Page 47 of Savage Hope

“My magic? I don't have any, remember?” I lift my hands to gape at the bangles like she understands why they matter, but all she does is shrug.

“Maybe, but how else can you explain it?” she pushes, and I shake my head in disbelief.

“I can’t.” I shudder at the words. I can't explain it. The reality of that leaves me more overwhelmed than I care to admit. “It doesn't make sense.”

She runs her hand down my arm comfortingly. “We can try and dye it again this weekend if you like?” she offers, and my face scrunches up.

“But what if it turns back to this again?” I grumble, irritating myself when I know for a fact there are much worse things going on right now around me. I fell in love with the mystery that came with the dark hair. Without it, my pain and discomfort rise to the surface.

“If it turns back, then it turns back, but at least we know it's not a random occurrence. That way we’ll know it definitely has something to do with your magic,” she insists, and I sigh. Her ability to see the positive side of the situation makes it impossible for me to dwell, a fact that’s rather unsettling since I’m so good at it.

“I guess that's a good idea,” I murmur, and she winks.

“I know it is. I'm full of them. Now let's go to breakfast so you can tell me all about last night,” she states, and another shiver ripples through my body. This time, it’s my turn to hide behind the barrier of my arms folded tightly across my chest as I will the horrors of last night to dissipate.

“I don't want to relive that terror ever again,” I insist, and she smirks, waving me off as she heads toward the door.

“Not that part, silly, the Lincoln part.”

Right now isn'tthe time to remember. I shouldn’t be remembering the taste of desire that flickered over my skin last night. I should be in mourning. We’ve suffered a significant loss of life. But as I look around the dining hall, it seems the rest of the academy is unfazed. Well, there’s definitely a shift amongst the wolves today, but everyone else? No change at all.

The vampires don’t seem even a little bit saddened by the loss of Dean. I run my eyes over their table, sitting parallel to ours in the dining hall, paying as close attention as possible, but my initial assessment seems correct.

I spy Sian and Terence down at the opposite end of the room, and there’s not a morsel of sadness in their features. Maybe that’s because we only just arrived? I don’t know. I don’t know how I would feel if it had been a witch, but what I do knowis the fact that the wolf girl cried last night. She cried for a girl she barely knew. That’s not the same vibe coming from the vampires.

Sian and Terence are in their own world, leaning close to Blaze as he talks with a gruff exterior, but to my surprise, whatever he says must be funny because a moment later, they toss their heads back with laughter. That seals it. They didn't lose someone they had known for years, just another stranger in another prison.

Staring down at the plate of food in front of me, the sadness that fills me when I acknowledge that people are dying and no one seems to care obliterates my desire to eat. As if sensing my inner turmoil, Bryony nudges my plate closer to me.

“Girl, we're not going to our first class until you catch me up to speed,” she says.

It’s not hard to read between the lines, understanding what she wants without outwardly saying it, but I’m guessing if I pretend to ignore it, she would push until she blurted it loud enough for everyone to hear, and I can’t imagine anything worse.

My gaze darts across to where the wolves are, finding the man in question seated centrally at the huge table. The girl from last night is on his left, and Wylder, the guy from the bar, is on his right. I think the guy next to him is the one who delivered the awful news. Asher? I think. While the guy I was caught eavesdropping on sits beside the girl.

They all look tired and drained.

“The wolves are usually quiet the day after a full moon,” Bryony explains, a fact that doesn't really make sense, so I shrug.

“Cool.”

She clears her throat, rubbing her lips together as she nods in their direction. “You should go over there.”

“I should not!” I exclaim, and she gapes at me. If it weren’t for the twinkle in her eyes, I would believe her to be as naïve as she’s acting.

“Why?”

I look down at my food again, planting my elbow on the table and resting my face in my hand. I feel completely under her scrutiny, and it makes me so uncomfortable that I consider picking up my fork again. However, the reminder of Veronica has me boycotting the quiet road.

Finding her gaze, I blurt the truth. “Because he didn't recognize me.”

“He didn't recognize you,” she repeats in confusion, and I roll my eyes at her.

“Are you a witch or a parrot?” I ask, acutely aware that I'm bad at repeating questions back to people, but I'm hoping to distract her from the topic at hand. I feel like I’ve already said enough.

Instead, she cocks her brow at me with an amused grin on her face. “Nice, but how could he not recognize you? And where would he recognize you from?”

I find the line of wolves once more, intrigued by the four men that gravitate toward one another, but jealousy sears through me at the sight of the girl in the mix. Shaking my head, I turn to face Bryony. There’s no reason not to talk about it, I guess. It’s not like anything more is ever going to happen. I’ve had my fleeting sliver of attention from a wolf. “I had the joy of meeting Lincoln during the first five minutes of arriving here from Florentines. Other than that, I haven't really seen him, but we've been in a few classes together.”

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