Page 7 of Wicked Dreams (Fallen Royals 1)

“Nope.” I look around and put down my sandwich. My appetite has fled. “If I make waves, my new family might decide I’m too much trouble. You know?”

“They can’t send you away,” she argues. “You just got here!”

“I know, but that’s the system. I have eleven months left until I’m eighteen, then I get to go.” Go where is the question, but Riley doesn’t voice it. I don’t, either.

The bell rings, and both of us flinch.

“Show me your schedule,” she says, putting her things back in the bag. “I’ll get you to class so you aren’t late.”

“Thanks.”

We go out into the hallway, and I run smack into a hard, muscled back.

Caleb Asher turns around, and my heart jumps into my throat.

His eyes go to Riley, then back to me. “Run along, Appleton.”

She swallows, staring at me. She pushes her shoulders back. “I need to show—”

“I’d be happy to help our friend get to class.” He scowls at her. “Go away.”

She stiffens and slowly backs away, casting an apologetic look in my direction. I shrug at her. It isn’t her fault he’s an ass.

An ass that steps into my personal space, herding me away from his friends. “Wolfe.”

“Asher.”

“How’s class?”

Everyone is pretending I don’t exist or coughing mean names behind their fists.

“Missed you at lunch,” he says.

I snort. “Yeah, okay.”

He puts his hand on the back of my neck, his fingers soft for a second before they dig into my skin. I suppress a shiver. He uses pressure to steer me down the hall, into the throng of students headed for their classes.

In the middle of everyone, he gives me a light shove.

It’s enough to send me to my knees. Everyone fall silent at the movement.

Mortification rings through me.

“This isn’t your school,” Caleb says, leaning down.

I’m pretty sure he’s amplifying his words on purpose, because now everyone is turned in our direction. His friends join us, circling around.

“Why don’t you go back to the trash family that raised you? Leave the rest of us alone. Oh, I forgot. Your mom’s probably high out of her mind in a gutter, and dear old dad is getting ass-raped on the regular in prison.”

“Why are you doing this?” I whisper.

He leans down, grabbing my arm and hauling me back up. “Why? You don’t really know anything, do you?” He sneers. “You’re a sheep in a wolf’s clothing. No threat at all.”

Do not fucking cry.

“Run along now, little sheep.”

He releases me, and I move, too startled to walk straight. My shoulder hits one of his friends, and it’s like hitting a truck. It sends me off-kilter. Once I have my bearings, I push through the crowd.

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