Page 5 of Creatures of Chaos

Ensley’s glamour is top notch, probably because she takes after her father, a fae known worldwide for pioneering beauty products imbued with traces of fae glamour. Even though Ensley and Becks are twins, they’re different creature species. Just as Ensley takes after her father, Becks takes after his powerful dragon shifter mother. Together, both parents help run B&A Beauty, a lucrative beauty company that they founded together when the twins were babies.

Ensley’s done in less than a minute, and when she drops her hands I swivel toward the mirror to take in her handiwork. Fae magic is amazing. The bruise on my cheekbone is hardly noticeable, and despite the way my busted lip throbs, my mouth looks full and lush and totally kissable—not that there’s anyonewho’d kiss me. Almost eighteen and never been kissed is just super depressing.

I turn my face one way and then the other, marveling at how smooth and radiant my skin is. For once the freckles smattering over the bridge of my nose and high on my cheekbones add interest to my face rather than make me look like a child. My hair is still a mess, but just as I think it Ens slaps a hairbrush in my hand, and I get to work shaking out the stone dust and brushing the strands straight. When I’m done I turn my head this way and that, checking for any bits hiding in my auburn mane that I might have missed.

“You’re the best, you know that?” I say as I hand her brush back, giving her a quick hug.

When I let her go, Ensley rolls her eyes. “Of course I do.”

Leaning forward, I squint at my reflection. “Did you make my eyes bigger?”

She shrugs. “Maybe. But the glamour will wear off before tomorrow, so who really cares.” She gives me a once over. “We’re going to have to do something about this too,” she says, gesturing to the rest of my body. She shrugs out of her leather jacket and hands it to me. “Your shirt is dark so it’s hiding the bloodstains, but those jeans won’t do.”

I glance down at the rip in the knee and the blood splatters. “I have a pair of leggings in my gym locker.”

“Good. If we go now we can get you cleaned up enough to make next period.”

She hefts her bag on her shoulder and starts for the exit.

“Wait. You don’t have to come with me. Just because I’m missing class doesn’t mean you have to.”

“It’s okay,” she says with a shrug. “Mr. Sullivan loves me.”

That may be true, but that won’t stop him from marking her down for skipping most of his class. But Ensley doesn’t really care about school. Besides being a natural genius, sheknows that after high school she’ll start working at her family’s beauty business without having to further her education. That is assuming her band doesn’t suddenly get discovered. So as long as she doesn’t flunk out completely, she’s golden either way. That’s the only reason I’m not itching with too much guilt over her ditching class to help me.

“I wish I could say the same. He said he was going to fail me if I was tardy to his class again.”

Ensley waves her hand in the air like she’s brushing the problem away. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll tell him later I found you heaving your guts out into a toilet. He can’t fail you for being sick.”

I shoot her a thankful smile, knowing that if I tried to feed him that story he’d never believe me, but that he won’t even question Ensley. Some of the tension leaves my shoulders knowing that issue is going to be taken care of. I’d rather not graduate than be forced into summer school.

When we leave the bathroom, Becks isn’t there anymore and Ensley explains she forced him to go back to his class already. She comes with me to the gym and helps me look semi-put together in time to make my next class. I make it through the rest of the day with minimal stares thanks to Ensley’s glamour. But as the day drags on I can’t let go of what happened to me. I grow more and more agitated the longer I think about it, and like boiling water trapped in a kettle, I need to let off some steam. And there’s only one way I know how to do that.

Two

I’ve been wailingon the punching bag for so long that my knuckles have gone numb. I grit my teeth as sweat drips down my temples, the cadence of my fists hitting the leather bag over and over again doing little to soothe the angry beast inside. The short hairs around my face stick to my cheeks and forehead and I’m breathing like I’ve just finished a marathon. But I don’t stop.

It’s been four days since Jules and her crew cornered me in the tunnels. The bruises are fading, and the swelling has gone down, but I’m no closer to figuring out how to get her and the rest of the school bullies off my back than I was the moment I walked myself into her trap that day.

I’ve been coming to the gym every day after school to blow off steam, which is my go-to activity when things get overwhelming. Besides it being cathartic to punch something that isn’t going to punch back, some messed-up corner of my brain thinks I can fight my way out of any predicament. That if I just hit hard enough I won’t be what I am anymore.

The only magicless creature on the face of the planet.

“Whoa there.” Strong hands steady the weathered bag, keeping it from swinging every time my fist connects.

I keep my eyes on my target, refusing to look at Becks. I don’t need to look at him to know what I’ll see in his gaze: pity. I don’t want anything from him, least of all his pity.

Okay, that’s a lie. There aresomethings I want from Becks, but nothing he’s willing to give me, so obsessing over what will never be is only a waste of time.

Mind you, I say that, yet here I am doing my best to beat a hole in a weathered punching bag as if that will change anything about my situation.

Becks lets me take out my aggression on the punching bag for several more minutes, waiting until he sees the strain of the workout in my flagging muscles before saying anything. He knows me well enough to know when to push me, and when to let me be.

“Wanna talk about it?” he asks.

My arms are about as strong as wet noodles at this point, so he isn’t straining in the least to keep the bag still. How annoying.

“What do you think?” I snap back between punches, instantly regretting my tone. My anger isn’t directed at Becks, he’s just the closest target.

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