Sacred Devotion [Mattheo Riddle]

CHAPTER THREE

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I couldn't take my eyes off her.

The moment that Hat barked "Gryffindor" and she slid off the stool, something snapped awake in me—sharp, sudden, like a blade catching the light. She stood there, all wide eyes and trembling hands, a deer in a den of wolves, and I should've looked away. Should've gone back to picking at the roast on my plate or trading barbs with Theodore Nott beside me. But I didn't. I couldn't.

Desiree Thorne. That's what McGonagall had called her, and the name stuck in my skull like a splinter. She shuffled toward the Gryffindor table, her dark hair spilling over her shoulders, catching the candlelight in a way that made it look alive—soft waves I could imagine wrapping around my fingers. Her frame was slight, almost fragile, draped in those plain robes that did nothing to hide the curve of her hips or the way she moved, hesitant but graceful, like she didn't know her own pull. My gaze traced her, lingering on the line of her jaw, the faint flush creeping up her neck. She was pretty—too pretty, maybe, for a place like this. My pulse kicked up, a low thrum I chalked up to lust. Had to be. What else could it be?

I shifted in my seat, elbows braced on the table, and kept watching as she sat down next to Potter, that scar-headed git who probably thought he'd just scored a new pet. She looked small next to him, out of place, her hands clutching the edge of the bench like it might buck her off. I smirked, letting my eyes drag over her again—down the slope of her shoulders, the way her lips parted slightly as she nodded at something Potter said. Yeah, lust. That's what this was. A quick, hot flare I could burn out and forget. I'd seen girls like her before—soft, breakable, gone in a week when Hogwarts chewed them up.

But then she looked up, and our eyes locked.

It hit me like a hex—straight through the chest, no warning. Those eyes, dark and deep, weren't just scared. There was something in them—something raw, something that didn't bend. My smirk faltered, and I felt my jaw tighten. She didn't look away, not at first, and for a second, I wasn't sure who was staring down who. My blood hummed, louder now, and it wasn't just her face or her form doing it. It was..more. A prickle at the back of my neck, a twist in my gut I didn't like. Lust didn't feel like this—like I needed to watch my step, like she was a trap I hadn't seen coming.

"Mattheo," Theo's voice cut in, low and lazy beside me. "You're staring. What's the deal?"

I didn't answer, didn't look at him. Couldn't. She broke the gaze first, ducking her head, and I exhaled—hadn't even realized I'd been holding my breath. My fingers curled into my palms, nails biting skin. She wasn't just some pretty thing to toy with. I could feel it, that itch of unease threading through the heat. Who was she? Some nobody from Ilvermorny, sure—Parkinson had muttered about the fire, the exchange bit—but there was something off. Something I didn't trust.

I leaned back, forcing my eyes to the plate in front of me, but they drifted back to her anyway. She was picking at her food now, head down, hair shielding her face. Innocent, maybe. Weak, on the surface. But that look she'd given me—it wasn't weak. It was a spark, a warning, and it pissed me off how much it stuck. Lust, I told myself again, harder this time. That's all it was. I'd figure her out, unravel her, and toss her aside like the rest. Except my chest wouldn't settle, and my hands wouldn't unclench, and every time she moved—even the smallest twitch—I noticed.