Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Logan Oliver's POV

Here it is! The world from Logan’s point of view.
And….since you guys have been SO kind I’ve decided to throw in a BONUS Logan POV in the near future. I’ll either do it before or after Gage. In fact, I’m having so much fun with these POV’s I’m thinking of rewriting ETHEREAL through Logan and Gage’s perspective. It would be mostly Logan’s POV because of the nature of the storyline but I’ll try my hardest to balance it out with Gage.
Just real quick, here’s some TOXIC news: Since the book is twice the size it should be (200K+ words), my editor suggests I chop it in half. I’ve hired a second pair of eyes, so TOXIC Part One goes back to the editor on Friday and then we bounce it back and forth before I put it out in a few weeks. It’s very close. I’m going to work hard on the covers so hopefully I can do a reveal soon. TOXIC Part One and TOXIC Part Two will both be considered book 7 since the story arc is continual. Unless, of course, my editor changes things, and if she does, I’ll let you know. That’s where it’s at for now.

Here is Logan’s POV is from ETHEREAL. This scene takes place the morning of chapter 15 (Virtue).
The next POV of Logan’s, that I’ll put up soon, will be chapter 15 through Logan’s eyes. That’s the chapter where Logan takes Skyla to the Falls of Virtue and waterfall kisses ensue. *sighs*
However, in this scene, there is definitely some brewing tension between Logan and Gage.
Happy reading~!  

“Breakfast with the Olivers”

Logan's POV:

I’m dreaming of Skyla when my eyelids crack open to a burst of violent sunshine.
Gage treks out of the room after committing the solar felony, and I throw my pillow at him, nailing him in the back of the head.
It’s the same crap he used to pull when we were little—opening my curtains on the rare morning the sun has the balls to show and waking me up out of a dead sleep.   
“Stay the hell out,” I groan, trying to bury my head in the crook of my arm. The covers are off and my boxers are pitched like a tent.
He doesn’t say anything, just stomps down the hall with those cinder blocks he calls feet. I jump out of bed and hit the shower. By the time I get dressed and head downstairs, a fogbank has seeped over the island and all is right with the world.
“Morning!” Aunt Emma sings while Gage and my uncle discuss something at the breakfast nook.
“Morning.” I bullet toward the fridge but she herds me in the direction of the table with a plate at the ready.
Gage leans back and inspects me as I take a seat.
I don’t say a word, just bow my head for a moment of gratitude before digging into my food.
“Rough night?” Gage asks with a pissed expression layered beneath his paltry concern. I doubt Gage is too broken up over the fact he interrupted my early morning fantasy. It's like he knew I was in the middle of some serious cardio with Skyla.
The scene comes back to me in detail, and my lips twitch with a dirty smile.   
“What’s with the tension, boys?” Barron singes the two of us with his salt and pepper brows.
“Nothing.” I shrug as if I didn’t suspect that Gage and his perpetual hard-on for Skyla have everything to do with it. I thought he’d get over her by now. I thought he loosened up the obsession, until Bree informed me he was giving Skyla a ride home from the mall yesterday. I know what kind of ride Gage would prefer to give her and it has nothing to do with those underinflated tires sitting in the driveway.
“There’s definitely something going on.” Emma takes a seat next to my well-aged brother whom I’ve grown accustomed to as my uncle—heck, my father. “Is this about a girl?” Her hand crops up around her neck, and for a second I’m afraid she’ll choke herself. God knows there’s not a girl on the planet that will ever be good enough for sweet baby Gage.
I don’t say anything, just sink in my seat and drill a cold look into my nephew—waiting for him to affirm or deny the theory.
Barron huffs a laugh. “The silence suggests nothing less. Who is she?”
“Skyla Messenger,” I offer. “My girlfriend.”
“Gage!” Emma jumps in her seat. “Don’t dream for a minute of letting a girl come between the two of you. Remember what happened with that Bishop girl? Then she disappeared.”
I’m not sure what she means by, ‘Then she disappeared’. Unless, of course, she’s implying that she herself offed Chloe and hid the body in order to protect her offspring from potential girl parts. If that’s the case, I could’ve used a little help from Emma myself. Chloe latched onto my balls in front of everyone at West and plucked them off like apples in the fall. I’m sorry about whatever happened to Chloe though—wish I could have stopped it.
Gage shifts in his seat. “I don’t think we should bring up Chloe.”
“Gage,” Barron’s voice dips into his I’m-about-to-school-you register, “if Logan here is dating a young lady, I think you should be a gentleman and step aside. Give them some space.”
“Yes, Gage,” I say, knocking my foot into his shin with a little Celestra missile guidance. “Give us some space.” I try to bury a laugh as he writhes at the other end of the table, probably more from the thought of losing Skyla than the gnarly Charlie horse I’ve just inflicted.
“Someone else will come along.” Emma does a poor job of hiding her relief. “When it’s the right girl, nothing—not even Logan will be able to stop it from happening.” She winks over at me.
I flex my hands in surrender. “Who am I to stand in the way of destiny?” Funny how Mr. Dimples suddenly forgot about his imaginary girlfriend. He could have had Chloe everyday and twice on Sunday if he weren’t saving himself for that figment of his ex-rated imagination. I tried to warn him not to read too much into those visions of his. I specifically told him that crap has a way of cementing itself into your head—leaves you believing weird stuff, like Mrs. Right is going to stroll into your life one day out of the blue—sort of like Skyla did for me. It’s pretty amazing when you think about it. Everything about Skyla is pretty amazing.
“You’re right, Mom.” Gage hardens his glare at me. “I’m pretty sure when destiny places me in someone’s life, there won’t be a darn thing Logan can do to stop it.”
He pounds me with those brooding eyes as if destiny has already laid out the cards for him, shown him a full house with a beauty queen on top.
A cold surge rips through me.
He doesn’t think its Skyla, does he?
I’ll have to squash his misinformed fantasy before he gets his interpretations crossed with my brand new girlfriend. Skyla is going to be my wife one day—I can feel it. Gage has always been better than a brother to me. I’d hate for there to be permanent weirdness between us.
I should probably pay Miller a couple grand to lure him away during Harrison’s next unholy gathering—get his mind twisting in other carnal directions. I’ll have him declaring Michelle Miller as the girl of his wet dreams before homecoming.
I raise a glass of orange juice to Gage. “I give destiny full permission to intercede.”
Gage offers up a fist bump and sharpens his features as we connect. It’s on Bro. A smile slopes up the side of his face and that ditch in his cheek winks at me.
It’s on? I give a little laugh.
I’d say, ‘bring it’ but something in me knows he’s more than capable.
Nope. I don’t like this one fucking bit. 

Thursday, August 23, 2012

50 Shades of a Naughty Sector: Marshall Dudley's POV

Here it is! Marshall Dudley’s point of view. Let me preface this by saying this is a scene from TOXIC (I won’t say whether it’s Part One or Part Two) but Marshall may have embellished slightly as to how it all unfolded. Then again, he might just be telling the truth. ;)


*(Skyla visiting Marshall past midnight. She is markedly late for their dinner date.)

Marshall’s POV:

Finally,” Skyla says, striding in after a rather noisy pounding session where her fist felt the need to test the resolve of the door.  
“Come in,” I say, after the fact. If it were anyone else I’d be less than amused by the infraction, but it’s not anyone else—it’s my future bride.
She barrels past me into the kitchen with a slick of mud on the side of her face, a tear or two on her sweater, and a muddied imprint of her bottom on the back of her jeans.
“You’re absolutely filthy—and I most definitely approve.” I give a wicked grin, and head in her direction. “I might be moved to bathe you.” I slide my finger down her cheek. “Oh, how I’ll scrub,” I say, losing myself in the exasperation on her face. Her fits of vexation animate me on a primal level. That alone is reason to remain on this spinning rock long after I’m needed. I’ve found a new destiny and it very much involves a one, Skyla Laurel Messenger.
“You’re right, I am filthy.” She jams her fingers into her hair and further instigates the tumbleweed effect that’s forming. “I’m disgusting, don’t look at me. And, for sure, no scrubbing.”
“You, my love, are far from disgusting. Although, if you prefer, we can continue this conversation somewhere devoid of light—horizontally if you wish.”
She pinches her lips with a brief look of disdain.
There’s an overall war torn appeal to her this evening but by no means does it distract from her beauty—in fact, it amplifies it immeasurably—makes her all the more alluring with that, ‘I might kill you and eat you for breakfast’ look in her eye.
“I’m moved to run a bath for you,” I confess. “You could sit on my lap while I offer you a shoulder massage.” I offer an impromptu preview of the bliss to come, and she rolls her head back in ecstasy. Skyla lets out a moan that raises the temperature in the room by fifty degrees. “I’m sure we could both let out a little pent up frustration in the process.”
“No need.” Her eyes spring wide and she jumps out of reach. “I’ve got Logan for that.”
An image of her locked in the Pretty One’s arms infuriates me, and I’m reminded why it is she’s late in the first place.
“I was expecting you hours ago. This far from pleases me,” I inform. “I’ll be sure to let Logan in on my displeasure as well.” A slow brewing anger stirs in me and I’m well aware of the spark of envy that has lit this inferno. The way those Oliver dolts monopolize her time you’d think the war were being decided by whoever manages to impale her first. “Let the record show, I disapprove of your nocturnal wanderings.”
She gags in lieu of a response. “Excuse me—I had a war to fight.”
“Which you lost.”
“Which my mother lost because she flipped the switch before your frat brother could give me the heads up on how to take the region.”
“She’s not one to make things easy.” I withhold a grin.
“What are you laughing at?” She snaps.
“Dare I say, you.” There’s nothing I relish more than my beloved worked up in a frenzy. It’s almost worth the contention just to watch her writhe in a hotbed of agitation. She’s viral, this one. “You, Skyla, certainly know how to bring the passion to the table with your virulent outbursts of both the emotional and physical variety—and how I look forward to more of the physical.”
“We’ll see about that.” She moves past me deeper into the kitchen and lifts the lid off a pot.
Was I just privy to a sprig of carnal hope?
For a moment I consider abandoning the meal and running her up to the bedroom instead. There is no greater aggression that begs to be unleashed, than after a bout of good old-fashioned warfare.
Skyla leans into the pot and indulges in a guttural moan that sends my testosterone rising, among other things.
“Smells like heaven!” she says, pressing her hand to her chest as though it were the first aroma she has ever enjoyed—and with her mother’s disastrous kitchen tinkerings it just might be. “What is it?”
“Squirrel—caught two in the yard.” I broaden my chest with the proclamation. “A man with good aim is difficult to come by,” I purr. “And, I assure you, that skill is best employed in the bedroom. I’m more than willing to demonstrate later—show, don’t tell, and all those good lascivious adages.”
“I’ll pass,” she says, lacking the enthusiasm I was hoping for. “And really? Squirrel? That’s freaking gross.”
Good Lord, she’ll never appreciate my culinary skills if I keep confessing what’s on the menu—best leave some mystery in this arena of our relationship.
“That’s not freaking gross,” I inform. “That, my love, is dinner.” I flip the dishtowel up over my shoulder, eluding to the fact I’ve far more interesting things to sling but she doesn’t flinch. “And, where were you after the war?” I even my tone. I know very well where she was and with whom. “I was beside myself with worry.”
“With Logan and Gage, thank you very much.” She goes over and lands on the sofa before seductively flicking off her heels. She lies back on her elbows and glimpses at me from under those long, dark lashes. Whether or not she realizes it, she’s a vixen of the highest order.
“You my dear kitten are impossibly titillating.”
She purses her lips. “I don’t know what the hell you just said, but it sounds disastrous.” Her eyes close a moment from sheer exhaust.
“Never you mind your pretty little head. What’s important is that you’re no longer with the twisted Olivers—you’re here.” I slink my way over. “And might I note that you lose each time you’re in their presence. Accept the fact they’re cursed and move on. I suggest you find someone of noble character, someone who comes from victory, like me.” I hover over the couch and inspect her from this aerial vantage point—her golden hair slightly frazzled, her silver eyes partially closed. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she was beckoning me to lie next to her.
Dear God up in Heaven—she’s giving me the come hithers.
I hurdle the back of the sofa and land next to her with the deftness of a feathered wing. “I want to hear all about your time in the Ethereal Plane. Tell me everything.” Conversation is the height of foreplay to human women. After six thousand years of observation I know this well—it’s almost an unfair advantage.
Her ribbon lips curve into a delicious smile as she places her head in my lap and takes up my hand. She looks up at me, pure as the driven snow and my entire being electrifies at her touch.
Skyla starts in on a long sordid tale of intrigue and mystery, peppering the lopsided conversation with the occasional stray thought.  
I run my gaze over her supple neck, the perfect hourglass that her hips afford. My mouth desires to trace out the landscape of her every curve. I crave to have her, right down to her tiny beautiful feet. How I yearn for the moment she graces my chambers night after luscious night with all of the affection we can afford. We’ll charge the air with our ferocity. I can almost feel her skin burning against mine, the singe of her thighs smoothing over me as I make her my wife with a pronounced finality.
“I can hear you,” she flat lines.
A smile rides up my cheek. “Though the deep drink of our love tarry—wait for it.”
“As I was saying…” Skyla carries on with the stamina of an auctioneer as she details the events of the past several hours. She strings out a single sentence without interruption for five solid minutes regarding Delphinious, the weather, Jock Strap—and Harrison-I-Specialize-In-All-Things-Illegal.   
My fingers ache to touch her but I veer from her skin and indulge in her luscious curls instead. Such amazing beauty, such stunning attributes—I would say, they broke the mold when they created her, but in truth, it was her mother’s egotistical need to duplicate that led to Skyla’s beauty. The only difference being, Candace is severely lacking in the gentle soul department—fortunately for me, her offspring is not. Skyla glows from the inside with a radiant beauty.
“And, that’s how it ended,” she sighs into me. “You know…” She burrows the back of her head deeper into my lap and rouses more than my curiosity. “Sometimes I feel as if I’m all alone.”
“You have me.” I probe her with a heavy gaze. “For the rest of your days I will be here for you—someone to trust, to lean on—to have and to hold from this day on.”
She reaches up and presses her fingers to my lips. “Those sound an awful lot like wedding vows.”
I snatch her hand and hold it to my mouth. “One day they will be. You will be everything to me, Skyla. A lover.” I press my lips to her ring finger. “A friend.” I kiss another slender digit, dipping it just past my lips. “My spouse.” I plunge her entire forefinger into my mouth and run my tongue along the back as she slips it out. “Where shall we spend our honeymoon?” Tasting her flesh has invigorated me to the prospect.
“No honeymoon,” she’s quick to assert. “But, well…” She folds her arms tight across her chest. “Since I’m not seeing Gage—and Logan wants to wait until the end of the faction war before we see where our ‘feelings’ lie—I suppose I’m open.”
“Open?” My jaw goes slack.
“You know…” She shrugs. “For your wooing—no kissing though. You’ll have to woo without lingual contact.”
“No kissing.” I repeat as though I meant it. “Fantastic.” I marvel. “What shall we do to commemorate our first day of coupledom?”
“Let’s hop in that mirror of Demetri’s and see what’s cooking on the other side.” She prods me in the ribs as if I were cattle. “You’re a Sector—you can get us out of any number of messes. Come on.” She shakes me by the collar in what can only be described as a partial assault. “I’ll be fun.”
“Absolutely not.” I grit my teeth at the idea. “There’s an off chance it might have diminishing effects on my powers. I can’t risk getting caught with my proverbial pants down. I won’t have it. In fact, I should give you a good tongue lashing for entertaining the idea.” A lewd smile begs to glide across my face. “Shall I start now?”
“No.” A tiny dimple ignites on her left cheek and it takes all of my celestial reserve not draw her up and cover my mouth over hers. “And,” she continues, “I seriously doubt you’d have anything to be ashamed of with your pants leveraged to the ground. In fact, I’m betting you’d draw an awful lot of attention.” She runs her tongue over the rim of her lips and gently moves her neck over my hips. “Something tells me you’re a real crowd pleaser. You’re a giver, aren’t you, Marshall? And, I can tell you have a lot to give.”
I’m stunned into silence.
I pluck a twig from her sweater. “Shall we run upstairs and get you into something a little more comfortable?”
“Let’s see—” She runs her fingers through my hair as though she were considering far more than relaxing in my briefs. Her breathing grows erratic. I can feel her desire rising for me like an aria. The only thing we’ll be feasting on this evening is ourselves. There could be no better meal. “I bet your bed falls under the category of something more comfortable.” 
“If you insist.”
A knock erupts at the door before I can seize the moment and steal her away.
“Give me a second—I’ll get rid of them.” I rise in haste nearly depositing her to the floor.
“It’s probably just Gage,” she says, averting her eyes at the thought.
“Like I said, give me a second—I’ll remove them from the planet.”
We head to door and I swing it open ready to behead whichever Oliver has the misfortune to darken my doorway, however, there’s no sign of an Oliver for miles—its Shelly.
 “Expecting company?” Skyla cuts me a sharp look. Clearly she’s reduced to cinders at the thought of Shelly warming my bed at night.  
“What’s going on?” Michelle asks, wide-eyed and stunned to see Skyla by my side.
“Just hanging out,” Skyla says with a touch of ownership over yours truly.
This is panning out better than I could have expected. Shelly showing at this late hour has incited my love to a fit of jealous rage. She’ll want nothing more than to make me hers before I’m snatched away by my former mistress.
“You wanna come in?” Skyla offers. “We were just about to play a game.”
“What?” I balk.
“Sure,” Shelly growls, as the two of them ignore my clear surprise.
“Shelly, you can’t stay.” I turn her by the shoulders and begin to usher her right back from where she came. “Ms. Messenger and I are calling it a night. We’ve a game to play in private.” I slide a secret smile over to Skyla. Let the record show the boudoir adventure was her brilliant epiphany.  
Shelly’s face rounds out in horror as she struggles to remain inside. I give a generous shove and bid her goodnight before securing the door behind her.
“You.” I take Skyla in my arms and press a warm kiss over her lips until she pulls away. I absorb her form, her features as if she were the only sustenance I needed to survive, and truthfully she just may be.
“Now where were we?” she whispers, running her lips along the underbelly of my jaw while procuring an involuntary groan from deep within me.
“I believe we were headed upstairs.”

Sunday, August 12, 2012

Gage Oliver's point of view

Wow! I cannot even begin to thank you enough for all of your awesome support for ETHEREAL and for helping me name Celestra Book 7 ~*TOXIC*~! I am forever in your debt. In addition to that, here is the point of view from Gage (our winner). I’ll be posting Marshall, Logan, and yet another Gage very soon as an extra special thank you.
I’ve included the scene I’m flipping from EXPEL—in the event you wanted to compare Skyla’s POV with that of our not-so-beloved Gage. ;) I jest. Mostly.
All issues that may arise from this POV have been addressed in TOXIC. And, oh, how they shall arise.


(Excerpt from EXPEL Chapter 71)

Skyla’s point of view:

Marshall radiates a quiet repose. He bleeds most of the hour with a dry routine, espousing numbers, letters, and formulas as though he were reading a recipe from the back of a box, not his usual engaging demeanor. During the final ten minutes, he stares blank and wide in my direction as though he were looking through me, but the explosion of lust emanating from his being suggests he is rather focused on my person.
He hands a couple of students a stack of graded papers to pass out and takes a seat on the corner of his desk, openly pillaging me with a come hither look in his eye.
Chloe raises her hand, clears her throat to get his attention.
“Hands down.” He doesn’t bother breaking contact with me to reprimand her, doesn’t blink, just takes me in, absorbs every nuance. I can feel something shifting, crackling down on a molecular level. He’s calling me, encoding himself into my genetic design, grafting his soul onto mine. A strange pull takes over and I want to suction to him like a magnet. I seal my fingers over the rim of my desk and hang on, try to stop myself from doing something foolish like falling on my knees before him, begging him to take me in front of the entire class and Gage.
Ellis swivels in his seat. “I’m, like, really tripping out right now,” he gives a low guttural laugh. His eyes shine glassy pink.
I try to revert my energy to Ellis, his perfectly straight nose, his small bowtie lips, but I snap back to Marshall and gasp. Marshall has become a full glorious breath in an oxygen-deprived world. This spell—this bondage he’s placed me in is far too strong to ignore, and nothing in me wants to ignore anything about Marshall right now. Oddly, it doesn’t feel like I’m being controlled, it feels genuine and right.
I can feel Gage shifting from behind—the tension rising like mercury in the desert. “You have five fucking seconds to knock this shit off.” He booms over to Marshall.
The entire class takes in a collective gasp and turns towards Gage, but I can’t pry my eyes off Marshall. I’m so close to giving in, going over and drinking down a warm pool of kisses straight from his mouth.
Marshall’s lips curl into me. His chin dips into his chest while he molds my body with his eyes.
Gage spikes out of his seat, bullets to the front of the class. He picks up the metal stool Marshall usually lounges on and launches it out the back window at superhuman speeds—nearly decapitating the entire third row in the process.
A growl of thunder rolls into the classroom, accompanied with a hurricane level wind.
Gage clocks Marshall onto the floor and the two of them roll around like tigers, nothing but fists, a tangle of legs moving so fast I can’t tell which is which.
Ellis and a couple of other guys struggle to pull them apart.
Marshall pats his lip with the back of his hand and examines the crimson stain on his flesh before staggering to his feet.
“Your stay here,” Marshall seethes into Gage, “has just been markedly reduced.”
The bell rings.
“Take him directly to principal Rice. Inform her of the attack and let her know we’ll need the windows boarded up at once.” Marshall waves them off as they speed Gage out the door.
“He’s going to kill Gage because he loves you,” Chloe whispers the words in my ear like a necrotic poem. “The only thing better than me never having Gage is you never having him. All’s well that ends well,” she drips like a song.
I’m probably going to kill Chloe—and Logan is already dead.
Marshall and I will be the last ones standing.
Dear God.
What if that was the plan all along.

~*Gage Oliver’s point of view:

I press my hand into the small of Skyla’s back as we walk into Dudley’s class. Another hour with the clown who thinks he’s going to marry Skyla Messenger.
Right. I’ll go to the grave before that happens. Hell—I’ll come back from the grave to make sure it doesn’t happen. I’d gladly hand her to Logan before that atrocity ever takes place.
I slip a kiss beneath her ear before taking a seat behind her.
A dull laugh rattles through me at the thought of ever willingly handing her to Logan. That’s about as unlikely as Dudley.
Ellis walks in and nods over to me, stoned out of his freaking mind, per usual. Oddly enough, he considers himself a contender, too. Still can’t believe he thinks he’s got some emotional bond with her. The only bond they share is the weed she helps him hijack from his former self. Ellis’ definition of a relationship is a one-night stand. And, a lasting relationship is defined by whether or not he remembers her name in a week.
Skyla spins around, sinks those crystal cut eyes into me and smiles before returning to her desk—pretending to take notes. Sometimes I look over her shoulder for the hell of it and catch her drawing our names in a heart—spelling out Mrs. Oliver. I wonder if I’m the Oliver she has in mind. Judging by the way she kisses me, I’m pretty damn sure I am.
Chloe catches my attention and I cut her a look—blink a half-smile in her direction.
She licks her lips like an afterthought and flashes a wicked grin.  She wants to meet later, talk to me about ‘some things’ as she put it—and I will—but the last thing I want is Skyla seeing us together. Just the thought of me with Chloe sets her off, and I need Skyla to trust me.
Skyla’s hair spills over my desk and I gently wrap a strand around my finger. It’s spun gold—nothing but extravagant beauty growing from her scalp. No wonder Chloe can’t stand her, she’s perfect. There’s not a damn thing wrong with an inch of Skyla Messenger’s body—and what I would love to do to that body.
I envision us on the beach—Rockaway with its shadowed sand, the navy slick of the ocean rising from behind. Skyla stands before me, wiggles her hips as she shakes off her shorts, tosses her top in the air like confetti.
The curve of a smile plays on my lips as I sink down in my seat.
I picture Skyla pulling me in, taking off her bathing suit top—pressing her soft skin against mine.
Dudley clears his throat and shakes me out of my midday delight.
Probably reading my mind again. Bastard. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to know what he’s thinking. Half the time he doesn’t bother to hide the boner he has for Skyla. The dude is freaking sick.
I get back to my happy place there on the beach with a mostly disrobed Skyla at the ready. She slips her hands up my shirt and helps me take it off to even out the playing field. I hook my fingers in her panties and send them sailing to the floor.
The sound vacuums out of the room and I snap out of my fantasy. I catch Dudley staring in this direction again, only his efforts aren’t pinpointed at me this time. He’s locked eyes with Skyla and the entire room is fascinated by their nonverbal exchange.
What the hell?
 I sit up and glance over at Chloe.
She gives a little smile and darts her hand in the air.
There you go. If anyone can break the spell it’s Bishop. She’s an expert at inserting herself between Skyla and just about anyone. I should know.  
“Hands down,” Dudley barks. He doesn’t bother breaking his gaze, just keeps digging into Skyla with those fireballs he sees the world through.
Ellis spins around and whispers something to her. His eyes are so glossed over I doubt he realizes Dudley is in the middle of a wet daydream.
I glare over at the so-called teacher.
Who the hell does he think he is? He’s taking her in like she’s a fucking glass of water, drinking her down to the dregs right here in the middle of class.
He zeros in on her, you could feel the lust radiating off him like a furnace. His face entertains the slight impression of a dirty smile, and I can only imagine what the hell is going through that mind of his. God knows thousands of years of perversion are hard at work.
“You have five fucking seconds to knock this shit off,” I warn.
He doesn’t flinch, doesn’t waver from his all out mental molestation, just keeps at it like he’s doing her in real time, right here in front of the student body—namely me. 
I spike out of my seat and bolt on over. The silver chair he slouches on day after day stands in my way so I sail it out the window—a clear demonstration of what I’m about to do to his head.
A roll of thunder rattles from outside, a gust of wind cools down the room. I don’t need much encouragement to rearrange his face but the rush of fresh air inspires me.
I pull back and lock one over on him. His jaw gives a satisfying pop beneath my knuckles so I pummel him again.
He knocks me back and we roll onto the floor.
I kick and thrash his Sector ass all over the place.
Harrison shouts at the two us before plucking us apart like a bouncer.
“Your stay here,” Dudley grits the words between his teeth, “has just been markedly reduced.”
The bell gives an earsplitting cry overhead.
“Take him directly to principal Rice.” Dudley touches his lip and examines my handiwork. “Inform her of the attack and let her know we’ll need the windows boarded up at once.”
A couple of guys harness me from behind and navigate me towards the door.
I catch Chloe whispering something to Skyla. She’s a rose full of thornes—add a couple horns and a tail, and you’ve got Chloe.
She locks eyes with me for a moment and pinches a smile. Chloe prefers me with my hands tied behind my back, much like I am now.
That’s exactly what she told me last week when she saw me naked.