Chapter 2

CHAPTER 2

T he scent of sandalwood incense drags me back to the waking world and I immediately regret the decision. My neck feels like it's made of stone and the pounding at my temples proves I made more than one bad decision last night. Not to mention my mouth tastes like an ashtray.

Shit, did I smoke as well as drink too much last night?

I lift my head with effort, blinking blearily as I reach up to rub my temples. Or attempt to, at any rate. I blink down at my body and freeze, terror swallowing my confusion as I stare at the rope securing my arms to the arm rests of the chair.

It doesn't take much tugging for me to know ropes are securing my legs as well. I blink down at the light gray sweatpants covering my legs. I don't remember changing clothes, and I know for a fact that I don't even own gray sweatpants.

In fact, the sweats are the only article of clothing I'm wearing at all.

What the hell happened last night? Maybe this is a really lucid nightmare? No, even lucid dreams aren't this realistic.

Nausea rolls through me as my stomach cramps. Don't throw up, please don't throw up. Not until I can figure out what the hell is going on.

My senses finally start sending messages to my addled brain: the cool damp air I'm breathing in, the smell of wet stone. Chanting. The cadence familiar enough for me to know it's a summoning spell, even though I can't hear the words. Over it all is that reek of incense and a hint of sulfur.

I take a shallow breath, trying to keep myself from inhaling in too much of the smoke. There is way too much of that shit floating around. I hate incense because it always makes my asthma act up, which is why I tend to forgo it whenever I do a summoning.

But this isn't my summoning.

I finally peer around, taking in the small room. A bare bulb dangles above me, casting weak yellow light. The walls are stone, shiny in the dim lighting so I know they are at least damp, but I can see clear chisel marks. Wherever I am, it's manmade. Twisting around, I see an archway behind me, flickering candle flame reflecting off the wet stone.

Whoever is doing the summoning is just around that corner, the soft chanting echoing enough to distort the voice.

What the hell happened last night?

Licking my dry lips, I dart my gaze around the small room. Besides my chair, there's nothing here except a lot of rock. Probably used as a storage room at some point.

Gritting my teeth, I twist my wrists, tugging at the ropes and trying to ignore the pain as the rough material rubs me raw. The ropes aren't as tight as I first thought, and with enough wiggling, I'm able to slip my thumb out of one of the loops of rope.

Elation shoots through me as soon as the ropes sag, and I have to fight down the whoop of joy that wants to fly out of my mouth. That would be an embarrassing explanation if I end up dead. I can just imagine it, whoever meets me on the other side will ask how I died and I reply

"Oh, I got super excited and made a bunch of noise and my kidnappers killed me before I could escape."

Yeah, nope, not going out like that.

Maybe I should have watched those spy movies Ben always raves about. Figure out a way to get out of these ropes quickly and quietly and maybe moonwalk past my kidnappers. Okay, I probably won't moonwalk anywhere with how clumsy I am.

Grunting, I twist and tug my arm, working the loop of rope over my hand until it slides off my fingers to hang loose around the arm support. The rest of the rope sags and I can easily slide my arm out and off the chair. Immediately, I reach over and start tugging at the rope around my other arm, biting my lip in concentration.

A few tugs on the knot later and the rope comes undone. Completely undone. As does the ropes tying my legs to the chair.

I freeze, my heart thudding so hard that it's all I can hear. But I can feel a presence behind me; a cold, malicious presence that sends fear like cold water down my spine.

"Going somewhere, little lamb?"

My heart stutters and I jerk my head around, eyes widening. Jacob, the asshole that has been the thorn in my side since he saw me making out with another guy,stands in the archway, thick arms folded across an equally thick chest as he smirks at me. Though, I don't think I can call the feral stretching of his lips a smirk . It's too. . . insidious.

His gray eyes narrow as he stalks toward me and I shrink down in the chair. I've never been a fan of Jacob. He's the kind of guy who punches kittens and laughs about it.

Seriously.

My first semester at the Academy, he convinced one of his buddies to use magic to trap a cat. He claimed he just wanted to see if it could be done due to how fast a cat's reaction time was. He then used the cat as target practice for all sorts of sick "games."

He and his friends thought it was uproariously funny. It wasn't. When one of them not so jokingly wondered if they could use it as a furry Fleshlight, I stepped in.

Ever since then Jacob has kept an eye on me. Not out of caution or worry either. And I don't think it's because I ended his fun. It was more how I ended it. "Borrowing" Professor Stevenson's very human aggressive cockatrice is typically frowned upon. Letting it go in the middle of a group of grade A asshole students to cause chaos and potential maiming while I slipped away with the cat, a cause for suspension.

I admit, not the best way to go about the whole situation

I watch him warily as he prowls closer, his body practically vibrating with tension, until he's looming over me. The bulb behind him leaves him in shadow, but I swear his eyes have a slight glow to them. He's human; his eyes aren't supposed to glow .

Unless he's not human and he fooled the Academy entrance exams. Or, maybe he's some flavor of shifter. The Academy does allow sups to enroll if they prove they have magical abilities outside of their particular brand of preternatural affliction.

That feral smirk is still on his lips as he slowly leans over me

I clench my teeth to keep the whimper of fear from slipping out. Like hell will I give him that sort of satisfaction, but my heart doesn't feel the same. It's pounding hard enough that Jacob has to be able to hear it.

I press my back against the chair as he continues to lean closer, until his warm breath fans across my neck and his lips brush the shell of my ear.

"I can smell your fear, little lamb. It's delectable."

I shudder in revulsion at the feel of his tongue as he licks a wet line up my neck.

Gross . Not only do I not know where that tongue has been, but the man himself is revolting. Even though he's cute —with those gray eyes and auburn hair that he keeps long enough to style into a swoop over his forehead —he's still an ass.

"I plan to taste it soon," he breathes out. His hand closes over my groin, and a stab of anger bursts through the fear. Like hell I'll let that happen!

I slap his hand away from me, my lips twisting into a snarl. "Get your fucking hand off me."

A thick chuckle rumbles out of his throat, and with it the smell of ash and decay. It isn't the gag inducing smell of rot, but that subtle floral sweet smell that sometimes happens.

"I didn't take you for a prude," he growls out, his hand sliding up my inner thigh.

Nope, not doing this.

I fling myself backward, my sudden action startling Jacob enough that he lets go of me and the chair. I crash to the floor hard enough that my teeth clack together and I ignore the twinge in my hip when it smacks against the arm rest as I roll to my feet.

"What the hell are you doing? First you kidnap me and tie me up, and now you're going to what? Assault me?" I bite out, equal parts shock and anger rolling through me. I stagger backward, tripping over my own feet as I attempt to aim for the archway. Maybe whoever is doing the summoning doesn't realize I'm even here. Maybe if I scream someone will rescue me.

My back hits the wall. Hell, I misjudged where the archway is. I don't get a chance to scream before Jacob's big, beefy hand is covering my mouth while he shoves his other hand down my sweatpants. I didn't realize how much larger he is until now, easily a head taller than me and pounds heavier.

I slam my eyes shut as his hand closes around my soft dick, his palm large enough that his thumb can rub against my cockhead while he also pulls roughly at my balls.

I struggle against him, one hand pushing against his chest while the other flutters between the hand over my mouth and the one down my pants. Jacob chuckles, hot breath wafting over my face as he presses closer. He shoves one knee between my legs, kicking my feet apart as he continues to roll my balls in his palm and grind the heel of his hand against my dick.

He just chuckles again and I balk when he slides the hand farther back, fingers dragging up my crack until they find my hole. My gaze fly up and meets Jacob's. He can't do what I think he's going to do. He can't be that cruel.

He stares down at me. There's absolutely no expression on his face and his gray eyes have this dead, shimmering look in them. He smiles, the barest upward curve of his lips as he presses his finger against me. I buck, hands clawing at his chest, but he's so much bigger than me. I can't get away from him.

His brows furrow, and I have only a second of realization before he's thrusting his finger upward, forcing it into my body until his knuckles slam against my ass. My eyes shut, my breath freezing in my lungs at the pain. Tears leak from the corner of my eyes as he withdraws his hand before shoving it upward again.

The lack of lube makes his finger feel like sandpaper, and I whimper as my hole tears from the intrusion.

He leans his weight against me, nuzzling against the side of my neck as if we are a couple. "I should say that I didn't want to do this, but I do. I really, really do," Jacob whispers as he pulls his finger free. I whimper when he prods my hole again, and I can't keep the scream from bursting out of my mouth as he rams two fingers into me as far as he can go, grinding his knuckles into my flesh.

I'm on tiptoe, tears and snot streaming down my face as he ruthlessly thrusts his fingers in and out of my body.

Why is he doing this? I didn't think he would do something like this, even though he's an asshole. Even when he curls his fingers and begins jabbing at my prostate, the pain and terror override any sort of pleasure.

"Wha' the hell's taken s'long?" a voice mumbles, the words slurring enough that I'm relatively certain the person is drunk. Jacob freezes, his fingers still buried in my body. My eyes pop open as I struggle in earnest, shouting as loud as I can, even though Jacob's hand muffles most of it.

"Just having some fun," Jacob replies.

The guy stumbles farther into the room, brown eyes blinking owlishly at us. I struggle against Jacob, my hands slapping ineffectually at his chest. Apparently, I'm annoying him enough that he glares at me from the corner of his eye. I get a second's notice before he pulls his hand out far enough for hope to swell that he's stopping before ramming three fingers into me.

"Tell Marcus I'll be there in a moment," he calls over his shoulder. He smiles down at me, drawing his hand slowly from my body before he rams it in again.

I choke, my arms falling limp at my sides. I can barely breath even though my chest is heaving, and my vision is tunneling down to blackness, white spots flashing chaotically in my field of vision.

With a shudder, he leans the full weight of his body against me, his panting breath making me want to gag as it washes over my face. "Oh, they didn't lie when they said you all smell like food. I would devour you right now, but you are not the prize that I want."

My breathing stutters, his words barely sifting through the pain radiating through my body. With a hiss, he pulls his hand free of my body, and I sag against the wall. He gives a twist of his lips, a macabre version of a smile, before he backs away from me and disappears through the archway.

I collapse to the floor, curling into a ball as the sobs tear their way out of my chest as fast as I can draw air into my lungs. Why? What was the reason for that? I have never done anything to warrant that. I want a shower, but I also don't want to move. My ass hurts so bad, and I swear I can feel wetness down there.

Oh, fuck, am I bleeding? How bad did he rip me open?

Echoing laughter makes me snap open my eyes. My heart pounding, I stare silently through the archway at the candle light flickering on the stone walls. I have to move, have to get out. There's no telling what will happen to me if I stay here.

Slowly, I get my arms under myself and push into a sitting position. I'm shaking and sweating by the time I'm sitting up, I'm trying to keep my whimpers of pain from getting too loud. The seat of my pants is dam, but not soaked through. So, maybe it isn't as bad as I think it is?

I roll to my knees and sluggishly get to my feet, using the wall. My ass feels like it's on fire and every movement causes pulses of agony to radiate outward. Resting my forehead on the cool stone, I take deep breathes, trying desperately not to pass out. The pain isn't so bad now, or maybe I'm just becoming numb to it.

Either way, I need to get out of here.

Taking another deep breath to steady my nerves, I shuffle closer to the archway, grimacing at the deep ache inside me. If I need to run, I'm going to be in trouble.

Reaching the archway, I glance out quickly, hoping there's some hallway heading away from the summoning.

But, of course, I'm not that lucky.

The room I'm in is at the end of a short curving hallway. The only way out is to walk through the room currently being used for a summoning by who knows how many people.

More drunken laughter echoes to me as I edge out of the room. Hopefully, the laughter will drown out the sound of my pounding heart. Because it's about the only other thing I can hear as I shakily make my way down the hall.

There has to be another way out of here. Or maybe something I can use as a weapon or a distraction. And while the pain is bearable right now, I doubt running is an option.

Blank, clutter-free stone stares back at me as I sweep my gaze around me. Figures. I continue to follow the gentle curve of the hallway, the flickering candlelight getting brighter until it washes the stone in a warm light.

"Dude, ya sure it'll work?" a voice drawls. I recognize the guy that walked in on Jacob assaulting me.

I freeze as a dark chuckle reaches me, and my legs almost collapse from fear.

"The nerd wrote the spell, so it'll work," Jacob says smugly.

Who is he calling a nerd? And I didn't write any spell for him. My heart rate kicks up a notch. Unless he somehow heard about my Advanced Summoning spell work.

But that's ridiculous. The spell isn't complete and the inaccuracies that my professor intentionally put into the spell makes it either a dud or outright dangerous to cast.

More importantly, how did he even get the spell? I highly doubt Ben would have let him into our dorms.

This isn't making any sense. Jacob is a senior and isn't even a summoner. Why is he messing around with my spell work? Though, it could be a prank. He's a big enough asshole to do that, but it still doesn't make sense to me. What's he trying to accomplish?

I chew on my bottom lip as I try to make sense of everything. If he needs spellwork done, there are numerous students and even faculty who could help. That is, if what he's doing is even legal under the terms of a summoning.

The cadence of whoever is doing the summoning shifts, lowering in tone until I can just about make out who's doing it, but the scuff of shoes on stone striding toward me jolts me out of my thoughts.

"Better work. I can't wait to get my dick into some hot action," a nasally voice remarks, laughing as if the idea of potentially raping some unsuspecting entity is a joking matter. Hell, probably gives them the warm fuzzies to think about it.

"We're out of beer. Do me a favor and make sure the nerd doesn't get past you while I get more. Be a shame to have to chase him down," Jacob says coldly.

I jerk at his words, my heart in my throat as he stares at me from the entrance. How the hell did he get this close without me hearing?