Maisie

I snatched it off the desk swiftly.

Thankfully, Cole had been too focused on my face to see it.

It’d been happening more frequently than I could help.

The voice in my head getting louder. Different parts of me morphing. Yesterday, I’d had fangs for teeth when I woke up. And when I had opened the kitchen door, I tore off the entire thing from its hinges.

Whatever Jericho had done to suppress it had begun to rebound. She was closer to the surface. I didn’t know if I was ready yet. But, either way, it was coming soon.

"So, what do you say, Maisie?" Cole’s droning drew me back to the present. "With me, you wouldn’t need to be collecting scraps from underneath tables anymore. I’ll even be nice and fuck you gently the first few times... if you get on your knees and beg like the desperate little slut you are."

Slut.

Jenny was instantly there. "Leave her alone, Cole. Nobody wants to be subjected to that infected lump between your legs anyway."

"Shut up, half-breed bitch," Tucker snarled at her.

Slut.

I hadn’t looked away from Cole. My vision had tunneled again.

I wasn’t usually violent. But I’d had enough violent thoughts lately to understand that for all my meekness, I was being given a Lycan with a thirst for blood. I’d had more urges to kill people in the last four weeks than I had in my entire life.

I was simply going to lift my chair and slam it against Cole’s skull, when Mr. Boris walked into the classroom.

"Alright everyone, settle down," he called.

Cole blew me a kiss and carried his chair over to his desk, but not before jamming his foot into mine. Jenny glanced down at me for a moment and her eyes flicked down to where my claws jutted into the wood of my table. "Maisie," she breathed with worry, but at Mr. Boris’ snap, she returned to her seat.

"Considering the impromptu holiday, we’ll be taking the mid-term assessment early..."

Groans erupted throughout the classroom. "No," Everyone complained as a few junior lecturers filed in, holding thick test booklets, placing them on each desk.

When I took my paper, the woman flinched back, horror stark in her eyes. My fingers were claws again.

She hurried over to the next row, throwing occasional glances back at me.

"Mr. Boris, I have a question," Claire said in her high-pitched voice.

"What is it this time, Ms. Foreman?" The man sighed.

I was trying to fish out my pens from my bag, but I kept shredding the fabric. The claws wouldn’t go back in.

"Is it true the Princess Tessa Graham isn’t just getting married to Prince Soren, but the other three? Do they really share their partners like that?"

I stilled.

"Ms. Foreman, do you never ask questions relevant to the syllabus?" Mr. Boris asked tiredly, but I could feel everyone’s curiosity piqued suddenly.

Obviously, the wedding invitation had left it vague, but with enough to tease the idea. It was one of the questions ripping the school apart.

I kept my eyes glued to my booklet as the entire classroom stared at Mr. Boris expectantly, until he caved.

"There is not much we know about their traditions, but it would seem she is, indeed, getting married to the four of them."

A girl in the row ahead of me sighed, "Lucky bitch."

"Is that even legal?" Another asked.

But I could feel the majority of the class looking at me, the heavy weight of their gazes drowning me.

And then, someone said it.

It was the kind of whisper that wasn’t really a whisper.

"You think she fucked all four of them at once? Moon fucking Goddess."

My claws tore my booklet to shreds.

Hyperventilating, I fled from the classroom, abandoning the test completely.

I hadn’t been able to study in days. I was going to fail anyway.

I didn’t stop running until I was pressed behind the furthest shelf in the library, panic wild in my veins. I slid down to the ground, shivering.

Fur was sprouting out of my hands. The claws were stretching longer.

"Come on," I cried. "Not here. Please, not here."

"Bright Eyes?" a male voice echoed somewhere behind the shelf. "Ah. I thought I might find you here—"

"Not a good time, Lyon," I said around fanged teeth. "I want to be alone."

Oh my god. It was happening. Here? Oh god.

Lyon came around the shelf and stopped.

I knew what he saw when he looked down at me. I could see my eyes, pitch black, reflected in his own. I could see the blue black veins etched on the sides of my face. I could see the elongated fangs.

And the claws.

He must’ve thought I looked like a monster.

He blinked, brown eyes roving over my face. I expected him to take a step back. Balk. Or bail. I don’t know what I expected him to do.

But Lyon Park closed the distance, dropped to one knee, and took my face in his hands. "Breathe, Mace."

I started. Blinked. Paused. I hadn’t realized I wasn’t breathing until he said so.

"Slowly," he whispered. "You’re okay."

My throat tightened, but I nodded, forcing in a breath into my lungs. And then, another. And then, I nodded.

The red tinging my vision receded. I felt the claws retract. I felt my head clear for long enough to notice he was caressing my cheek softly. "Come back to me."

"Lyon," I whimpered, feeling the first wave of tears pour down my cheeks. Perhaps, it was the warmth of his fingers, or the desire in his brown eyes, but it touched something inside me that felt like it had gone cold for so long.

Something starved and broken.

When he drew closer, I didn’t stop him.

I craved touch. Warmth. Affection. And he was all of that, for that abysmal moment.

I knew it was wrong. I knew deep down, it wasn’t Lyon I wanted caressing me, and I tried to pull away.

But he smiled softly. "It’s okay, Bright Eyes. Use me, if you need to."

I felt his breath warm on my lips, and when he said, "You’re a stunning cryer," I let him tip my head up and kiss me.