Page 122 of Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals 1)

My heart beats faster.

I have to skip going to my locker to make it to class on time—not that he cares. He leaves me with a smirk and a brush of his lips on my temple.

The afternoon is quiet. I stop at my locker before Robert’s art class, which is on the opposite side of the school. I’m halfway there when the hallway empties out and the bell rings.

It’s silent for a beat. Two.

My heart pounds, and I quicken my steps. I wonder if Robert will give me detention for being late, or if he’ll let it slide this time.

I just got ungrounded, after all. Who knows how far he can be pushed? His patience. His kindness.

Someone slams into me from behind.

I go flying forward, falling to my hands and knees. My backpack slides away from me.

Hands yank me up, pushing me face-first into the lockers. The cold metal kisses my cheek.

“Wrong place, wrong time, Sheep.”

The hands turn me around, keeping me pinned.

Ian Fletcher’s face is wild with excitement. He’s been waiting for this moment—I can tell. A moment where I’m alone, unguarded.

Caleb would be in Robert’s class by now. How long would he wait before coming to find me?

“What do you—”

My words are cut off when he pulls me forward and shoves me back again. My head cracks against the locker. I must’ve bit my tongue, because blood fills my mouth.

“No talking,” he whispers. “You and me are going for a little walk.”

His fingers dig into my arm. He drags me down the hall, through a side door that leads out toward the soccer fields.

I don’t make a sound. Fear stirs in my chest as we skirt the field, headed toward the woods. The path that the cross-country runners use. I ran into Theo out here once, but I doubt I’ll be that lucky a second time.

It’s darker in the forest. We’re ten steps in, and suddenly the world is a whole lot more sinister. Muted sunlight flickers through the trees. It’s cloudy today, so even the golden leaves of autumn don’t make it a happier—or warmer—place. We could be standing in a graveyard.

He releases me.

I don’t know why that surprises me more than anything. Maybe I thought he’d reveal a knife and slice me open. Or hurt me in some other way.

“You,” he says. “You’ve managed to ensnare Caleb Asher. How?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know.”

He pushes me backward, his face contorting.

I stumble and hit a tree, and it’s the only thing that keeps me upright.

“You. Margo Wolfe. He hated you for how many years? Six?”

“Seven.”

“Seven.” He laughs.

Birds take off to our left, a great flurry of motion.

I flinch.