Alchem Academy, 1

One month is all the peace I have with my girl before she’s ripped from me.

Roxy.

My fallen star.

But this time it isn’t just me she’s running from.
They fell for her like she did for me.
It’s their vengeance I seek.

At least, that’s the lie I let myself believe as I promise her first year at Alchem Academy will be her literal hell.

Because even when I tell her to run, she comes back.

Back to me.
Back tous.

And after the pain she’s caused, that’s her mistake.
I’ll make her smile before she breaks this time. I’ll make her heart need me, crave every one of us.

And then I’ll rip her apart.

HIDE FROM US is a standalone read in JOSS PHOENIX’S ALCHEM ACADEMY world.

14+ due to adult situations, self-harm

Excerpt:

Even my once-bully and now-boyfriend, Aster Craven, keeps his secrets. The father who told him to stay away from me before I was made it onto his radar remains a mystery via the connection to my aunt’s pharma company.

“You’re thinking again. I did say it was bad for you,” Bully/boyfriend—Aster—murmurs as he leans down to brush his lips across my temple.

Warmth sprinkles across my skin in the wake of his brief touch. Long, inked fingers flex at my side. I know he wants me on his lap, but I refuse to move my tush in a cafeteria filled with people.

Especially wearing Alchem’s pornographically short—mandatory, welcome to the twenty-first century and beyond—skirt that belongs more in anime than reality. I clutch my snobby coffee in its porcelain mug, another remnant of Alchem’s unique culture. I requested bamboo cups we could take to class and was glared at until I removed myself from the lunch line.

So here I sit, twirling my sushi rolls about on my plate with a side serve of extra kimchi Elen steals with the hint of a smile tugging at his clear lip piercings.

“Roxy.” Aster sighs when I don’t reply to his passive-aggressive barb, though I’m not sure if he’s amused or exasperated with me, or plain tired. Pale hair flops artistically over his brow as he watches me through dark eyes that never leave my face.

His arm snakes around my shoulder and drops to my waist, drawing me tight to his side in an overt display of ownership that sits both pleasantly over me and that I hate all at the same time.

A girl can have dueling emotions, right?

I don’t want to risk knowing my short few months with him are over already—we both know that’s coming, thanks to his father’s sickening obsession with me—and focus on the three other boys seated around our table, their backs turned to the room. Not that it matters, because their attention is focused singularly on me, and I can’t escape.

K-pop star Elen Vash with his Korean characteristics and blue/black streaked hair, plus facial piercings and a gaze to match are courtesy of a custom range of contacts he wields like weapons. His tongue drifts across his bottom lip to toy with an anodized blue ring there as he watches me with lazy eyes that disguise none of the intelligence that lies beneath his easy facade.

Nyx Huxley, our resident starving musician, is covered in green ink he’s done himself, tortured leather that covers narrow shoulders, and a fuzzy mass of hair that’s recently spouted a few dreads. Like Elen, nothing about him is Alchem Academy issue worthy. A guitar case covered in retro grunge band stickers leans next to his seat, most of his crinkled brown hair pulled back into a manbun. As always, his phone rests in his hands. He taps at the screen absently, a soft melody changing as he works on whatever song currently resides in his head.

Zeke Fallon, I save for last. Our angry boy. If I make a scan around the table starting with Aster as the coldest, through Nyx and Elen getting warmer, Zeke’s constant fury blares off the charts at the other extreme of the scale.

The Elite. The crème de la crème of Alchem Academy. Untouchable.

Zeke glares at me over the hamburger he attacks like both of us have personally affronted him, though I bear his residual punishment. Pure rage emanates from him with every heartbeat. I scoot into Astor’s side without thinking.

The corners of Zeke’s mouth turn up as he places his ragged burger remnants onto his plate, though his eyes never leave me. Not even to blink. Somehow, that makes his anger a darker shade. The emotion emanates across the table, roiling toward me like a palpable thing.

Refusing to give another inch, I stare back, meeting his fury with a hard stare of my own made of too many nights flipping burnt burgers and warding off wandering customer hands.

The sort of labor these boys will never understand.

I flick imaginary grease remnants from beneath my nails as Aster tightens his hold on my waist, leaning a long leg forward in his tailored, charcoal uniform pants to kick Zeke under the table.

“Stop it.” His soft command shouldn’t be audible beyond the edges of our table, but everyone outside the tight radius of our social circle listens.

Zeke alone appears unaffected.

“Get fu–”

“Stop.” Aster’s command rings with power. “Language. You know Roxy doesn’t like it.”

I actually don’t care. This appears to be his hill to die on.

Never shy of sharing his rage, Zeke slams his plate containing his mangled meal against the table and swipes the back of his hand across his face in a grotesque display that goes against everything the Elite and Alchem stand for.

I blink between them. “Don’t blame me for this.” I wave my hands at Zeke, wanting no part in any responsibility of the fight brewing over my head between the two boys. Aster looks down at me pointedly, and I sigh. Committed front, and all. “Fine. Why don’t you say … duck.” I blink again.

“Duck. Are you F—ducking sh—whatever, me?” Zeke snaps, his annoyance and amused irritation vying for prime real estate on his face, his burger and fight forgotten for the moment.

I shake my head and point. “No, duck,” I enunciate, pointing at the feathered bird that waddles right up to Zeke, coming out of literal nowhere, and quacks.

Loud enough to echo.

Zeke ducks on command, and the entire dining hall erupts in laughter.

Swearing, he climbs to his feet to shoo the waddling thing away while I giggle, rocking against Aster’s side, though he might as well be a statue for all the reaction the odd experience ekes out of him. Zeke keeps flapping and the hall breaks up, though the duck ignores everyone as he plays up to the crowd.

For a moment, I stare at this new side of him exposed for the first time. All I ever see is the furious part of Zeke. Right now, him waddling about with bent knees and quacking, pretending to flap his bent elbows, is too hilarious for words.

Finally, the random duck deigns to move away on its own, but not before leaving a duck-sized present right on the toe of Zeke’s boot.

“Ducking fantastic,” he mutters, attempting to swipe the sticky stuff off with his heel as he sits his butt back down. Within seconds, his angry facade reclaims its habitual place, and the status quo resumes as though nothing changed at all.

In this strange world of perceived perfection, Zeke seems to be the sole human with a grip on this twisted reality. For me, there’s no rabbit hole to climb. Two funerals and an empty mansion armed with a service of ghosts is all that remains of my broken family.

And a narcissistic aunt I’d never heard of before my parents’ death who insisted on stuffing me into an Alchem Academy branded uniform a week after I arrived in her home before she dispatched me for my first day at a boarding school I never agreed to attend.

Where I confronted Aster, and the rest of the Elite.

Enter Aster’s twisted brand of obsession—bullying, betrayal, and other assorted variants of pain. Plus, my previous roommate who added a decent dollop of deception right into those cracks when I so stupidly handed her my trust without checking her credentials.

Maybe a side dose of self-harm made it in there too. That last seemed to be the pivot point between Aster and me, and some of the bullying factor dropped away.

None of the intensity.

Aster sat on my bed that night after my last roommate—and his ex—picked apart the trust I gave out. While that hurt was still raw, he took some of it back, pulled me into his arms, and taught me how to kiss.

Then he spent the entire night with his back to my wall, letting me cry on his chest and fall asleep there.

Every touch innocent, all aboveboard, fully clothed.

Promise.

Despite all evidence to the contrary these last weeks, I’ve pretended that the insulated bubble the boys keep me in is perfect, that things will stay this way forever.

I’m getting better at lying to myself each day.

Aster’s fingers twitch at my side along the seam of my shirt, pulling the thin material out from where it tucks into my skirt. The concealed touch sends a thrill through me, but I know he won’t stop there. What Aster Craven wants, he gets.

He’s proven that to me time and again. My knees press together beneath the box pleats that I grip over my thighs with flattened palms to the bench seat beneath us.

“Don't do that.” I wiggle a little as he pulls me in closer, still trying to lift me onto his lap. I huff at his tenacity, but that doesn’t give him pause.

Resilience, meet resistance.

Motion at the table stills, except for Zeke who lifts his burger and contemplates the mangled remains. “Are you gonna tell her?”

Aster’s wandering fingers halt. “Maybe later.”

“Tell me what?” I look up, but he resumes his prior activity, tugging another corner of my shirt out as he watches me.

The edge of his mouth curves into a frown, and he shakes his head once. “It's not time yet.” His fingers graze my stomach, and my eyes drift shut at the rare contact.

“Stop,” I murmur again, but there’s no real effort behind the single syllable.

“You’ve got a new roommate,” Elen butts in, putting me out of my misery. The rockstar—not the wannabe sort, the actual rolling-in-millions or billions or whatever type of crazy-duckbutt fan base the K-pop star of boyband Failure Asylum fame has—rescues me.

I blow out a breath and glare at Aster like it's his fault. Let’s be fair. It probably is, as the boys all seem to know something I don't.

Again.

“I'm happy on my own.”

And in isolation.

His mouth curls up in a sinful smile. “Not that I object to that…” He tugs my shirt up at the back an inch and runs cool fingers along my spine. A shiver of the full body type ripples over me as his look turns speculative. “Speaking of, I wouldn't mind using a little of that privacy before—”

“Too late,” Nyx chips in with an inordinately happy voice for a male who has been non-verbal for over ninety percent of our interactions so far. “She’s already arrived.”

Aster huffs, digging his fingers into my ribs in recompense. I try holding back my giggles, failing when his attack doubles. He does his best to look unaffected, but I know the truth.

“Bullshi—ducks. Tell her everything.” Zeke eats as he talks. Demolishes, really, but he holds to our earlier quacking accord. “She should know about Rhani.”

“Directing, much?” See, there goes my mouth again. “Wait, you can actually talk without swearing?”

Aster’s chest rumbles. “Good to see you getting along.”

I return Zeke’s fresh glare with one of my own, still refusing to back down. It might be my imagination, but I swear the corner of his mouth flickers up.

“Should I get a welcome party out?” I have no idea about Alchem Academy traditions, apart from the Elite who have surrounded me from day one, like an inked, uniformed hamster ball.

While Aster, Zeke, Elen, and Nyx might be considered the Elite of Alchem Academy, there is another group who outranks them, though I suspect Aster is a member. The Eight-ball club. I still have no idea why it’s called that, but it seems that every member has a personal bank account with zeroes exceeding the number nine. After the decimal point, not before. There are three known members: two boys, and a girl.

Represent.

At least it’s not an all-boys club. Maybe someone should earn up and get an invite to even the odds.

“Okay. I'm down to go meet this Rhani person.”

“Rhani and Roxy sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G.” Nyx sings the playground song in an undertone with no emphasis, and perfectly in tune.

I could listen to him for hours.

“Didn’t think you were talking today,” I murmur, nudging his shoulder as much as Aster’s hold on me allows while he still runs his fingers along my ribs in an effort to gain a reaction.

I ignore him as best I can, but he knows every sensitive spot, damn him. 

Despite whatever is supposed to be decorum amongst them, Nyx offers me an impish grin. He wraps one arm around me in a gentle hug, ignoring Aster’s mood, though he withdraws the contact almost as soon as he touches me.

“I can’t promise anything,” Nyx whispers into my hair in his raspy, unused voice, and pulls away to his side of the table.

Aster clears his throat at my side, his nails digging into my skin. “Enough,” he says sharply, and I look up at him in surprise.

“I think I’d pay to see Roxy kiss a girl,” Elen muses, running his tongue along his bottom lip. He plays with the clear, pointed piercing there next to the blue ring I swear he’s not supposed to wear at school.

I remember turning up on the first day at Alchem, watching him change out the blue pointy stud that matched his hair, in his then lime green Lamborghini that he’s recently upgraded for the blue-silver one he drives now.

Gotta match the accessories to the drapes, and all.

Picking Aster’s fingers from my skin one at a time as he watches me, dark eyes hooding with every touch, I rise and manage to shake him off.

Elen grabs for me as I skirt the table, but I avoid him, too.

This girl isn’t without skills.