Warrior Fae Trapped (Warrior Fae #1)(2)

What did they want with Charity? Couldn’t they tell that she didn’t have anything worth taking?

A low laugh drifted on the night air, filled with sex and heels and wicked daggers.

Charity reached for Sam’s hand without thinking, grabbed her wrist instead, and yanked her to standing. “Did you hear that?”

“Hear what—are you serious right now? With the grabbing?” Samantha twisted away. “Why are you being so pushy? It’s really unflattering, Charity.”

Charity recoiled, strong and efficient when in combat mode, but completely out of her element when dealing with her elite classmates, Sam included. If making people feel small were a superpower, her roommate would be wearing spandex.

“Come on,” Charity urged, sans touching. “You shouldn’t be sitting out here by yourself. It’s dangerous.”

Sam crinkled her nose and shook out her wrist, though she started to walk. “Are you kidding? This campus has, like, zero crime. I’m fine. There were a ton of people walking by before you came.”

“Something is out here tonight,” Charity murmured, peering into the darkness surrounding them.

Sam flicked her long blonde hair over her dainty, bare shoulder. It wasn’t exactly off-the-shoulder sweater season, but Sam made it work. “Honestly, if you’d been in this much of a hurry after class, I wouldn’t have been waiting here all night.” Her right three-inch designer heel hit a divot and her ankle wobbled, but she continued her strut like a champ. “It’s been forever. What kept you?”

“My class only ends a half-hour after yours,” Charity said, feeling the burn between her shoulder blades lessen to an itch. That man and his crew had dialed back their attention. Good news.

“Yes. At ten.” Sam checked her watch. Diamonds glittered in the light of a lamppost. “It’s ten twenty. Where have you been?”

The path opened up, revealing a two-lane road flanked by sidewalks and backed by forest. Cars slowly passed by, pausing at crosswalks for pedestrians heading for the parking lots or the bus. Many of the students on campus dressed like Charity—jeans or leggings paired with sweaters and shirts. Only a small group wore the kind of wealth donned by the likes of Samantha and Donnie. They were the out-of-towners, mostly. The people not rich enough to buy their way into Yale, but plenty rich to deck themselves out in hundreds if not thousands of dollars of clothes and apparel.

Charity had no idea how she’d ended up riding the edges of their circle. It was madness. Plenty of people would kill to be in her shoes.

Well…not in her shoes exactly, since each had more than a couple of holes—the sole was coming off the right one, and the left one was always mysteriously damp. But people would line up to get the scraps Charity didn’t mind accepting, like random rides, a cheap room off campus, and leftover food (Sam thought leftovers were beneath her). A little attitude was a small price to pay for the perks and benefits of being Samantha Kent’s friend.

“I didn’t realize you’d be giving me a ride,” Charity said distractedly. The itch of the watcher continued to fade the closer they got to the street. She sighed, releasing the tension in her shoulders. Her new friend didn’t plan to follow them home. Maybe he hadn’t been interested in her, as such, but the school’s expensive equipment. A high-level thief would probably be that stealthy and intense. She’d only known the low-level kind, jerky and drug-addled.

“Jet and I are taking a break,” Sam said, her sashaying hips catching the attention of two different guys. “The passenger seat is free. I mean, honestly, what guy trades his car for a new surfboard?” She huffed and shook her head, glancing at the people in their vicinity and giving each a dismissive once-over. “He was insanely hot, but clearly his priorities were completely off. Daddy would throw him out of the house if I brought him home.”

Of course, Daddy would never meet any of the guys Sam saw. She’d have to be with them for longer than a couple weeks for that.

“Jet was a stupid name,” Charity said, pausing on the sidewalk for a car to pass. Sam was already stepping onto the crosswalk. Tires chirped on concrete as the guy behind the wheel slammed on his brakes.

“I know, right?” Sam said, flicking her hair again. “I mean, at first I was like—that’s kind of cool”—she made a line in the air with her hand—“Jet. He calls himself”—she did the line again—“Jet. Not many people can give themselves names and make it work.”

“There’s a reason for that.”

“Totally. Ugh.” She lugged her purse to her other shoulder. “I hate how heavy my handbag is.”

“That’s why backpacks have two padded straps—”

“Anyway. Finally, I realized that he was a total dweeb. He wasn’t even good in bed. I’d been totally fooling myself.”

“Dweeb? How very eighties of you.”

“I know. Eighties trends are coming back. I’m using the words to go with them. Rad, right?”

“Not really.”

“Hurry up. I need to get home and go through my closet. There is this totally fetch party tomorrow night and I need to wear something great. It’s exclusive. They actually mailed invitations. Not email, but mail-mail.”

“Snail mail, they call that.”