Rival (Briarcliff Secret Society Series Book 1) Page 2

  Yael starts the car, and soon we’re motoring off.

  “What’s your name?” I ask the girl.

  She tongues one side of her cheek. The word “Piper” leaves her lips, and her participation surprises me enough to ask a follow-up question. “Are you a senior, too?”

  She sighs. “Yes.”

  I purse my lips. “And you’re my welcoming committee?”

  She looks at me sidelong. “Lucky me.”

  “Awesome. Are all the new kids fortunate enough to have you be their escort?”

  Piper takes a longer study of me. Her eyes are bright blue and in stark, beautiful contrast to her skin and hair.

  She smiles, and it’s like rays of sunshine stream into this car and rest their beams strictly on her.

  With a dying star behind them.

  “Oh, dear. Have I shirked my duties? Welcome to Briarcliff Academy.” Piper arches a sculpted brow. “Callie, is it?”

  “That’s what the sign you were holding says, so yep, that’s me.”

  Piper doesn’t enjoy my wit. “Okay, Callie. You’re coming in seventy-five percent of the way through Briarcliff’s four-year attendance requirement. That type of thing happens to two types of students—charity cases and unfair connections. I assume you’re—”

  “The latter.”

  “—both,” she finishes, drawing out the word.

  “Look, I’m not here by choice. My … parents … decided it would be best to finish high school at Briarcliff. If I had it my way, I’d be back at my old school, believe me.”

  “Did I forget to mention there’s a third type of student?” Piper smiles. “Those that are entirely ungrateful for the opportunity they’ve been given by getting a spot here.”

  Piper turns back to her phone in obvious dismissal.

  I settle into my seat and stare straight ahead, Yael’s unassuming form a mere shadow in my periphery as he drives us to my new place of doom.

  He has the right idea in becoming a peripheral blur. It’s how I survived in public school, and I guess it’s a method to stay alive here, too.

  “Don’t despair, Callie,” Piper says to me, even though she’s back to texting. “The third option is what we all are. You’ll fit right in.” She lifts her head for a smile, which to me, resembles a silent vow of entrapment. “Promise.”

  3

  We pass through the sleepy seaside town of Briarcliff, its coast boasting the high, jagged rocks of its name. The mix of green and stone blend its beauty into the dark blue of the Atlantic, the white crests of waves smoothing the sharp, fatal crevices below.

  It’s a mix of allure and destruction. I press my fingers to the car’s window as we drive, utterly struck by the vision.

  The picturesque Main Street gives way to a thin road with thick clusters of trees and lazy curls of fog on either side. If it weren’t for the rolled-up window, I’d smell the woodsy, musky scent of peeling bark and pine needles. The lifting fog gives way to a private road, and as we draw nearer, an exquisite bronze sign peeks through the trees.

  Welcome Briarcliff Academy

  Home of the Wolves

  resurgemus corroborari

  I’d skimmed Briarcliff facts on my phone during my trip here. Resurgemus corrobarori is Latin for “rise with might.” And the wolves are … well … I glance over at Piper.

  We pull into a circular pavilion rimmed with expertly pruned hedges. At the center is a gray-stoned structure, two stories high and U-shaped with its wings projecting forward on each side.

  I exit the car with graceful awe. The pictures I’d trolled online did not do this place justice.

  Above the main double doors is Briarcliff’s crest, carved out of stained glass, the multitude of colors set off by the early afternoon sun.

  Those doors open as Piper slides out and smooths her skirt. She makes a humming sound when she notices the figure descending toward us and hastily buttons up her shirt, clips a maroon crosstie around her collar, then throws on her black blazer.

  I arch a brow at her Transformer-like speed.

  “Welcome to Briarcliff, Miss Ryan. I’m Headmaster Marron.”

  The man stops at the base of the steps, dressed in a tailored navy suit. His salt-and-pepper hair flows back in sprayed-down waves, away from his face, and shrewd gray eyes, as if the school shines through the back of his head and into his stare, regard me.

  “Um … thank you,” I reply, since I can’t think of anything else.

  Marron’s focus glides from me to Piper, but in those last seconds of study, he’s catalogued all my parts, from my scuffed Converse sneakers to my unkempt, free-flowing hair.

  Yet, none of his thoughts are in his expression when he fixes his cuffs and says, “Miss Harrington, thank you for your assistance today.”

  “It was nothing, Headmaster.” Piper pastes on a wide smile. “Now that Miss Ryan’s safely on school grounds, may I be excused?”

  “Not just yet,” Marron says. “If you’ll both come with me to my office.”

  “But—”

  “Now, Miss Harrington.”

  Casting a glare my way as if I’m the one responsible for Marron’s decision, Piper falls into step behind him.

  I turn to the car, thinking I should grab my things, but the trunk is open and empty, with Yael nowhere in sight.

  I hastily catch up to Piper and Headmaster Marron at the top stair, my duffel bouncing against my thigh, and fall into step beside Piper as Marron strides into the foyer with us close behind. The floor is white marble tiles threaded with black stone.

  There’s a sound above, and I glance up, past the hanging chandelier and onto an indoor balcony overlooking the foyer.

  Four boys stand near the wooden railing, splayed out in relaxed, yet calculated, poses. They’re all in school uniform. Even from a distance, their body language exudes insolent gorgeousness, like it’s definitely their fault they’re this pretty.

  Their skin is flawless. Their hair perfectly barbered. Their bodies … not made for high school, and instead sculpted for some pre-ordained future.

  It’s the one in the middle who catches my eye, the golden sun from the large window behind him casting its rays against his thick, blond hair, run-through and textured. He’s too high to see the color of his eyes, but our distance doesn’t conceal the savagery of his stare.

  He’s not scanning the ground floor like the rest. His head follows ... me.

  His fingers drum against the polished wood as we pass underneath their perch, and the prickles on the back of my neck don’t stop until he’s out of view.

  I shiver, but it’s unclear if the chills are from being at the end of someone’s rope, or the sheer deep freeze of the air conditioning pumping its heart out to cool such a vast space.

  We turn into a wide hallway with shining, lemon-scented wooden cases housing trophies in glass displays, as well as the grim portraits of alumni, professors, and headmasters.

  Marron continues his lithe stride, turning us down a large hallway with a domed, church-like ceiling.

  A second display catches my eye, outside of Marron’s office. He moves inside, but I linger, frowning at the iron crest nestled circumspectly between graduating class photos, sports team portraits, and trophies. It’s not Briarcliff’s, but it’s familiar to me somehow.

  The hammered circle with a raven at the center, spreading its wings in flight, nudges at my memories. The Latin script altum volare in tenebris is carved underneath. With the way my index finger hovers on the glass above it, it’s like I’m supposed to know what it means.

  “What is this?” I ask, assuming Piper is nearby.

  A hand slams against the glass in front of my face. I squeal, stumbling back.

  “None of your business,” a low voice responds.

  My hand knots against my shirt.

  Luxurious bronze-colored eyes meet mine. On an average person, they’d just be brown. But I’m not … he’s not … normal.

  He’s god-like. Beautiful.
<
br />   His presence sucks all the air out of this cavernous hallway. Heat prickles along my exposed skin, my T-shirt feeling rough and uncomfortable against my nipples, a thin sports bra barely managing to keep them under wraps.

  High cheekbones frame his continued, unadulterated study, a carved curvature that hugs the corners of his sharp, Cupid’s bow lips.

  “I, um…” I clear my throat. “What?”

  He arches a blond brow, but thick, inky lashes border his unwavering stare. “I said, none of your damned business, new girl.”

  Blinking, I say, “I, uh…” Then, because I can think of nothing better, “You were on top.”

  He was the blond guy in the middle on the balcony, observing me as I stepped onto Briarcliff turf.

  “Exactly how I prefer it.” His eyes narrow momentarily on my face before reassuming a cold veneer. “We call it the Wolf’s Den. Are you my next lamb?”

  “Callie?” Piper pops her head out of Headmaster Marron’s office. “Did you get lost in the five steps it took to—oh, hey, baby.”

  Piper peels off the doorframe to drape herself over him. She kisses him on the cheek, but his head doesn’t move in her direction. His eyes don’t roam to hers.

  Piper asks, “What are you talking to the new girl for?”

  “I’m not,” he says with a lingering, hypnotic tone. “And I don’t care to.”

  The undeserved insult, one that’s been uttered in my company and out of it during the entire summer at Lynda’s many societal parties, snaps me from my stupor.

  “Then let me do you the honor of exiting the public hallway that you approached me in, and get out of your highness’s way,” I say.

  His brow tics up again. “Do that.”

  My upper lip lifts in a mirroring sneer, and I whirl into Marron’s office.

  “Chase,” I hear Piper titter, “Don’t be rude.”

  Chase? Ugh, even the guy’s name sounds douchey and unacceptable.

  I take a seat across from Marron who holds court behind his desk, impatiently waiting for his charges to sit.

  Piper drifts in, mentioning that Chase needed an answer to a prudent question, and Marron’s face relaxes. “Chase Stone has a big year ahead of him.”

  Every part of my frontal lobe wants me to dismiss all factoids about Chase, and this school, but the iron raven haunts my thoughts, and I wonder why Chase used a horror-level movie introduction to scare me away from it.

  “Big year for him?” I echo.

  “Hardly your concern,” Piper says as she crosses her legs. The pleated skirt hitches just a bit higher.

  “We have the top crew in the nation,” Marron supplies. He interlocks his fingers. “And Mr. Stone is both the captain and the stroke for our boys’ eight.”

  I nod politely as if I know what he’s referring to.

  “Not that Miss Harrington here is to be outdone,” Marron says, “She’s an excellent athlete herself. Perhaps she can introduce you to the crew team once she finishes giving you a tour of the school grounds. I assume that’s where Mr. Stone's headed?” he asks Piper.

  Piper nods. “I plan on going to the boathouse as soon as this meeting’s concluded.”

  She doesn’t mention anything about agreeing to a tour, and I get stuck on the word boathouse. What other resort-like amenities will I find during my stay here?

  “Ah, yes,” Marron says, his expression brightening. “Onto the reason you’re both in my office.”

  He turns to his computer, his fingers moving across the keyboard. “Calla Lily Ryan, do I have that correct?”

  Piper doesn’t stifle her laughter behind her hand. “That’s your full name?”

  I clench my jaw. “Aren’t you named after a dude who leads a bunch of rats out of town?”

  Piper gasps.

  “Ladies,” Marron warns. Then says to me, “Miss Ryan, I’d like you to apologize,” Marron says. “Miss Harrington was merely voicing her intrigue over such a unique name. Weren’t you, dear?”

  “Of course,” Piper simpers. She even throws in a few eyelash bats. “While we’re on the topic, I also forgive Callie for suggesting I use my phone as a dildo when we first met.”

  Damn. She got me. And in front of the headmaster, too.

  Marron coughs behind a fisted hand.

  “Briarcliff students pride themselves on decorum,” Marron says to me. “I’d advise against the use of such terms while on campus.”

  I turn to Piper and say through a toothy smile, “I whole-heartedly apologize for my attempt to stage an intervention.”

  Piper glares.

  “Very good,” Marron says, then sounds out deft strokes against his keyboard. When he’s finished, he pushes back against the desk. “Because, Miss Harrington, Miss Ryan, you two will be roommates for the rest of the school year.”

  One beat passes.

  We both exclaim, “What?”

  4

  “Headmaster, surely you’re mistaken,” Piper says. “Can’t Callie stay with the underprivileged kids?”

  I’m not even insulted. “She’s right. There has to be a mix-up.”

  Marron responds, “Miss Ryan’s family has paid the entire tuition up front, and Miss Harrington, you’re the only girl left without a roommate. I must insist that you—”

  “My parents ensured I would have a room to myself,” Piper says.

  “They did, but I also explained to them, if there were any enrollees, your private room was subject to change. Now, at the time,” Marron continues, holding up a hand to stop whatever is coming next out of Piper’s mouth, “there were no additional students meant to attend. Miss Ryan is a last-minute addition, and I do apologize, but the Meyers insisted she be given a position here. And they also ensured as such.”

  There’s a different conversation going on behind Piper and Marron’s eyes as they continue to politely spar. It contains a world so outside my depth, I’m closed-mouthed and confident that I’m about to share a room with this expertly disguised she-demon.

  “But, Headmaster…”

  “It’s settled. I expect both of you to be living comfortably in the dormitory after Miss Ryan’s school tour is completed. Have I made myself clear?”

  Piper nods, and I follow suit.

  “Wonderful.” Marron stands. “I have a conference in ten minutes, so if you two will kindly busy yourselves elsewhere.”

  “Sure thing,” I say tiredly, and throw my duffel’s strap over my shoulder as I rise.

  Marron smiles, and I’m surprised it’s directed at me. “Miss Harrington will direct you to Thorne House. You are the recipient of a rare position in this school, Miss Ryan. I hope you enjoy your time here.”

  Those words have never sounded so ominous coming from such a silver wolf’s lips.

  Outside the headmaster’s office, I ask Piper, “So, which way is—”

  “I have somewhere to be,” Piper clips out.

  She strides down the hallway, her footsteps echoing louder the farther she retreats.

  “Hey!” I call. “I’m not expecting a grand tour, but you could at least tell me to turn left or right out of this hallway!”

  Piper’s arm snaps out, indicating a right turn at the end of the corridor.

  “Thanks bunches,” I mumble, then begin my personal school tour.

  I turn right, as directed, but stall halfway.

  Chase waits on the opposite side, where Piper turned. She’s wrapped around him again, but Chase’s face—notably, his expression—lifts from her shoulder and finds me.

  This boy’s focus should be giving me the creepy-crawlies, but instead, it’s causing the bursting-bubble kind of tingles, an effervescent buzz that ignites my blood.

  Chase smiles like a skilled sorcerer cursing his victim, his grin lethal. Poisonous. Alluring.

  Piper, clueless to the exchange, murmurs something in his ear. His hand dips low in response, cupping her ass through her skirt. His unblinking gaze doesn’t leave mine.

  I’m breathing heavier. M
y cheeks feel warmer. Sweat forms under my arms.

  Guys like him don’t exist where I’m from. I know this deep in my soul.

  And so, like the skittish elk I am, I bolt in the opposite direction, and it leads me to a wood-paneled door at the end, bringing me back outside.

  I burst through, blinking against the sudden brightness of the sun. I scan the lush, landscaped grounds, then sigh, hitching my bag higher on my shoulder and following the thin, paved walkway, hoping to hit something or someone that will point me in the right direction.

  No students seem to be around, and no one dots the horizon. The day bursts bright and beautiful, but there isn’t anyone outside to enjoy it, almost as if this small section of the world, with its old-century buildings and perfectly blossoming hedges and trees, has been enchanted into silence.

  When two structures appear once I’m over a modest hill, I mutter, “This has to be right,” and walk faster, my hurried footsteps the only sound. Ideally, my bags will be where I end up, too.

  I get within reading distance and notice each building’s placard. One states, ROSE HOUSE in bronze lettering, and the other, THORNE HOUSE.

  I do a silent fist bump, glad I’m where I aimed for. Then, I glance up at the rows of windows on either side, hoping I didn’t just geek out in front of the entire student body.

  I pull at the double-doors leading into Thorne House, experiencing another blast of air conditioning that floats curly strands of my hair until I’m over the threshold.

  There’s a desk at the entrance and a girl in a basic tee and jeans chilling on the chair behind it, her feet settled on the desk’s surface as she spreads out in her seat and flicks through her phone.

  Great, I think. Another one.

  “Hi,” I say as I approach.

  The girl looks up, her azure gaze getting wider as I come closer.

  “The new girl!” she exclaims.

  “Yeah,” I say with a tentative smile.

  The girl stands and throws out her hand. “Pleased to meet you. I’m Ivara Alling. But you can call me Ivy.”