Page 63 of Burning Embers

I angrily scratch at the inside of my wrist, uncaring that my fingernails catch on the pimples dotting my skin, causing them to bleed. The rest of the students give me a wide, noticeable berth, their features distorted in disgust.

This right here is why I choose not to go to school most days, why I’ve decided to take most of my classes online, why I lock myself away in my bedroom for days at a time.

Everybody used to stare at me with unfettered desire—the girls wanted me, and the guys wanted to be me.

Then, everything changed.

I know I probably stink to high heavens, but that can’t be helped. I showered three times already today—twice in the morning and once during lunch—and slathered deodorant on my armpits. Hell, this is literally the fifth shirt I changed into, though it doesn’t make a difference.

I’m a goddamn beast, but unlike the fairy tale, there’s no magical cure for my predicament. No true love’s kiss or any of that bullshit.

My hands ball into tight fists when I think about Michelle and her batshit crazy brother. I wonder how different my life would be now if I’d just fucked the bitch back then instead of refusing.

I scrub a hand through my auburn hair, inwardly cursing at the feel of greasy strands against my palm.

Shame floods me, potent and heady, at the thought ofherseeing me this way.

My mate.

Why the fuck couldn’t she have arrived last year, before everything went to shit?

Fuck this.

Fuck her.

Fuck my life.

My shame and self-deprecation are quickly replaced by a sweltering, incandescent anger that scorches my skin.

Inevershould’ve been blindsided like that.

When Ashton texted me, demanding I attend my afternoon classes to keep an eye on the new student, I thought it was because his father had managed to sneak a spy into the school. It wouldn’t be the first time.

But this…

I didn’t expectthis.

Fucking hell.

The need for violence rages like wildfire in my chest.

And I find just the targets I’m looking for when Ashton and the twins step up to me.

“What. The. Fuck?” I growl, slamming my locker door shut, despite the fact I didn’t actually grab anything out of it.

Ethan and Emery appear cautious—rightfully so—but Ashton maintains his impassive mask he’s perfected over the years. I swear that man could be stabbed in the chest and wouldn’t even bat an eye.

The bell rings overhead—signifying the beginning of sixth period—but the four of us don’t move. The rest of the students, however, hurry into their respective classes, not willing to risk detention.

“You needed to know,” Ashton says at last, once he’s positive no one’s in hearing distance.

There’s not a single crack to his apathetic façade, nothing to hint at the darkness I know lurks just underneath his seemingly perfect exterior.

Nothing to hint at how out of control he feels with this new development.

“Fuck you,” I snap.

My wolf growls low in my chest and claws at the cage that contains him but is unable to break free. He is just as unhappy by this new development as I am.