Chapter 68 68- The Subtle Art Of Not Staring At His Fangs
LEXI
I reach the dorm hallway in time to see Mallory and one of her friends screaming. Full–on screaming. High, panicked, tearing sounds that echo off the walls and make my blood run cold. Shit. This is not good. People are backing away, pressed to the walls, eyes wide. And then I see it, Blake’s bedroom door, hanging crooked on its hinges, the frame splintered like it was torn apart by brute force. My stomach drops so hard it feels like I might actually be sick. If I were smart, I would turn around right now. I would tell myself I didn’t see anything. Didn’t hear anything. I would walk away and trust that the Academy, or someone with authority, would handle it. I would pretend this wasn’t happening. But I can’t. I know I can’t. My feet move before I’ve fully decided to let them. I head reluctantly down the hall, every step heavier than the last, my heart hammering in my chest. Maybe it won’t be so bad, I tell myself weakly. Maybe it looks worse from the outside. I peek my head inside the doorway. And immediately wish I hadn’t. Blake is holding someone up by the throat. Not just someone. Aaron. Blake’s hand is locked around his neck, lifting him clean off the floor like he weighs nothing at all. Aaron’s face is a deep, ugly reddish–purple colour, far past normal, far past safe. His eyes are unfocused, rolling slightly, his hands clawing weakly at Blake’s arm. There are two more wolf shifters in the room. One of them is swaying on their feet like they can barely stay upright. The other is clutching their shoulder, blood soaking through their fingers and dripping onto the floor in a slow, horrifying rhythm. Neither of them is moving toward Blake anymore. They look terrified. The room itself is completely trashed. Drawers ripped out. Shelves shattered. Furniture overturned. The air feels hot and heavy, buzzing with magic and rage. And all I can think is how Blake reacted when I almost touched one thing from his hoard. No wonder he’s freaking out. Still… This feels like too much. Aaron looks really purple now.
“Uhm… Blake?” I say, my voice coming out thinner and more fragile than I want it to.
“I think they’re sorry… Maybe put him down?” My words hang in the air, absurdly small against the violence of the scene.
“No.” He answers. Flat. Absolute. Well. So much for that. My heart starts racing in earnest now, panic clawing up my throat. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to fix this.
My eyes dart around the room desperately, searching for anything. That’s when I see it. Something gold hooked around Aaron’s wrist as he claws weakly at Blake’s arm. The fire diamonds. My breath catches. I don’t think. I just move. I rush forward and snatch them off his wrist, yanking hard enough that the gold bites into my palm. I don’t care. I spin to face the others, clutching the jewels like proof.
“Hand it over.” I demand, my voice sharper than I feel.
“All of it. Everything you took!” I instruct, The reaction is immediate. The two wolves shift back into their human forms almost frantically, magic snapping back into place as fear overtakes instinct. The two of them seem relieved to have instructions, something to do. They start digging through their pockets, hands shaking as they pull out coins, jewellery, trinkets, anything that glints, and drop them onto the floor in a clattering pile. One of them even moves closer to Aaron and starts pulling things out of his pockets too, working fast and clumsy since he can’t do it himself I turn back to Blake, my chest tight, eyes burning.
“See?” I say, my voice breaking just a little despite my effort to keep it steady.
“They gave it all back. Just kick them out so we can clean this place up!” I’m pleading now. I know it. I don’t care.
“No.” He says again. Just as flat. Just as final. Something inside me snaps into real fear. Aaron is looking really bad. His limbs have gone slack. He isn’t even making sounds anymore. His head lolls slightly in Blake’s grip, eyes unfocused.
“Oh shit.” I whisper. I’m seriously worried now. Blake is going to kill him if he doesn’t let go soon.
“Blake… Please.” I say again, louder this time, desperation bleeding into my voice. He doesn’t answer. Okay. I need to do something. Standing here frozen isn’t helping, and Blake isn’t backing down. I don’t think he’s actually going to let Aaron go on his own. The room feels tight, like the air itself is holding its breath. I step closer, heart pounding so hard I can feel it in my throat, and tentatively place a hand on Blake’s arm. His skin is hot under my fingers, muscles
locked solid.
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Chapter 68 68. The Subtle Art Of Not Staring At His Fangs
“Blake. Let go.” I say, trying to sound calm, trying to sound like I’m not terrified. He scoffs, sharp and dismissive, and doesn’t even look at me.
“Blake, I’m serious. I think he passed out.” I say again, my voice firmer now despite the tremor creeping in. Aaron’s body has gone slack. His head lolls slightly in Blake’s grip, limbs dangling in a way that makes my stomach twist.
“The psycho is going to kill him.” One of the other shifter guys mutters from behind us. I whirl on him and shoot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. He shuts up immediately.
“Blake…” I try again, desperately searching for the right words.
“If you hurt him, uh, hurt him worse, you’re going to get expelled.” My voice rushes now, urgency spilling over.
“Then you won’t be in classes with me. I need you to help me with shifting. And you still have to figure out what kind of shifter I am.” I remind him. I
swallow hard and add, softer, more honestly,
“Please, Blake. Please?” For a terrifying second, nothing happens. Then his eyes flicker down to me. Yes. He’s listening. I seize the moment before the
dragon swallows him again.
“Please, Blake?” I add, my eyes wide, my voice breaking despite myself.
“Don’t leave me here by myself.” I say pleadingly. Something in that finally reaches him. Slowly. agonisingly slowly, his grip loosens. His fingers uncurl from
Aaron’s throat, and he lets him drop. Aaron hits the floor at our feet with a dull, unsettling thunk, completely limp.
“Get out.” Blake says. His voice is low, dangerous, vibrating with barely–contained fury.
“Now.”
The two shifter guys don’t hesitate. They scramble forward, grab Aaron under the arms, and drag him out of the room, stumbling and swaying under his weight. There’s frantic whispering in the hallway, faces peeking around the doorframe. Blake turns his head. He glares at them. They scatter instantly, vanishing down the corridor like they were never there. The sudden quiet is almost worse. I stand there for a moment, chest tight, and take in the devastation of the room. Drawers broken. Shelves torn apart. His things scattered everywhere like someone tried to tear his life open and rifle through it.
“So…” I say softly, because silence feels dangerous right now.
“Shall we clean everything up? Where would you like me to start?” I question. Blake shakes his head without looking at me.
“No. I’ll do it. Don’t touch anything.” He says firmly. He still sounds furious. Not explosive anymore, just raw and burning.
“Are you sure?” I ask carefully.
“There’s… Kind of a lot…” I trail off, realising too late that pointing that out might not help. He exhales sharply and finally looks at me.
“No. I’ll do it.” His voice drops.
“I… Don’t think I can handle anyone else touching my things right now.” He says slowly. The admission hits harder than his anger did. He looks almost vulnerable standing, there amid the wreckage, still terrifying, still dangerous, but clearly shaken. And despite everything that just happened, I feel a rush of sympathy for him. So I step in and wrap my arms around his waist. It’s tentative at first. Careful. His response isn’t. His arms snap around me instantly. crushing me against him, holding on just a little too tight, like he’s anchoring himself. I don’t say anything. I just stay there, breathing slowly, letting him feel that I’m real and still here. Gradually, I feel the tension begin to drain out of him. His grip loosens. His breathing steadies.
“I need to clean this up.” He murmurs into my hair.
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5:26 pm p p pp.
Chapter 68 68- The Subtle Art Of Not Staring At His Fangs
“Okay. Are you sure you don’t want help?” I say quietly.
“I’m sure.” He answers. I nod even though he can’t see it.
“Okay. Do you want me to leave? Give you space?” I offer. Instead of answering verbally, his arms shift around my waist. Then, before I can react, he lifts me
clean off the ground and drops me gently but decisively onto his bed. I blink up at him, startled.
“What I would like is for you to sit right there.” He pauses.
“You can… Keep me company.” He says, voice calmer now but still strained. He gives me a half smile, small, tired, and still edged with stress. So I sit.
Because if what he needs right now is to know I’m here, watching, not leaving, then that’s exactly what I’ll do.
Comments
Liz S.
whew! that was stressful. Those idiots, karma will come for them.
7 days ago
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Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.
