Crown of Thorns

It takes all my effort to stand tall once I snap my mouth shut, but I don’t regret what I said. It was almost like purging myself of all the awfulness I’ve had to deal with over the last several months. My grandma’s seizures. Seeing her comatose and admitted to a long-term care facility. Having my universe upended as I tried to survive each day in that house without her.

A house I might be torn from if anyone discovers I’m living alone.

The blonde snaps her fingers in front of my face and sneers. “What? Did you expect us to set up a GoFundMe or something?” She flaps both hands to shoo me away. “I don’t feel sorry for you, so you can fuck off now.”

All I can do is blink. No matter how many times I experience it firsthand, it never fails to stun me how people can so blatantly not give a damn. The one that told me to literally fuck off tosses her platinum hair and pivots on the heels of her suede platforms. Kallista and the redhead follow, each casting me a dismissive look like I don’t matter to them in the least.

The reality is, I don’t.

I’m good for a quick side-eye and a few verbal jabs, but otherwise, I’m as insignificant to them as a fly. By the first day of school on Monday, they’ll have forgotten what I said, and I’ll go back to being a nobody who says nothing.

“I can’t wait,” I mutter and I fucking mean that as I continue on in search of Margaret.

My next stop is the kitchen, and I swear to God, I’m so over this party that if I don’t find her here, I’ll walk my ass home.

Inside the palace-like kitchen, with its expanse of white marble surfaces and gleaming appliances, the chaos of the party is at an all-time high. “Starboy” thunders from the home sound system, and there’s a game of liquor pong on one of the massive center islands. Based on the yelling and cheering that sounds on par with a pro football game, the competition is intense.

Two guys are playing, and they are easily the most stu

The dark-haired boy with the broad shoulders and green eyes and arrogant smile. There is a cruelness to his expression that’s natural, genuine. He doesn’t look like a normal teenage boy just having fun and playing a stupid game with his friends.

He looks like a predator, hungry to destroy his prey.

A shiver skates down my spine, and I force my attention back to his companion. The blond guy is taking off his gray T-shirt, though I’m not sure if it’s because it’s soaked with booze or that he wants to show off his abs. When he hands his shirt over to a girl standing nearby and shoots her a half-smile, my eyes bulge.

I know him.

Kind of.

As much as you can know the stranger you randomly kissed at work during an entirely out-of-character moment. He’d claimed he was only visiting LA for a week. The fact he’s here tonight, two months later, determines that was a lie.

“Shithead,” I mumble before I can stop myself.

“Hmmm? Which one’s the shithead? And what the hell are you wearing?”

Blanching, I whip around to find a gorgeous, willowy girl with wavy brown hair and wide-set hazel eyes. She’s tall, hovering an easy six inches over my five-foot-six frame, with one perfectly plucked eyebrow raised as she examines my pastel pink jumper dress and striped T-shirt with a critical eye. Like every other girl here tonight, she’s dressed to kill in thigh-high suede boots and a plaid navy crop top and matching mini that looks suspiciously like our school uniform skirt, minus a few inches.

In an instant, I recognize her, too. Reina Hartley. She had enrolled at Ravenwood in the middle of second semester last year. We had gym together, but we’ve never spoken. Until tonight.

“I got it at American Eagle,” I blurt out. “M-my friend said it was fine.”

She nods and smiles like I’m the most precious thing that ever lived.

“One, you should fire your friend because it looks like you’re on your way to a playdate. Two, it does absolutely nothing for your tits. You look like Selena Gomez and that hot witchy chick from The Witcher had a kid with all the tits and ass. Own that shit because I would.” She glances down at her chest for a second before giving me a half shrug. “I’m flat and have to use chicken cutlets half the fucking time.”

“Thanks … I guess?” How else do I respond to the Frankencompliment?

She tosses back the shot she’s holding and saunters my way, resting one hand on her hip once she stops moving. “So? Which one’s the shithead, Josslyn?”

I’m so shocked she knows my name—that she’s even speaking to me at all—I don’t answer right away. Then, I worry she’s trying to trap me. As if she knows exactly what I’m thinking, she crosses a plum-painted fingernail over her heart.

“I won’t say a word,” she promises.

Puffing out my cheeks, I hesitate for a few seconds. Reina gives me an encouraging nod, so I release a relenting breath. “The hot surfer looking one, Aric. We met over the summer, and he … he gave me a fake number. It was a shithead thing to do, but I guess being bitter about it makes me pathetic, huh?”

The last few words are barely a whisper because I realize just how pathetic I truly sound.

Reina’s brows sink together. “So … you don’t actually know who they are?”

The way she’s looking at me can only mean two things: She’s fucking him, or he gave me a fake name. I settle on the latter, hopeful that I’ve not just gained a new enemy. “That’s not his name, huh?”

“No, no … I mean, not exactly.” Crinkling her nose, she snorts. “The shithead in question is Alaric, my older brother by about three whole minutes.”

Fuck. My. Life.

The blood drains from my face so quickly that I get lightheaded and trip all over myself trying to form an apology. Reina waves it off with a flick of her wrist, her stack of white-gold bangles clanking together.

“It’s not like you said anything that isn’t true,” she says, but I still can’t meet her gaze, so I focus on a smudge on the toecap of my Converse. “They’re all shitheads in that little circle, but definitely Aric and Phoenix. Those two can suck a bag of dicks.”

The other name snaps my head up. “Phoenix? As in Phoenix Townsend?”

She makes a face at the boy with the green eyes. “I take it you’ve at least heard of him since you obviously didn’t realize you were standing before royalty. Look at the prick, practically terrible in every way.”

I’ve heard.

In fact, every Ravenwood girl had heard of the undisputed king of Thornhaven and his legendary temper. His predatory aura makes a lot more sense now. It’s his house we’re all currently standing in. His party, his alcohol, his domain. Phoenix Townsend is already extending his rule over the newly formed Thornwood, and I’m betting this party is his first move at claiming the fresh territory. The more I watch him, the more I’m sure. He’s not having fun.

He’s conquering.

I startle when he reaches out and swipes all the cups from the island. There’s a beat of stu

“What the hell is he up to now?” Reina hisses.