Page 3 of Creatures of Chaos

He shrugs out of his dark overshirt and clutches it in his hand, leaving him in just a tight-fitting tee. Stepping closer, he uses the shirt to gently wipe the blood from my forehead and cheek. His body heat brushes up against me in the chilly tunnel, making me want to burrow into his chest, but I suppose being a dragon shifter he can’t help how hot he runs.

“Where else are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” I say in a small voice, and I am. I’ll have bruises, but bruises heal.

He murmurs my name, and on instinct I tip my head back and gaze up at him. Like it has so many times before, my stomach drops to my toes as I gulp in his perfection.

Perfect jawline. Perfect high cheekbones. Perfect straight nose. Perfect green eyes. Perfect honey-gold hair that falls perfectly on his perfect brow.

My gaze dips down to his perfect mouth and I bite down on my bottom lip, wincing because the lip has already endured enough abuse today.

Don’t stare at his lips, you idiot.

My body screams at me for it, but I gently push Becks’ hands away and step around him, putting a safe distance between us. He stuffs the corner of his shirt, now stained with my blood, into the back of his pants, and like the good friend he is, he does me a solid and pretends not to notice how I was practicallydrooling over him. It’s an unwritten rule that friend-zoned besties shouldn’t ogle each other, but it’s one that I can’t seem to help breaking. Especially in the last year.

“Who was it?” he demands, a hard note in his voice, and I know without a doubt if I confess the truth he’ll do something drastic.

That’s the thing between Becks and me, we’d do anything for each other. The problem is that even though I was the one to protect his sister all those years ago, they have been fighting my battles practically ever since. Our friendship isn’t balanced. It hasn’t been since their powers came in and mine didn’t. It didn’t used to bug me, but it does now.

I shake my head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Any remaining softness on his face disappears. He’s probably imagining charring whoever did this to me, which admittedly makes me go a little mushy inside, but I push those feelings aside.

“Locklyn.” He says my name like a warning and takes a step forward, crowding me, but I hold up a hand to stop him.

I gentle my next words, wanting him to know I appreciate his concern, but also that I’m firm on the point. “I have to start dealing with this type of stuff on my own.”

He shoves the hair off his forehead as he studies me, the inner battle shining from his eyes. I know he wants to respect my desires, but it’s in his nature to protect what he considers his. And as his friend, I fall into that category.

He releases a frustrated sigh. “We’ll talk about this more later. We’ve got to find Ens. She’s looking for you too.”

I give him a questioning look and he shrugs. “When you didn’t show up to class we got worried.”

Closing my eyes, I let out a groan that has nothing to do with the aches and pains in my body. Forget being tardy to Elemental Chemistry, I’m going to miss a solid half of the period, or more.It’s going to take some major begging and pleading to keep Mr. Sullivan from failing me. Or maybe I can convince him I was violently ill or something to get a pass this time?

Opening my eyes, I fix my gaze back on Becks. “How did you know I didn’t show up to class? You’re not in that one with me.”

“Ens came and got me. She’s checking the closets and bathrooms.”

I nod. That makes sense. I’ve been known to hide in a bathroom a time or two before. I’m lucky to have friends like them.

Fortifying myself, I start making my way slowly down the passageway. Now that Becks is with me I’m no longer concerned about the dark sections of the tunnel. No one in their right mind would mess with Becks. He’s the most powerful dragon shifter in our generation. I don’t get four steps before he notices I’m favoring my right ankle and he scoops me up. I consider demanding that he put me down, I can still walk, but I know he won’t listen to me anyway, so I sit stiffly in his arms, fighting against the urge to melt against him with every step.

When we reach the door that leads to the first floor of the castle and he finally sets me on my feet, I try to ignore the way my heart rate spikes when I slide down the front of his body, or how his heat lingers on my skin when he turns away from me to peek through a crack in the door, but it’s hard. Taking a steadying breath while his back is to me, I tell my body to cut it out and focus on all my aches and pains rather than the warm fuzzies.

Becks looks over his shoulder at me. “The coast is clear. Everyone’s in class.”

“I’ve got to clean myself up,” I tell Becks, and he nods, opening the door so I can go in front of him.

We walk down the hallway in silence, footsteps echoing off the dark-stained wood floors and locker-lined stone walls ofthe gothic revival interior. Nightlark Academy is a strange mix of old and new. The main building we’re walking through is a castle-like structure built in the mid-1800s that used to be the home of a wealthy landowner back in the day. But the school also includes several auxiliary buildings spread out around the perimeter of a three-acre quad. Even though none of the additional structures are as old as the main building, they were all built at different times throughout the last hundred years and their exteriors mirror the intricately carved stone castle. Even the gym and sports center next to the castle has a steep gabled roof and external buttresses. The interiors of most of the outbuildings have been modernized, but not much of the main castle structure has been changed except for the addition of lockers and bathrooms and contemporary furniture.

When we reach the girls’ bathroom, Becks tells me he’s going to wait outside for me before I shove through the door. I breathe a sigh of relief when I find the bathroom is also empty.

Thank the Creator.

When I look in the mirror a moment later the feeling of relief vanishes. Calling myself a mess is an understatement. My hair looks like it hasn’t been brushed in a month and is covered in so much stone dust it’s now whitish gray instead of auburn. My lower lip is cracked and swollen; dried blood is smeared over my chin from when Becks tried to clean me up in the tunnel. A bruise is already starting to form on my cheekbone and there’s some blood caked along my hairline where I was struck with a stone. My clothes are in as rough of shape as the rest of me.

No wonder Becks had shot me so many half-panicked glances. I look like I’ve been run over. I can’t go to classes like this.

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