She leaves it at that, because clearly, she can’t bring herself to say the words aloud. Tomison is right. And I have to face it head-on.
It’s not long before the opportunity presents itself. The next morning, I’m planted beside Izabel in the busy Rawbond common lounge, picking at a plate of fruit. We have a long day of classes and training ahead of us.
My fragile peace shatters when a shadow falls across my half-empty plate. I look up slowly because there’s something ominous in the air. The people eating around me have gone silent.
Perielle, the Strategos beauty queen, is standing over me. Towering, really, and she sneers like the best of them. My eyes jump over her perfect eye makeup—soft and warm—which doesnothingto blunt the edge of her razor-sharp, murderous gaze.
“Everyone’s heard about your room, commoner,” she says. “Out with it. Who are you fucking?”
Damn.Rightin the middle of breakfast, too.
I hide a flinch at how close to the truth Perielle’s guess hits. I won’t let the rest of the pack see weakness in me.
This is a challenge. I know it is because Anassa’s irritation crackles like a growl, the walls between us temporarily thinner.She’s offended by Perielle’s attack, as if a pup just nipped at her heel.
I’ve been silent too long. I can only hope that it projects confidence rather than cowardice.
“Why are you asking?” Izabel cuts in. “Are you worried there’s someone here youhaven’tbanged yet?”
I’m sure she’s not proud of that one, but I am. I want to take Perielle’s regal, pretty façade and fracture it in my bare hands with a sickly crunch, like bone breaking. I want to feel it happen, and Anassa does, too.
“Actually, Venna,” Perielle says, deliberately mixing up the twins’ names, “I’ve already found my wolf’s mate.”
She waves her hand in a halfhearted gesture towards the other half of the common room, and my eyes follow it to Jonah. The cruel Daemos Rawbond waves back with a predatory grin. His eyes glow like he’s imagining fucking Perielle in a pool of our blood.
Whispers ignite around the lounge. Based on what Izabel drunkenly told me the other night, mated direwolves are very rare. This has got to be giving Perielle some serious confirmation bias.
In other words: she’s certain she’s special, and this only proves it.
Before I can process how viscerally disturbing this match is, Perielle sweeps my plate off the table. It tilts at the edge briefly before crashing to the ground, sending chunks of fruit and bits of egg and toast exploding across the floor. The ceramic shatters with a deafening crash that silences whatever conversations were still going.
Every single person in the room is looking at us now.
It’s the pettiest playground bullying I’ve ever seen, and all from a woman who thinks herself a queen. I look around the room, sure that everyone will see right through it.
But it’s Perielle. A pretty face like hers brainwashes people into mindless worship. They’re glaring atme, like they’re offended that I’ve dirtied her boots with the breakfast I’m now not going to get to eat.
“Oops,” she says sweetly. Izabel’s hand tightens on her fork.
Perielle is worshipped. Breaking her perfect face in front of everyone would hardly help my popularity. It would be like ripping out Tomison’s shiny red hair. I can’t do that, so I bend down and start to pick up the pieces of my broken plate.
Except the moment I do, the high road I’ve taken puts me right in the line of fire.
Perielle’s boot snaps towards my face. Kicking me like a dog, then?
No.
Instinct slams through me, and I dodge her blow easily. She’s slow. Or maybe she thought I’d just roll over and take it like the commoner I am. But she doesn’t know how hard people like me have had to fight every fucking day of our lives.
I’ve never just laid down and taken anything, and I’m not starting today.
It takes a concentrated effort not to slide the broken piece of plate between her ribs. But I manage to release it and rise slowly. There’s a pressure in my chest like the beginnings of a growl. Perielle doesn’t retreat, but she doesn’t try to strike me again, either.
I speak slowly and clearly so that every single person in this room can hear it. “I’m sure that you’re used to these other Bonded bowing to you and tearing themselves apart for your approval, but as you’re so clearly aware, I amnot one of them. Try kicking me again, and I’ll cut your foot off at the ankle and feed it to my wolf.”
Anassa’s dark amusement flares in the following silence. She’s satisfied, like my fury has filled her belly.
Maybe this is truly what she wants from me, then—more violence.
