Page 135 of Roaring Flames

My substitute yearbook teacher smiles sheepishly and forks a hand through his blond hair, sprinkled here and there with gray streaks.

“You’ll be surprised by the number of people you know here,” Christian tells me, leaning in close so his breath tickles the hair by my ear.

A shiver rumbles through me.

Both Silas and Mr. Remington stare intently at the tiny sliver of space separating me from Christian. Silas’s jaw clenches, and Mr. Remington’s eyes turn as dark as obsidian.

What the fuck?

Something occurs to me then, a possibility so outlandish and impossible that I have to laugh.

No, this can’t be right, can it?

Ignoring Silas and Mr. Remington for the time being, I turn so I’m facing Christian completely.

“You won’t get in trouble for being here with me?” I ask, making sure to keep my voice loud enough for Mr. Remington and Silas to hear.

If my theory is right…

My heart hardens, turning to stone, even as I keep a tiny smile on my face.

Christian appears confused by my question, maybe because he already assured me that he wouldn’t be.

“Um…no?” He stares at me like I’ve lost my goddamn mind, and maybe I have.

I lower my voice to a whisper—though still loud enough for the men to overhear. “Good. I want you to fuck me again like you did on your desk at school.”

Christian’s eyes widen in shock, and a ferocious growl reverberates from directly behind me. Both Christian and I turn to see Mr. Remington stepping forward, his eyes glowing with the appearance of his wolf. The growl, however, came from Silas, who has begun to sprout fur on his arms and neck.

Oh my god.

Oh my god.

How could I have been so blind?

Logically, I understand how I didn’t notice the similarities until just now—because I hadn’t been looking for them. I didn’t know that my parents weren’t my true parents and that I was a wolf-witch hybrid.

But now…

I have the same nose as Mr. Remington. His is a little bigger, given the size difference between the two of us, but it’s the exact same shape. And my hair color is similar to his as well. The similarities are harder to see on Silas, but they’re still there.

Our eyes are the same—a bright, clear blue.

I want to believe I’m looking for connections that don’t exist, but I know that’s not the case. Something in the depths of my soul tells me that my theory is correct.

Mr. Remington and Silas are my fathers.

Fifty

CHRISTIAN

Something isn’t right.

I know that almost immediately, without anything needing to be said.

Izzy has gone very, very still beside me, her jaw clenched and her eyes frosty. And Kyle and Silas—two of my oldest friends—are glaring at me with an almost incandescent fury, as if they wish they could peel my skin off my bones, tie the pieces together, and then use the resulting product as a rope to hang me with.

What thefuck?

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