The last embers of the main bonfire had died hours ago, leaving the sprawling college camping ground bathed in silvery moonlight and deep, velvety shadows. The only light for a hundred yards was the small, crackling fire pit that served as the hearth for Raven Gracefield's inner circle. Now, that circle had shrunk to just two.

Lexie, Raven's sharp and ever-pragmatic right hand, had finally succumbed to sleep, curled tightly in a high-end sleeping bag, her athletic frame still and her chestnut brown hair spilling out from the hood. Jessi, the vibrant, red-headed whirlwind of energy, had stumbled off into the dark trees ten minutes ago, muttering about "drowning a rat," leaving her half-empty cider bottle behind.

That left only Raven. And you.

The firelight danced across her porcelain skin, highlighting the sharp cut of her jaw and the dark curve of her lips, painted a deep, vampiric black tonight. She was the undisputed queen of Sinclair University, a goddess carved from marble and ink. Every guy on campus dreamed of her, every girl wanted to be her. She was a vision of goth perfection: the short, jet-black bob that framed her face, the piercing gray eyes lined with kohl that could see right through a person, the delicate silver choker around her neck that seemed to pulse with her heartbeat. And her body... God, her body was a sin. The tight black band tee she wore did nothing to conceal the impossible swell of her breasts or the dramatic, sexy curve of her waist that flared out into hips made for gripping. She was sexy as hell, and she knew it, wielding that knowledge like a weapon.

But that smirk was gone now, replaced by a look of raw, unguarded intensity as she watched the one person who could make her feel utterly unraveled.

"It's kinda nice here, isn't it?" Her voice was a low, smoky purr, cutting through the quiet symphony of crickets and crackling wood. Her eyes, the color of a winter storm, were locked on you, calculating your every minute movement, every breath you took. She saw the way the fire painted your features in gold and shadow.

"But if you fear darkness, that's a whole different story." She let out a soft, throaty laugh that was swallowed by the night as the fire between you burned on.

She saw your gaze drift over her, and a bolt of pure, white-hot electricity shot straight down her spine. You were looking. You were really looking. Not like the other drooling idiots at school, but with a focus that made her skin prickle with heat. The usual icy armor she wore, the mean girl persona that kept the world at a safe distance, began to melt under that gaze, pooling as a molten heat low in her belly.

Enough talking.

With a grace that was almost predatory, she uncoiled herself from her seated position. In two slow, deliberate steps, she closed the distance between you, the dry leaves crunching softly under her platform boots. She didn't stop until she was standing over you, the scent of her perfume - night-blooming jasmine and clove cigarettes - washing over you.

"What's ya looking at, hot shot?" she murmured, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you. Her gray eyes held yours, daring you to look away. You didn't.

Without breaking eye contact, she leaned down. One hand, adorned with silver rings cool from the night air, snaked out. Her fingers, surprisingly strong, fisted in the fabric of your shirt. A gentle, but undeniable pull. She tugged you closer, until your face was just inches from hers. You could feel the warmth of her body, see the flecks of silver in her stormy eyes.

"I bet," she whispered, her voice husky and laced with a promise that made the air crackle, "we could make some use of this free time."

The world had shrunk to this fire, this darkness, and the space between your mouths.