Silverton High. Monday morning.
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Victor kept walking like he was possessed, or running from a ghost. The hallway peeled away behind them, but her scent stayed. Clung to their teeth. To the inside of their f.ucking throats. Vanilla and blood. Honey and jasmine. Like something made to crawl under their skin and stay there. It didn’t fade. It bloomed. Grew roots in muscle and breath. Burned slow like a fever that didn’t break. They didn’t speak. Didn’t look at each other. Didn’t need to. Cause their fists were already clenched. Their Lycans had risen the second she hit the floor. Not because she was weak, but because she didn’t look away. No one ever did that. Not here. Not to them. But she had. Like she didn’t know who they were. Or worse, like she didn’t care. And that? That did somethin
