23. Camille

Chapter 23

Camille

A fter I'd told Kage to come home to me tomorrow, he continued to hold me for several minutes. Finally, he shifted. "I've been putting something off that I need to see to. Are you ready to leave?"

I should be. I didn't relish spending the night being stared at by anyone who had seen or heard what Kage and I had been doing in here. But I didn't want to spend the night by myself either. "I'm going to stay a little longer."

Kage nodded. "Okay, but stay with Bianca," he instructed as he stood and redid his pants, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Text me when you're done, and I'll send a car for you."

"I will."

He paused, cupped my face, then kissed me deeply. "Thank you for giving me another chance, Rebel. You won't regret it. Enjoy the rest of the night."

“Okay, Kage.”

With that, he helped me to my feet, made sure I was decently covered, then when I was ready, he unlocked the door. He stepped out, his presence commanding enough to silence any lewd comments from the small crowd that was still gathered outside. “Get the fuck away from here. This room is closed,” he said. I heard grumbling and the sounds of people leaving before Kage turned to me and winked. “Coast is clear. I’ll see you tomorrow, Rebel, and the first thing we’re going to do is unpack your moving boxes.”

I was about to ask him how he knew about the boxes, but I figured Ty had told him. Or Kage had snuck into the chateau himself recently.

Whatever.

I tugged Kage’s shirt and fluffed my hair, figuring I’d find Bianca right away. Only when I headed toward the door, a painting caught my attention. It was a tree, one that bore a striking resemblance to one Ty had drawn after we'd fooled around. However, this tree twisted in a way that felt sinister, its branches like arms reaching out in torment. It was signed “MS.”

Mateo Sorrento.

My heart raced as I studied the other paintings beside it with the same initials, the depictions of blood drawing a line straight to the memory of Kage getting shot, the fabric of his shirt soaking in red. My stomach twisted with anxiety, renewed dread creeping up on me as I delved deeper into the collection.

Then, I saw it—a brutal depiction of a black swan, its wings and neck mutilated, blood dripping from its feathers. The MS at the bottom stood out like a flashing red light.

The connection was obvious. Ty used to call me his "sweet swan" and had a tattoo of a black swan inked over his heart. My breath caught in my throat, nausea swirling with realization. This wasn't just any art exhibit; it was a message, one meant for me, and it was horrifying.

The room started to spin, the air thickening around me as panic took hold. I had to get out, find some space to breathe. Pushing through the crowd, I barely registered the murmurs and looks of concern from those I passed. My only thought was to escape, to find a bathroom or somewhere I could be alone.

I leaned against the wall for a moment, trying to steady my breathing. The nausea was overwhelming, a physical manifestation of the horror and confusion churning inside me. With shaky legs, I made my way to the nearest bathroom, locking myself in a stall just before I threw up.

Ty

Watching from across the crowded hallway, I caught sight of Camille stepping out of the restroom, now dressed in Kage’s monster costume shirt, her raven mask held loosely in one hand, revealing her face. She looked pale, her usual vibrancy dimmed by whatever turmoil churned beneath those wide, shaken eyes. My first impulse was to close the distance between us, to demand what had happened to her, but I'd heard Kage fucking her in the Dark Arts room along with everyone else.

She was probably feeling guilty for giving in to him.

Simone and Bianca appeared, drawing her attention. Camille masked her distress with a smile so fake it twisted something inside me. They exchanged a few words and with a shake of her head, Camille turned and walked away. I waited, hidden by the throng and the dim lights, expecting Simone or Bianca to follow her. They didn't. They just stood there, lost in their own conversation, oblivious or indifferent to Camille's distress.

I knew Dante had bailed earlier, something about an emergency, and Kage—well, it looked like he’d fucked her and ditched her, which made my blood boil. I couldn't just stand by and let her walk home alone.

Navigating through the crowd, I kept my gaze fixed on the exit Camille had slipped through, her figure a shadow merging with the night beyond the doors. The cool air hit me with the sharpness of a slap as I stepped outside, the sounds of the party dulling into a distant hum behind me. The campus lay stretched out, bathed in the pale glow of moonlight and sparse lampposts.

My steps quickened as I scanned the area. There she was, moving with a purposeful stride, heading toward the solitude of the campus gardens. The distance between us closed with each step, my mind racing with what I'd say, how I'd explain my presence without causing her further pain, something she’d expect from me.

The thought of her upset gnawed at me, a persistent ache that demanded action. I wasn't the guy who fixed things; hell, I was the reason they needed fixing. But seeing Camille like this, watching her alone and trying to shoulder whatever weight dragged at her, stirred feelings I’d thought I was no longer capable of.

What the fuck did she think she was doing, walking around on campus alone like this? She knew what darkness this place held. I wished I could just walk away, but she’d been attacked more than once. Chasing after her, I called out her name. She slowed but didn’t stop. When I finally caught up to her, I reached out and grabbed hold of her shoulder, spinning her around.

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I snarled.

She narrowed her eyes. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” I barked. “Are you fucking insane walking home by yourself? Do you want to get killed? Is that it?”

Her jaw dropped open in shock at my words. She shook her head, not even bothering to offer me a verbal response, then took off.

“Camille, fucking stop.”

Instead of obeying me, she broke into a run. I stared after her in disbelief. Was she seriously running away from me? This girl really was crazy. She was also slower than I was, so it took me little effort to catch up to her again and tackle her to the ground.

“Get off me,” she screamed, struggling against my grasp.

“Why? This is exactly what you wanted, isn’t it?”

“Drop. Dead.” She spat each word at me, her anger-laced eyes glistening with tears.

I stared at her. What the hell was her problem? Sure, I’d gone back to treating her like I couldn’t stand her but during our last encounter we’d agreed to do our art project together then I’d leave her alone. Something had happened since then to make her despise me and I was determined to figure out what it was.

“Let me go, Ty,” she growled, squirming away from me.

But I was stronger than her so her struggling accomplished nothing but getting me hard. It made me a bastard, but that wasn't news to anyone, least of all myself. The more she fought me, the harder I got, my cock pressing firmly against her thigh. Her cheeks reddened, like she’d just figured out I had a raging hard-on.

“This bringing back memories?”

“Not good ones, you sick son of a bitch,” she retorted. “The only person I need protecting from is you .”

She stopped struggling, glowering up at me. Suddenly, all I could see was her parted lips. I felt her heaving chest pressed against mine, her nipples hard little knots poking into me. I remembered how she'd felt and tasted in my bed at the chateau.

Before I could comprehend what the fuck I was doing, I slammed my mouth down on hers.

The kiss was fierce, more a clash than a caress, fueled by anger and a raw yearning for what I couldn't have anymore. I groaned, the sound muffled by the press of our lips, each of us fighting for dominance in a battle where there were no winners, only survivors. My hands gripped her tighter, not willing to let go, not yet.

Pulling back slightly, I caught my breath, our foreheads still touching. "Heard you in the Dark Arts room," I muttered, the words edged with something dark. "If I'd known you liked it rough..."

Her response was a mix of shock and defiance. "You spied on me?" she accused, her voice rising.

"Really? You and Kage were giving a show to anyone who wanted to watch.”

She tried to shove me off, but I wasn't budging. Not until…

She kneed me in the balls. Groaning, I rolled off her, clutching my junk. Holy fucking shit, that hurt. I glared at her as she staggered to her feet.

“Fuck you, Ty. And fuck your stupid art, too.”

“Huh?” I looked at her like she’d lost her mind, because frankly, I was sure she had. “What the hell are you talking about, Camille? What art?”

“Don’t play dumb, you know exactly what I mean. You think I wouldn’t know that piece was directed at me? Well, message fucking received, Ty. Now fuck off and leave me alone,” she growled again, tears pooling in her eyes.

Lying on the ground, still clutching myself, I watched her storm off, her words echoing in my head. What the hell was she on about? My art? Directed at her? Slowly, I got to my feet, the pain between my thighs a sharp reminder of the night's turn of events. Fuck, that hurt.

The confusion gnawed at me as much as the pain. The Dark Arts stuff? I'd contributed, sure, but so had a bunch of other people. Her accusation felt like a punch to the gut, one that didn't sit right. I had to know what she meant. Quickly, I headed back to the party. Camille’s anger, the tears pooling in her eyes —it reminded me of when I’d first come to Crimsonvale, and she finally cracked after I’d been my worst with her. Pushing through the doors, the noise of the party hit me like a wave, but I barely noticed, my laser-sharp focus on getting to the Dark Arts room.

The room was crowded, bodies milling around and absorbed in the macabre displays. I scanned the art, searching for anything that could be linked to me, at least in Camille’s mind. Something that would explain her outburst.

And then I saw it—the bloody swan painting. It was grotesque, a brutal depiction that made my stomach churn. I'd seen plenty of dark shit, thought dark shit, done dark shit, but this was different. This was directed specifically at Camille in a vicious and personal way.

And I didn't do it.

Who the fuck would put something like that up and pass it off as mine? How would anyone know to do it?

Was it a prank? A warning? Or a threat?

Was it possible Kage or Dante had done it to ensure Camille stayed away from me? But that was bullshit. I accomplished that all by myself, and they wouldn't hurt Camille that way.

The questions circled in my head, each one more unsettling than the last. The realization that someone was still out there targeting Camille, mimicking my artistic style to do it, set off alarms in my head.

Was it a new enemy? Or someone who knew of our history in Italy? Could it be the person who'd left that painting was the person who’d poisoned my family? And now they wanted Camille, my Camille , dead.