Chapter 03: Closer, closer, too close ! 

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Alaska Finton was tantalizingly out of reach when Ryder came up behind me and slung his arm around my shoulder.

He was out of breath, panting hard through parted lips. I frowned. "What're you doing?"

His brows drew together in a countenance that said, you're kidding, right? "What'd you think? I'm your wingman." I could detect the felicity in his voice almost instantly. It was simultaneously startling yet pleasing.

"And Eli?"

"Elijah sends his regards. Unfortunately, he cannot join us merry men in our quest tonight since his psychotic ex-girlfriend happens to be present." He raised a discreet finger at a short brown girl beside Alaska.

"Oh." I looked over my shoulder at where we'd left Eli. He stood a lone wolf amongst many; chin tilted up, a vicious curl to his mouth akin to the blade of a dented knife. In one hand, he still cupped my champagne. When he noticed me watching, he made an elaborate gesture of scratching his face whilst flipping me the bird.

I turned back to Ryder. "I think I can handle myself."

He slapped an amiable palm against my chest, right over the golden crest of Royal Imperial which was woven upon my suit jacket. "Trust me, buddy. Alaska Finton is one tough nut to crack."

He didn't give me the chance to retort something along the lines of kinky, before maneuvering me towards Alaska and her group of friends and thrusting me under the harsh glare of the spotlight.

My mother once told me that paintings were articles only meritorious of acclaim when regarded from afar. If you loitered too close with an eye of admiration and a gait of wealth and knowing, you'd begin to notice the flaws and imperfections; the hasty brush strokes and the layers of paint plastered upon each other in splotches, the fissures of the canvas and the ugliness of the colors.

The once beauteous thing would be diminished to a spectacle not worth viewing.

Such a thing could not be said about Alaska Finton. She was breathtaking from any angle, ethereal and glistening like rubies and gold. The tincture of crimson along her cheeks was shrouded by a spectrum of light that flitted over her porcelain skin, slow and hesitant like a lover's kiss.

Her mouth, coated a fierce red, was parted, frozen as it curved upwards in an expression that accentuated the slope of her cheekbones.

"Ryder?" she said, surprise evidently ringing through her tone.

Ryder removed his arm for my shoulders. His voice was somewhat strained. "Alaska! It's been a while."

She arched a curved eyebrow, almost as if it was a contradiction. "Oh, that it has." Her voice was soft and lilted with the articulated cadence of a perfect girl.

"I came to introduce you to my friend, Chase Stetson," Ryder said broadly, his voice taking on a tone of casual arrogance, coated with just enough candy-cane politeness. It was admirable how quickly he could done his Golden Boy persona.

Alaska's eyes flicked over to me and it was catastrophe and genesis all at once. I could easily discern that in the split second that her iris' slipped over me, she found me desirable. It was the slight twitch of her brow, the smallest curl of her lips, that gave her away.

Finding the lull in the current of torrential seas, I seized my opportunity and extended my arm, fingertips poised towards her to be either accepted or rejected, even though I knew that the latter was an impossibility.

Slowly, and holding my eyes, she slipped her hand into mine; bringing soft silk to crushed velvet. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Chase."

I raised her knuckles and brushed my lips over them, smiling knowingly at her. "The pleasure's all mine."

Someone squealed but I ignored it; my eyes never wavered from the prize. 

And as if the universe had connived to gift me this moment, the song playing in the background changed. "May I have this dance?" I asked in the most chivalrous manner I could muster.

She freed herself from her circle of friends, her hand still in mine. "Of course."

I led her into the knot of dancing couples and guided her free hand up my shoulder, looping an arm around her slender waist. The music that enveloped us was slow and melancholic, deflecting off the decorated walls and into my ears.

I was vaguely aware that none of the other couples were talking, eyeing each other with want and hate and lust.

"Alaska," I said without any particular reason. I just liked the way her name plummeted from my tongue, like scorching ambrosia. "Why Alaska? Why not Michigan or Cincinnati?"

Her iris' settled on me. They were dense green forests that enticed you to enter whilst concurrently denying entrance. This close to her, the scent of peaches invaded my nostrils. "Because Alaska is fucking cold."

A smile slipped onto my lips before I could stop myself. I knew she'd seen it because she mirrored my expression. To mask the displeasure I felt at that, I quickly asked, "Are you?"

She leaned closer as if sharing a secret. The conspiracy of unplanned murder glistened in her gaze. "Freezing."

"Hm." Keeping in time to the music, I twirled her. As she came full circle, facing me once more, my fingers splayed across the glossy fabric of her dress, trailing tip by tip down the arch of her spine. "Doesn't look that way."

"Oh, don't let that fool you." Her sigh was wistful. "It's all just a fanciful paradox." That statement in itself was a contradiction, but something about the nonchalant scrutiny of her gaze made me think she'd intended that.

And now her careful expression gauged my response.

I paused before replying, taking this time to assess the curves and angles of her face. She was honeyed bourbon scotch and the tender kind of tragedy that even a plethora of words slipping from a poet's mouth couldn't justify.

"What if I just want to figure you out?" I breathed, my voice sounding hectic even to my own ears. "Would you let me?"

She blinked. Slowly. Her eyelashes tangled like lovers crashing together, only to lose ardour and break apart. "Maybe . . . I will."

I grinned in triumph but part of me was disappointed to some extent. The conquest felt too easy.

I flitted my attention over her shoulder, at the all expendable people amidst the crowd. Their faces glowed with worth even if it was fleeting. Among them, I caught Vincent's eye. He was staring right at me, his mouth drawn into a line harder than the diamonds embedded in my watch.

I must have stiffened despite not wanting to because Alaska asked, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I said hastily, giving her what I hoped was a reassuring smile. When I finally summoned enough courage to glance up again, Vincent was gone.

Something raided my lungs. A gas denser than oxygen that invaded and conquered, and looted me of breath.

I felt Alaska's body swaying against mine, but I was mindlessly moving to the song now as the devil roared in my ear with his serpent-like hiss.

Impress them! impress her. Impr—

Someone tapped my shoulder. It was Ryder, wearing a passive expression, although his tone was tinged with undertones of annoyance. "Change of plan. We're leaving early. Vincent wants us back at school."

My throat seemed to be constructed of glass shards as I swallowed. "Right. I'll be there in a minute."

He nodded stiffly and disappeared into the crowd, barely sparing me a glance.

When I turned back to Alaska, she was smiling. "Your king calls."

Her words were only an incentive for the unease that spread through my body at the speed of light. Ignoring her comment, I squeezed the hand that was still encased in mine. "When will I see you again?"

A parenthesis bloomed in her right cheek. "Whenever you look."

Too motherfucking easy.

"I'm afraid I have to go now," I told her, trying my hardest to sound as forlorn as possible. The half-smile she gave me before stepping back mirrored the crescent of a blood moon.

As I walked away from her, the devil at my ear grew louder and louder, sustained by curious glances that onlookers threw my way.

Ryder was waiting for me outside. When he noticed me from the corner of his eye, he spat out a, "Took you long enough," and began crossing the road before I could speak.

I followed him wordlessly, trying to assess the sudden shift in his behavior. Perhaps the air was more influential than I'd initially presumed.

As we stepped through the grey gates of Royal Imperial, I dared to ask, "Where're we going?"

"Vincent's room." He might as well have pressed a Molotov cocktail against my chest because just like that, those two words detonated the paranoia seething within my chest.

My breath left me in short, stuttered heaves as we reached Vincent's door. 

What had I done wrong? And more importantly, what would Vincent do to me?

Ryder walked inside without knocking and I helplessly followed.

Stepping into Vincent's room was like stepping back in time. Baroque furniture in varied hues of brown and gold greeted us to construct a sepia photograph semblance. Posters from both world wars danced along the walls, crooked and overlapping in abstract collages. And the walls that weren't plastered were lined with shelves, bulging under the weight of elapsed centuries.

And there was Vincent himself, leaning casually against his desk. I felt so inferior before him that I realized I was wrong to think I ruled the throne earlier. I was no king. He was.

So I kept my eyes trained safely on his shoes.

Johnny burst inside seconds later. "Sorry, I'm late," he panted. The top buttons of his shirt were undone and he hurriedly tucked the white fabric back into his pants. One hand held his suit jacket, the other tried to tame his unkempt hair.

If my tongue wasn't numb, I would have laughed at his bedraggled state.

"What's happening?" he asked me. Now that he tilted his head to the side, I could see a hickey burning brightly just under his jaw.

I stole a peek at Vincent but once our gazes locked, there was no going back. His expression was grave like crime and hypocrisy. I held my ground and stared back but my very bones shook.

Slowly, teasing his prey, he stalked towards me. I tensed, prepared for his wrath that I'd witnessed many times, inflicted ruthlessly upon others. When he stopped right in front of me, his thin pink lips shifted the slightest bit.

His hand clapped my shoulder so quickly that I winced, but when I looked at him again, he was grinning. "Chase, my boy," he said admiringly. "I knew it the second I saw you. I knew you'd be the one to avenge me."

What? 

"Avenge you?" I mumbled, raising a hesitant eyebrow.

"Indeed." He stretched the word out to match his wide smile, then paused and glanced around at the others. "I need to have a private conversation with Chase." With a flick of his wrist he dismissed them, as if he hadn't completely wasted their time. There wasn't no question to overrule his command.

Eli and Johnny left silently. Ryder seemed to be moving painstakingly slow. Just as he reached the door, his hand curved around the handle, he looked at me sideways. His expression was stony, no sign of his miraculous smile from St. Jude's.

Then, he gave his head a slight, almost indiscernible shake, and walked out of the room.