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Sampson?

Yes.

That only made me feel about ten percent better. Yeah, Sampson owed us a favor, but he was still a lycan. His loyalty was to his pack and no one else.

Take Luce.

Lucian will only stir them up. I can handle it.

I wanted to argue, but I didn’t have the right. Suggesting that he was incapable would only twist the knife—the one I stabbed him with eight years ago…

Tara climbed into my lap, the massive bonfire’s glow backlighting her curves. Most of the other guys on the team were in similar situations. We were celebrating after all. We’d destroyed the Pirates at our Homecoming game, forty-seven to three. Coach said he’d never seen a game like it. Now everyone wanted to bask in the victory.

Everyone except my anti-social, booknerd brother. I was honestly surprised he even came to watch the game. He’d probably use it as leverage to guilt me into going to something stupid like a history museum. When he finally got tired of sitting by himself on the other side of the fire pit, he stalked over to me. I took another swig from the flask that had been smuggled into my hand. The warm buzz that coursed through my insides rivaled the warm body pressed against me.

“Give me the keys.” Quinn put his hand out, face turned down in a scowl.

“Well, hello brother!” I said instead. “You’ll have to find your own cheerleader. This one’s mine.” I buried my face in Tara’s neck with a growl, making her squeal with laughter.

My twin wasn’t amused. “I don’t want a cheerleader. I want the keys. You’re drinking.”

“Yes, I am!” I thrust the flask in his direction. “You should try it. Might make a proper man out of you.” I was antagonizing him, and I knew I shouldn’t, but he made it too damn easy. Why did he have to be such a pussy? He should’ve tried to be more like me. Then we could play football together and pick up girls together. Proper brother stuff. I bet Tara would have loved to be the meat in a twin sandwich.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, upsetting his dorky glasses. “Just give me the keys, Bellamy, and let me know when you’re ready to leave.”

“I have a better idea,” I told him, getting more and more irritated that he was still standing there like a giant cockblock. “How about I keep the keys so I can do a victory lap with my girl, and you get lost. Go find one of your friends to take you home.”

Tara snickered while her cherry lips teased my ear. “He doesn’t have any.”

“There’s your homework then, Q.” I shifted Tara further onto my lap, and she ground down against me. “Make some friends. Get laid. Just get the fuck out of my sight, fucking buzzkill.” I turned my attention back to my cheerleader prize but felt him glare at me for a few more seconds. Finally, he left, disappearing into the night and taking his shitty attitude with him.

The next time I saw him was three days later. He’d been bloody and broken. Ruined, because of me.

Just let me know if you change your mind.

I locked my phone with a sigh and slipped it back into my pocket. I was next in line when my chest suddenly seized, pain and fear strangling my heart in a chokehold. It forced the air from my lungs in a ragged rush, and I lurched away from the counter to stumble for the restroom, not caring what conclusions people drew. Once I was out of sight, I shadow-dashed back to the library, my connection with Blue yanking me like an unruly dog on a leash.

Then I saw why.

She was lying in a heap on the bottom landing of the stairs, her body angled against the baluster like she’d fallen into it. Fuck, I think she had. She was ghost-white and shaking, a trickle of blood making its way down the side of her face. It took every ounce of will to suppress my beast at seeing the state of her. She blinked up at me in a daze when I skidded to my knees beside her.

“Baby, what happened?” The words trembled, my hands even more so as I tried to figure out where it was safe to touch her. “What hurts?”

She just stared at me with glassy eyes, pain creasing the corners. She was in shock.

“I need you to tell me what hurts.” Panic broke my voice. “Please, baby. I can’t move you until you tell me what hurts.”

“Everything,” she finally croaked. She drew a thready breath, wincing at the pain even that small movement caused. Fear sliced through me like a razor blade until she narrowed it down. “Mostly my arm.”

“Okay.” I traced my fingers over her cheek with a feather-soft touch before moving them to her left arm, where it was cradled awkwardly in her lap. “Let me see.”

“It’s just a bad sprain,” she argued while I gently slid the loose sleeve of her blouse up.

I hissed a curse, and she turned a little green. Her forearm was bruising purple and swelling to the point it looked more like a deformed eggplant than a limb. She swallowed a distressed sound that had my gryphon raging.

“This is not a sprain,” I forced out between my clenched teeth. “I’m taking you to the ER. You need an x-ray and⁠—”

“No.” She cut me off with surprising finality. “I can’t go to the hospital.”