Page 57 of Savage Hope

The first class of the day: Offensive and Defensive, again. Everyone filters into the room while I stand with my back pressed against the wall, trying to remain as invisible as possible while Bryony chats with Professor Juniper at the end of the hall.

Sian and Terence appear from around the corner and I grimace. They both continue to act like I don’t exist, turning to face away from me the second I’m close, just like now. With every day that passes, the desire for S and T to like me again dwindles.

My eyebrows gather as they slip by, entering the classroom as I consider the absence of one of our other Florentine friends. B—Benjamin. I haven’t seen him since he was declared a human andwe were all ushered out of the hall and to our quads. I haven’t gone looking for him, though. Searching through the humans for the guy who dated your former friend seems dumb, but there’s still a level of concern that I can’t seem to shake.

Pressing my lips together, I try to eliminate anything related to Florentines from my thoughts, willing my mind to think positive.

I can stand on my own two feet without the fickle friendships I used to have.

If they can so easily leave me behind, they weren’t my real friends anyways, and I don’t need people like that in my life.

I scoff at myself. Maybe I am full of crap since I'm relying on Bryony so much. It’s also impossible to rid my past from my thoughts so soon, despite how hard I try.

I left Florentine’s five days ago. Five whole days, and it already feels like a distant memory. So much has happened since we arrived through those grand double doors that my head hurts from it all. I keep thinking about V—Veronica—wishing there was something I could have done to help her. Not so much with the dying part that was out of everyone’s control, but more to do with the fact that I could have been her friend.

Maybe if she was still here I could have had a chance to be her friend. On the flipside, it’s daunting how easily it could have been me in her place instead. We don’t know who we’re linked to. There’s no heads up. Nothing. It’s a blessing and a curse.

I could have been everybody's friend, but I chose to hide away at Florentine’s in fear of the blood curse, and yet I watched it take somebody too soon.

The blood kin curse took Veronica without warning, without caution. Just…gone. It didn’t care if she was friendly or mean, it didn’t matter if she had friends or not, and it didn’t even register that her sigil was still in place; it took her anyway.

It’s surprising how much of an effect it’s having on me.

The wolves seem to be at peace with it now or over it all together; either way, Bryony agrees they’re back to normal after having lost one of their own. Apparently, they held a special moment for Veronica, but it was a private matter and by the time I learned of it, it was too late for me to find out if I could attend or not.

I do want to pay my respects, but if it’s a wolf thing, I need to ask one of them, and the idea of that makes me uneasy. I can't bring myself to ask, not when it feels like the only wolves that might have the answers are the ones that surround Lincoln, and I'm not getting close to him. I'm not playing those games, not when he still doesn't know who I am.

The bell rings and my gaze darts to Bryony at the end of the hall. She’s still huddled close to Juniper, so I decide to play it safe and wait for her inside. We’ve been together as much as possible. It’s a foreign feeling to depend on someone, well, to depend on someone without pretending that I’m not.

As much as I appreciate her, I feel a sense of pride in myself for entering the class on my own, but I only make it two steps before I collide with a hard chest. Panic dulls me from the familiarity of the sensation and I brace for impact as if the floor is ready to rise and meet me. But instead, a hand wraps around my waist, holding me in place, and soft eyes find mine.

Wylder.

He looks every inch as handsome as he did at the party, but without the bar between us, it feels even more intimate than offering my first shot of liquor. His cropped blond hair makes my fingers tingle, fighting the desire to feel the texture, while his deep hazel eyes, a swirl of rich browns and emerald greens, hold me captive. His shoulders seem wider, and he somehow seems taller when I’m this close.

Hot damn.

The sound of someone clearing their throat startles me and I quickly remember myself. Forcing myself to stand unaided, I lurch from his hold, desperately aware that the distance I create between us is because he allows it. He could probably crush my skull with his bare hands.

A grin spreads across his face as he winks at me and I mutter my thanks, but as much as he releases his hold on me, he doesn’t step back as I do; if anything, he inches closer.

“Anything for the girl who let me serve her her first shot,” he says, and I blush, hating how pink I know my cheeks are going to be right now. “I’ve got to say, though, this look definitely suits you better. The black is hot, but the silver is almost…whimsical,” he says, tugging at a loose tendril of hair curling around my face, and my heart stills.

He knows.

He knows that the girl hiding beneath the silver hair is the same girl who was trying to reinvent herself with the jet-black hair. I didn’t piece it together at first, with him mentioning my first drink, but he’s making it clear he knows by pointing out my hair.

He doesn't seem confused by the fact that it's a different color, but I’m completely overcome with the need to explain myself. “The silver is an inconvenience. I dyed it black for a fresh start, for it to turn up like this again the following day,” I admit, rambling to myself.

I have no idea why I'm sharing it with him. The need to make sure he understands is prominent and out of my control, it seems.

Dammit.

Where is Bryony? I need saving from this catastrophe before it unravels further.

My eyes widen, my throat drying as realization dawns on me; if he knows that the girl beneath the black hair is also the girl beneath the silver hair, then does Lincoln too?

“Hey, you made it on your own. I should be proud,” Bryony says, interrupting my spiral. “I see you're getting reacquainted with the bartender,” she adds with a chuckle, one that Wylder doesn't respond to. His eyes are still latched onto mine as if they're searching deep into my soul, desperate to understand what's beneath. I'm locked in a stare-off, one I can't seem to pull myself out of.

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