The rest of the day passed in a haze of exhaustion and tension.
Every class was the same, nobles and elites whispering behind their hands, shooting glares my way, making it very clear I wasn't welcome. The ferals in each class sat hunched over, their eyes downcast, too afraid to meet anyone's gaze. I refused to do the same. I wasn't going to cower. Not here. Not ever.
By the time the next class rolled around, my body ached from sitting so stiffly, my mind constantly on alert. It was exhausting, being surrounded by wolves who saw me as nothing more than prey.
At least I had one class with Callum. Seeing a familiar face was the only thing that kept me from drowning in the suffocating hostility.
The moment I spotted him, my stomach twisted.
His face was a mess.
A deep bruise darkened his cheekbone, swollen and angry. A cut just above his eyebrow was still raw, the dried blood cracking as he furrowed his brow. His lower lip was split, a thin line of red where it must have been struck. His uniform was slightly disheveled, like someone had grabbed him and shoved him against something. He walked stiffly, as if there were injuries I couldn't see.
I gritted my teeth and stormed toward him.
"Callum," I hissed as I sat beside him, my voice low enough that only he could hear. "What the hell happened to your face?"
He barely glanced at me. "It's nothing."
I narrowed my eyes. "That's not nothing, Callum."
He let out a humorless laugh, finally turning his head fully to face me. "You're one to talk. Have you seen your arm?"
I knew what I looked like. I knew my body was littered with bruises and scars, old and new. But that wasn't the point.
"Who did this to you?" I pressed. "Was it an elite? A noble?" My voice lowered dangerously. "Tell me."
Callum's expression hardened, and for the first time since I met him, I saw anger in his eyes.
"Drop it, Lorraine."
"No."
He exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. "It doesn't matter. It's just how things are here."
My fingers curled into fists beneath the desk. "That doesn't mean we should just take it."
Callum let out a bitter chuckle. "And what are you going to do, Lorraine? Fight them? Get yourself killed?" His voice was laced with frustration. "This is their world. We're just intruders."
I hated that he was right. Hated that I had no real argument to throw back at him.
A few nobles passed by our table, their laughter ringing out as one of them made a mocking growl in our direction, baring his teeth like we were animals at a zoo.
Callum kept his gaze down, jaw tight. I didn't. I met their stares head-on, unwilling to let them see me as weak.
One of the nobles smirked. "Still got some fight left in you, feral?"
I didn't respond.
I wanted to. I wanted to wipe that smirk off his face. But I knew better.
Another noble scoffed. "Not for long."
They walked off, and I let out a slow breath, my nails digging into my palms.
I turned back to Callum. His expression was unreadable, his eyes locked onto the desk in front of him.
"I know it's their world," I muttered. "I know we're nothing to them. But I won't just roll over and accept it."
Callum didn't say anything.
The professor walked in before I could push him further, and I bit my tongue, forcing myself to let it go. For now.
But as the lesson droned on, I kept stealing glances at Callum, my chest tight with anger.
I might not be able to fight back now
But one day, I would.
After my last class, I made my way to the locker area, my body already sore from the day's torment. The hallway was mostly empty, save for a few students who passed by without sparing me a glance. I reached my locker, turning the combination lock with fingers that trembled slightly. My mind was still reeling from everything, the ferals who had been killed, Callum's bruises, the endless hostility from the nobles and elites.
But I wasn't about to break.
I opened my locker, grabbed a few things, and just as I was about to shut it—footsteps.
Too many.
I tensed, instincts screaming at me to run, but before I could even turn, I was surrounded.
Five elites.
The leader stepped forward, a smirk curling her lips. She was tall and striking, her long platinum blonde hair cascading down her back like a waterfall of silver. But her beauty was overshadowed by the sheer malice in her icy blue eyes.
"So you're the little feral who thought she could talk back to my brother today," she said, her voice smooth yet dripping with venom.
I clenched my jaw but didn't reply.
She tilted her head, eyes raking over me with a look of disgust. "I don't know what gave you the impression that you could speak to us as if we were equals, but I'll fix that for you."
The other elites snickered, blocking any possible escape.
She took another step closer. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Selene Ashthorne, daughter of Alpha Desmond Ashthorne, leader of the Bloodfang Pack, one of the most powerful elite packs in the kingdom."
Bloodfang. Of course.
I recognized the name. Their pack was known for its brutality, their warriors some of the deadliest. If there was ever a group of werewolves who thrived off of dominance and cruelty, it was them.
Selene's smirk widened as she gestured to one of the elites behind her. "And this is my younger brother, Alistair."
I recognized him immediately, the same bastard who had slapped me in combat class.
Alistair sneered at me, his hand twitching as if itching to strike me again.
"You embarrassed my little brother," Selene continued. "And now, I have to remind you of your place."
I could feel my pulse pounding in my throat, but I refused to lower my head.
I had already endured this kind of torment my whole life. From my own pack. From my own people. I wasn't about to let another group of entitled wolves beat me into submission.
So, I did the one thing I knew would enrage them.
I smiled.
Selene's eyes flashed dangerously. "You think this is funny, mutt?"
I crossed my arms. "I think it's pathetic."
The hallway went dead silent.
Selene's smirk vanished.
"You think you're strong because of the pack you were born into," I said, voice steady. "You think you can do whatever you want because of your last name, because of the power you inherited. But at the end of the day, all you elites ever do is pick on those who can't fight back. You're not strong. You're just a bunch of bullies."
A sharp intake of breath from one of the elites.
A flicker of something—shock? Amusement?—in Alistair's eyes.
Selene, however, looked murderous.
Before I could react, her hand shot out, gripping my throat in a crushing grip.
I choked, my hands instinctively flying up to claw at her fingers, but it was useless.
She was too strong.
Selene lifted me off the ground like I weighed nothing.
I gasped, my feet kicking helplessly as my lungs screamed for air. Black spots dotted my vision. My body convulsed as my air supply dwindled.
She leaned in, her lips curving into a smile. "I should snap your neck right now."
And she could. She would.
But then—
A loud blare echoed through the halls.
The siren.
Selene tch'd in annoyance before dropping me unceremoniously onto the cold floor.
I hit the ground hard, my throat throbbing, my breath coming in ragged gasps.
Selene crouched down, gripping my chin and forcing me to look at her. "Luckily for you, I have to return to class." Her nails dug into my skin. "I've kept a perfect attendance record, and I don't intend to break it over trash like you."
She leaned in so close I could feel her breath against my ear.
"But listen to me, feral, you won't make it to the end of the week. I'm going to hunt you. And I am going to kill you."
With that, she stood, sending one last nod to her brother before turning on her heel.
As if to add insult to injury, she kicked me hard in the stomach before walking away.
Pain exploded through my ribs, and I bit back a scream, curling on the floor as I gasped for breath.
I don't know how long I lay there, struggling to sit up, but then—
There was a sound of a locker closing.
I froze, my head snapping up.
A few feet away, standing casually as if he had been there all along, was him.
Kieran Valerius Hunter.
His tall frame leaned against the lockers, arms crossed over his chest. The dim lighting cast shadows across his sharp features. His piercing golden eyes stared down at me, unreadable.
He had seen everything.
Had he just stood there the whole time?
My breathing was still uneven, my ribs aching from Selene's kick, but I forced myself up, refusing to look weak in front of him.
Kieran turned slightly, already walking away, when he suddenly stopped right in front of me.
His voice was low, deep, and filled with something I couldn't quite place.
"For a wolf as weak as yours," he murmured, not even sparing me a glance, "you do have a very sharp mouth."