Read Online Poison Princess by Kresley Cole - Free Book Online Page B

smirked over the rim of his flask. He’d accused me of being like a doll. As I’d gotten ready for school, putting on my bright-red skirt and V-neck vest, with an oversize hair ribbon to match, I’d kind of felt like one.
    Over my shoulder, he said in a goading voice, “Je t’aime en rose.” I like you in pink. Then he sat uninvited beside me.
    Huh? I wasn’t wearing anything pink. Nothing but my bra—
    He’d been looking over my shoulder, straight down my top! Did he have no boundaries?
    And I couldn’t say anything about it, or else I’d lose our battle of wills. I didn’t need this! But I refused to leave my table, to give in to this bully.
    â€œTell me how you learned our tongue,” he said, sounding . . . not irate.
    â€œOnce again, I don’t understand that ridiculous gibberish you keep murmuring. And more, I’m done talking about it.” I began to text my answer to Brand.
    â€œYou typing to that beau of yours?” Again Jackson got that frustrated look on his face. His moods were so changeable.
    â€œ Texting . Yes.”
    â€œHe doan want to fight me after I called you a bitch?”
    Sounds goo—
My thumbs paused on my keyboard.
    â€œOf course, I said that in French,” Jackson continued. “But now I’ve had to go back and think of anything else you might’ve understood.”
    I tried to keep my expression neutral. “Whatever. All I know is that Brandon won’t fight you.”
    â€œBecause he knows I’ll hand him his ass.” Jackson gave me a mean smile.
    â€œNo, because he actually has something to lose by fighting.”
    Jackson didn’t like that comment at all . His gray eyes blazed.
    I realized where I’d seen that color before. On my bedroom wall.
    Those ominous clouds in my mural, the ones aglow with lightning . . . that gray was the color of Jackson’s eyes when he was angry.
    â€œYou think you and Radcliffe and all your stuck-up friends are so much better than everybody else.” His fists clenched, his hands swelling. Tape ripped on one, revealing a deep gash across his fingers. All around it, grisly scar tissue had formed.
    Our fight forgotten, I cried, “What happened to your hand?”
    With a cruel look in his eyes, he pinched my chin and eased his other fist toward my face like he was throwing a punch in slow motion. “The teeth,” he sneered, baring his own. “They cut like a saw blade.”
    He’d been in so many fights, he had scars growing over scars. I jerked back from him with a gasp, and he dropped his hands, his expression suddenly unreadable.
    But I’d received the message loud and clear. This boy was dangerous. I turned away, finishing my text.
    Jackson snagged my sketchbook, shooting to his feet, putting distance between me and his new prize.
    As I scrambled from my seat, he opened the journal, frowning as he tilted a page to a different angle.
    â€œGive it back, Jackson!”
    â€œAh-ah, bébé .” He held it above my head, walking backward, taunting me with it. “Just let ole Jack see.”
    â€œI want it back—NOW!”
    Suddenly he staggered, barely righting himself before he fell. The journal flew out of his grasp, landing on the ground.
    I darted forward and scooped it up. “The bigger they are!” I snapped at him.
    Lucky for me he’d tripped. Maybe he’d backed over the monkey grass.
    My lips parted. Strands of it were still coiled tight around his ankles, dropping to the ground one by one.
    Behind him that line of green was rippling, though there was no breeze. Jackson didn’t seem to know why he’d tripped, but I did.
    Those strands had shot out and bound his ankles. The plants were interacting with another person?
    Plant movement had been my crazy—confined to myreactions, my confusion. I’d found it utterly terrifying to see.
    But were they helping me?