She slinks up beside him, wrapping her manicured arm through his like it’s made to be there.
Did she purposely shorten her skirt?
Her long lashes flutter as she gives me a once-over, slow and unimpressed, before her lips curve in a smile sharp enough to cut.
“Oh,” she says, her tone light. “Didn’t see you there, charity case. Shouldn’t you be… I don’t know, scrubbing toilets or filing paperwork or something? Whatever it is they let you do around here without powers to pay for the waste of space you are?”
Her smile widens, faux-innocent. “Unless you’ve run out of supplies.” The scene around me changes. I look around at my new surroundings. A dirty public restroom as Atticus and Daphne look in from the door. Someone comes up behind me and dumps blue toilet cleaner over my head, burning my eyes.
Atticus doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t defend me. Just stands there, still staring at me. Then he turns and walks away like I’m nothing at all.
“I’ve got better things to do,” he mutters as he walks off. Daphne’s still standing there with a smug smirk.
“Daphne Langley.” A professor snaps from down the hall.
“You better not be using your powers again. I will issue you a warning.”
The vision fades, leaving me standing in the middle of the hall. Frozen and clean again.
Daphne faces the professor with her lips in a pout.
“Sorry, Professor Bryce. I needed to see something for my homework.”
“Don’t let it happen again,” the professor replies in a bored tone and walks off.
I can’t believe that bitch used her powers on me. It’s against academy rules to use powers on other students outside of training, but apparently when you’re in Pride, you get a slap on the wrist.
My chest feels tight, but I don’t cry. I won’t. I’m Wrath. I don’t cry over boys or bonds or betrayal. What is his problem? He wouldn’t care if I died in a ditch.
Still, as I head back toward the dorms, my throat aches with something unfamiliar. Something hollow.
Why does it hurt this much?
Why do I feel this cracked open over someone I don’t know?
And why, despite everything… do I still feel the heat of his hand on my arm?
14
Thou Shalt Not Hide From Thy Sins
Arwen
Idevour my breakfast like a Glutton who has been on a diet. I’ve missed so many dinners now trying to avoid any bond interactions I’m feeling as fragile as the nurse from Apex Arena made me out to be. The usual chaos of the dining hall is buzzing around me.
The days are getting easier. Brix’s dumb impressions of Instructor Marrik, my study session with Maddox, which included repeating all the ways I could use my ball-point pen in defense in my head, and, of course, curling up with the latest book Professor Gabriel lent me- It’s helping.
It feels normal.
What’s not normal is the cryptic stormcloud that was drawn on my mirror this morning with Holly’s lipstick. Before Holly could see it, I used my new comforter from the academy store to wipe it off. The last thing I need is her thinking I’m insane. I don’t know who is messing with me, but silly drawings are very low on my problem list.
I’m not good as new; I guess I never was… But I’m not cracked in half anymore either. Just patched up with duct tape and sarcasm, which has always been the norm for me.
“Okay, but hear me out,” Brix says around a mouthful of toast, “what if instructor Marrik is secretly a banshee? That would explain the screaming. And the body hair.”
“He doesn’t scream,” Holly says, rolling her eyes. “He projects authority. Loudly. Into your face.”
“He’s Wrath and a combat instructor,” I add, managing a genuine smile. “Being terrifying is his brand.”
