Free The Oxford Inheritance by Ann A. McDonald Page B

down and register she was on the first floor, high above a cobblestone passageway, before the noise of the porter came again down the hall. Cassie swung her legs over the ledge and gripped hold of the rough stone ledge, lowering herself until her legs were dangling, fifteen feet above the darkness.
    Cassie said a quick prayer, and let go.
    She hit the ground with a shuddering jolt, rolling quickly to her side to absorb the force of the fall. But not quickly enough. Pain shot upthrough her ankle, so fierce she had to bite down on her lip hard to stop the cry of agony. She struggled to her feet, feeling the sting of her grazed palms against the stones.
    â€œHey, you!” the porter’s angry yell rang out in the dark courtyard.
    Cassie turned to see him leaning out of the window above her. She quickly bent her head away from him and limped through the narrow pathway. She was toward the back of the college, by the service entrances to the kitchens; boxes were piled in heaps by the doors, and the trash bins waited in neat rows. Every step sent a fresh shard of pain ricocheting up her ankle, but she didn’t have time to slow. He would be coming after her, she knew, doubling back through the vaults or taking some other route out of there.
    She slipped through an archway, and through a series of small courtyards, trying to get her bearings as her heartbeat thundered loudly in her ears. This was a part of the college she’d yet to explore, away from the main study rooms and student haunts, and she lost precious time ducking down a walkway only to meet a dead end by the walls.
    Cassie retraced her steps, shivering. It was still dark out, but a lamp was shining from the top of the tower, and she used it as a navigation beacon, making her way through the rabbit warren of passageways until finally she emerged into the main courtyard.
    â€œWatch out!” The voice came as Cassie hurtled into a tall, solid mass that caught her by the arms before she could stumble. Cassie braced herself, expecting to find the porter and all his rage. Instead, she looked up to find a stranger staring back at her.
    Cassie felt her breath still. He was tall and blond, in his twenties, perhaps, with his suit cut precisely over a taut, lean torso. Backlit by the glow from a nearby lamp, she would almost have said he looked angelic. Then he moved into the light, and that simple description fell away: his features were too bold, too deeply etched for such a soft, sweet description. No, this was a fallen angel: all angles and razor-cut cheekbones, his eyes unnervingly dark against the pale gold of the rest of his coloring.His eyes met Cassie’s, and she felt a chill in her chest. A flash of recognition.
    â€œWhere are you going in such a hurry?” he asked, arching an eyebrow with amusement.
    Cassie stepped back fast. “I . . . the library,” she managed to lie. “My computer just crashed, and I have an essay due.”
    His lips curled into a smile. “A fresher,” he said, lingering over the words. His low drawl sent a shiver down Cassie’s back. “Don’t worry,” he told her, smirking. “The tutors all like to scare you, but they won’t bite.”
    â€œI should really . . .” Cassie gestured vaguely. She glanced behind them anxiously, expecting the porter to appear, but the courtyard was silent and still.
    The man’s face changed. “You’re bleeding,” he said quietly.
    Cassie looked down at her hand. “It’s nothing,” she said quickly. “A scrape.”
    Before she could move away, the man took hold of her hand, prying the fingers open to reveal the cut.
    â€œI’m fine,” she protested again, thrown by his touch, but the man didn’t let go. He ran his thumb lightly over the wound, his eyes not leaving hers. Cassie stared back, trapped. For a moment, she felt the old anger rise up in her, a surge of fierce heat. Then he pressed down, hard