I don’t know enough, and I need to change that. The ban on her has been lifted and it’s time to claim her, to make sure that the entire school knows she belongs to The Elite, to me. She’s too beautiful to be left unprotected, that little fuckwit Elliot Williams already tried to touch what’s mine today. He’s lucky I only ordered an ass kicking, not for him to have his fucking hand removed.

The juniors and seniors already know that Starling is off-limits. They don’t know why, but they were warned the moment she stepped onto my radar that she was untouchable, that she had The Elites’ protection. Thank fuck Logan is in her homeroom, he saw Elliot shove his hand up my little bird’s skirt and dragged the asshole off her. If he hadn’t, if that fucker had touched her, had breached her or even got the scent of my little bird’s pussy on his skin, I’d have killed him.

As it is, he’ll probably be pissing blood for a few days and he’s going to have to find a new school. Or maybe I’ll let him stay so he can act as a warning to everyone else at GAA about what happens if you touch The Elites’ property.

My body heats with awareness as she walks into the cafeteria, her arm looped through her friend’s. She’s so beautiful, so perfect, so utterly mine. Even though she doesn’t know it yet.

I want to go and get her, to have her sit on my lap while I feed her, but instead I watch as they head to an empty table on the other side of the room. Last year she wasn’t a temptation, because the freshmen eat in a different dining area, but now she’s here, her cell in her hand, laughing, and I can’t tear my eyes away.

Clay’s research is always one-hundred-percent accurate. So when he told me she and her mother ate a lot of Italian food, I contacted the kitchens and made sure they altered the menu just for her. I’m pleased to see that he was right, as the server delivers the lasagna I arranged to her table. I watch as she cuts off a slice and eats it, her eyes closing, her smile wide. She likes it. I’m glad. She’s skinny, but I don’t think it’s deliberate. Not like her friend who orders a salad and stares longingly at my little bird’s lunch. According to Clay’s research, she usually gets home late and gets up early, working as many hours as Henry, her boss, will give her.

She’s exhausted, but I can fix that. I can look after her, take care of her. I’m only seventeen, but I know that Starling is mine, that our age is irrelevant. The way I feel about her might perhaps be called obsession, but I prefer to think of it as all-consuming desire. Whatever it is, it’s time to make her understand she’s mine.

When she stills and looks around, I know she can feel my eyes on her. I want her to know she’s being watched, but I don’t want her to know it’s me who can’t look away. Not yet. Lowering my gaze, I carefully keep her in my periphery until she goes back to eating. The moment I know she can’t see me, I allow my gaze to lift to her again and I don’t look away for the rest of lunch.