually winning this project. Your choice.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Winning?”
“Crane loves competition,” he said, shrugging. “And I’ve never been interested in second place.”
That made two of us. I hated losing almost as much as I hated Draven Ashford’s smug goddamn face. But there was something in his tone—a challenge, maybe—that tugged at the part of me that lived for a good fight.
“Fine,” I said slowly. “We work together. We crush the competition. And then we go back to pretending the other doesn’t exist.”
“Deal.” Draven extended his hand, and for a split second, I hesitated. Shaking hands felt too... civil. But I wasn’t about to back down.
I clasped his hand briefly, ignoring the jolt of heat that shot up my arm at the contact. It didn’t mean anything. It was just adrenaline. Or irritation. Or both.
“Now that we’re best f*****g friends,” I said, dropping his hand, “let’s talk strategy.”
Draven grinned. “I’ve got some ideas. Meet me at the library tonight. Eight o’clock.”
“Fine.”
“Try not to be late, Veyra.”
“Try not to be a d**k, Ashford.”
With that, I turned on my heel and stalked off, my heart racing for reasons I refused to examine too closely.
By the time I got back to my dorm, Livia was sprawled on her bed, scrolling through her phone.
“You look pissed,” she said, glancing up. “Draven again?”
“Draven always,” I muttered, tossing my bag onto my desk.
Livia grinned. “He’s hot, though. You have to admit that.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Liar.”
I groaned, flopping onto my bed and staring at the ceiling. “We got paired for the semester project.”
“Shit.”
“Exactly.”
“Well, look on the bright side,” Livia said, sitting up. “At least you’ll have plenty of opportunities to insult him.”
I snorted. “Small f*****g comfort.”
“Or, and hear me out, you could use this as an opportunity to... you know... not hate him.”
I shot her a withering look. “Hard pass.”
“Suit yourself.” Livia shrugged, her expression turning mischievous. “Just let me know if the hate-s*x tension gets too intense. I’ll clear out.”
“Jesus, Livia.”
She cackled, and despite myself, I felt a reluctant smile tugging at my lips. For all her teasing, Livia had a way of making things seem just a little less shitty.
At exactly eight o’clock, I pushed open the heavy oak doors of the Blackthorn library. The place was practically deserted, the dim lighting casting long shadows across the rows of ancient bookshelves.
Draven was already there, lounging in one of the leather armchairs near the back of the reading room, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He looked up as I approached, and for a moment, something flickered in his gaze—something that wasn’t amusement or arrogance. But it was gone before I could make sense of it.
“Right on time,” he said, closing the book he’d been reading.
“Let’s get this over with,” I said, dropping my bag onto the table.
“Nice to see you, too.”
I ignored him, pulling out my notebook and flipping to a blank page. “Okay. What’s the plan?”
Draven leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. “First, we figure out our angle. Crane’s projects are always about standing out, so we need something that’ll blow everyone else out of the damn water.”
“Agreed.”
We spent the next hour tossing around ideas, and to my surprise, Draven actually had some good ones. Annoyingly good. By the time we wrapped up, we had a solid outline and the beginnings of a strategy.
“Not bad, Ashford,” I admitted reluctantly as I packed up my things.
“You’re not so bad yourself, Veyra.”
I rolled my eyes, but there was no heat behind it. And as I left the library that night, I couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t going to be a total f*****g disaster after all.
- Writer
