Page 199 of Blood & Betrayals

“Fuck,” I groan.

Max shifts to pin me. “Maybe I spoke too soon.”

I manage to wrap my legs around his waist and follow his lead, thrusting my hips up enough that I’m able to flip us so I’m on top again. Max slams his fist into my ribs, and I jolt in pain from the hit.

“What the fuck?” I snarl.

“What?”

“You’re a fucking dick. If I’d taken a cheap shot like that, you’d have gone all berserker on me. Fucking asshole.”

Max rolls his eyes. “Fine. Take a cheap shot.”

I stand up and pull my skirt back on before shoving my shorts down my legs. “Fucking asshole. Moronic fuck,” I grumble as I change. Frustration bubbles inside me, and even I know my reaction may be extreme. I’m always hot-headed, but it’s gotten worse recently.

Max sits up. “Any more names? I thought you wanted to learn to fight. You can’t expect your opponent to fight fair.”

I snarl and whirl on him. “So when I take a cheap shot, when I don’t know what I’m doing, you go allberserkon me. Yet you do it to me without consequences? Go fuck yourself, Max!” I yell, storming out of the gym.

Fucking men. All of them. I stomp through campus, carrying my shoes and cursing all men under my breath. People scramble out of my way, their primal brains telling them they do not want to catch my attention right now. I have just rounded the corner of Kelpie Hall when something grabs my wrist. I hiss and whirlon him, knowing exactly who has a hold on me. His form is even more faded than usual.

“And what the fuck do you want?” I snarl.

He snarls back, and his is infinitely scarier. Deep and vicious, it resonates past my ear, sending a delicious shiver licking down my spine. “Do not speak to me like that, little girl.”

I look up at him, furious. “You think you can just appear whenever you fucking want?”

“My life does not revolve around you,” he growls.

“And how the fuck am I supposed to know that? I know nothing about you except that you watch me,” I hiss at him. “You were gone.Again.” I slam the words into him like an accusation.

“What does it matter if I’ve been gone?” He tilts his head, and I feel his gaze wander over me, his ire lessening.

“You…” I hesitate, feeling my rage start to melt away. “You left.” Me. You left me.

He wraps his hand around my arm and pulls me in closer. “What does it matter?”

“I apologized, but you…” I pause. “Do you have a girlfriend? Is that it?”

He doesn’t answer right away, studying me. “No,” he finally says.

I clear my throat and look up at him. “All right.”

“Not everything has to do with relationships.”

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, the rage replaced by confused exhaustion.

“Why are you lashing out?” he asks, his thumb sliding over the inside of my elbow.

“Lashing out?” I ask, running my hand over my brow.

He nods. “Yes, you’re lashing out, blindly using anger as a weapon.”

I exhale and roll my shoulders. “I’m just a little on edge, and Max didn’t help.”

He tilts his chin up. “Walk with me,” he says, cautiously releasing his grip on my arm.

I take a deep breath, already feeling more relaxed.

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