"You can have the Academy but not the window seat."
She sprang up, heart pounding. I shared her anxiety, and my own pulse quickened. "Who's there?"
A moment later, a shape rose from behind a stack of crates, just outside her field of vision. The figure stepped forward, and in the poor lighting, a familiar feature materialised. Messy black hair. Pale blue eyes. A perpetually sardonic smirk.
Christian Ozera.
"Don't worry," he said. "I won't bite. Well, at least not in the way you're afraid of." He chuckled at his own joke.
She didn't find it funny. She had completely forgotten about Christian. So had I. (p. 58)

"What are you doing here?" she asked.
"Taking in the sights, of course. That chair with the tarp on it is particularly lovely this time of year. Over there, we have an old box full of the writings of the blessed and crazy St. Vladimir. And let's not forget that table with no legs in the corner."
"Whatever." She rolled her eyes and moved forward toward the door, wanting to leave, but he blocked her way.
"Well, what about you?" he taunted. "Why are you up here? Don't you have parties to go to ot lives to destroy?"
Some of Lissa's old spark returned. "Wow, that's hilarious. Am I like a rite of passage now? Go and see if you can piss off Lissa to prove how cool you are? Some girl I don't even know yelled at me today, and now I've got to deal with you? What does it take to to be left alone?" (p. 59-60)

"Oh. So that's why you're up here. For a pity party."
"This isn't a joke. I'm serious. "I could tell Lissa was getting angry. It was trumping her earlier distress.
He shrugged and leaned casually against the sloping wall. "So am I. I love pity parties. I wish I'd brought the hats. What do you want to mope about first? How it's going to take you a whole day to be popular and loved again? How you'll have to wait a couple weeks before Hollister can ship out some new clothes? If you spring for rush shipping, it might not be so long."
"Let me leave," she said angrily, this time pushing him aside.
"Wait," he said, as she reached for the door. The sarcasm disappeared from his voice. "What ... um, what was it like?"
"What was what like?" she snapped.
"Being out there. Away from the Academy?"
She hesitated for a moment before answering, caught off guard by what seemed like a genuine attempt at conversation. "It was great. No one knew who I was. I was just another face. Not Moroi. Not royal. Not anything." She looked down at the floor. "Everyone here thinks they know who I am."
"Yeah. It's kind of hard to outlive your past," he said bitterly. (p. 60)

"You're late," he told her. "Been waiting for a while."
Lissa pulled up one of the rickety chairs, brushing dust off it. "I figured you'd be tied up with Headmistress Kirova."
He shook his head. "Not much to it. They suspended me for a week, that's all. Not like it's hard to sneak out." He waved his hands around. "As you can see."
"I'm surprised you didn't get more time."
A patch of sunlight lit up his crystal-blue eyes. "Disappointed?"
She looked shocked. "You set someone on fire!"
"No, I didn't. Did you see any burns on him?"
"He was covered in flames."
"I had them under control. I kept them off to him."
She sighed. "You shouldn't have done that." (p. 110-111)

"What are you going to do then?" she asked. "You going to turn me in?"
He shook his head and smiled. "No. I think it's hot."
She stared, eyes widening and heart racing. Something about the shape of his lips intrigued her. "Rose thinks you're dangerous," she blurted out nervously. "She thinks you might have killed the fox." (p. 114)

"Stop with the attitude," I warned, pitching my voice low. "You told. You told how Lissa had to feed off me."
"Tell me," said Lissa desperately. "Tell her she's wrong."
Christian dragged his eyes from me to her, and as they regarded each other, I felt such a powerful wave of attraction, it was a wonder it didn't knock me over. Her heart was in her eyes. It was obvious to me he felt the same way about her, but she couldn't see it, particularly since he was still glaring at her.
"You can stop it, you know," he said. "You don't have to pretend anymore."
Lissa's giddy attraction vanished, replaced by hurt and shock over his tone. "I ... what? Pretend what? ..."
"You know what. Just stop. Stop with the act."
Lissa stared at him, her eyes wide and wounded. She had no clue I'd gone off on him last night. She had no clue that he believed she hated him.
"Get over feeling sorry for yourself, and tell us what's going on," I snapped at him. "Did you or didn't you tell them?"
He fixed me with a defiant look. "No. I didn't."
"I don't believe you."
"I do," said Lissa. (p. 168)