“Protect her,” I said, though I had no right to order him.

He nodded solemnly.

“With my life, if necessary.”

I stared at him for a long moment and was surprised to realize that he really meant it. If it came to a duel to the death with Sanchez, he would be all in, fighting to the last drop of his blood to keep Kaitlyn safe. I wondered if this was because of the strict code of honor he seemed to adhere to…or for some other reason. But did it really matter when it was clear he was sincere? I thought not.

Maybe not all Drakes were bad after all.

“Thank you,” I said and, nodding at the Healer, slipped out to go to my second period class which I was probably already late for.

25

I was, indeed, late for second period, even though I went straight there and didn’t even bother to change out of my awful gym clothes.

I tried to slip into the classroom silently but all heads turned when I opened the door and I felt every single person in the room staring at me. Including Griffin, who was sitting in a desk in the far corner, legs outstretched and crossed at the ankles in a nonchalant sprawl.

For a moment I just stood there frozen. Mrs. Wainright was clearly the only one who hadn’t noticed me—she had her back turned and was writing laboriously on the white board. Obviously she hadn’t heard the door open.

“Oh, my Lady of the Woods,” one of the Fae girls whispered loudly as they all stared at me. “What happened to her arms? Look—she’s all scarred up!”

“Eww,” the other whispered back—just as loudly. “She must be one of those girls who cuts themselves—gross!”

Suddenly I remembered what I had forgotten in the drama of Kaitlyn’s injury—my dreaded scars. Looking down at myself, I saw that they were clearly visible marching up and down my arms like white ladders in the overhead fluorescents.

All the pains I had gone to in order to hide them and now, here they were—displayed for everyone to see.

For a moment, I was tempted to bolt—just shut the door and run away. After all, Mrs. Wainright still hadn’t seen me—I could just tell her later that I had been sick and had taken myself to the Healer’s office. I bet she wouldn’t care as long as I made up whatever work she assigned.

But then I happened to catch Griffin’s gaze. He had pulled down the dark sunglasses he seemed to wear everywhere—at least during the day—and was looking at me directly. Not at my scars—at me. At my eyes. Slowly, he arched one blue-black eyebrow as if to say, “Well?”

The key throbbed between my breasts and, as always with him, I felt like I couldn’t ignore his silent dare.

Lifting my chin, I marched into the classroom—not trying to hide my scars and not trying to be quiet either. I took my seat and kept my spine straight, refusing to look back or hunch my shoulders when the Fae girls twittered unkindly about me, speculating about why I had cut myself and if I had actually been trying to kill myself or did I just want attention.

The only good thing that I could see about the situation was the fact that Sanchez wasn’t there. Neither was Ari Reyes, of course, or any of the other Drake boys for that matter. I wondered if they were staying with Sanchez in a show of solidarity or if all of them had just decided to skip. Either way, I was glad they weren’t there. I didn’t need any more trouble with the Drakes just then.

It felt like a slow season in Hell, but finally the class ended. I had plans to run back to the girls’ locker room and change quickly before the start of third period, so I was the first one out the door the minute the bell chimed.

Or I thought I would be, anyway. But somehow I found Griffin blocking my path as soon as I got out into the hall.

Plans to go change forgotten, I stood stock still, staring up at him. His lightning and pitch eyes weren’t glowing like the last time I had seen them but they were still incredibly intense as he stared at me.

“What…what do you want?” I demanded breathlessly as the key burned against my chest. I thought he was going to ask about my scars—maybe demand an explanation. But when he finally spoke, it had nothing to do with my old injuries. It seemed he was more concerned with new ones.

“You’re bleeding,” he drawled in that low, silky voice of his. “That’s dangerous around here.”

Then, without another word, he glided away and was gone into the crowded hallway.

For a moment I just stood there gaping at him. Bleeding? What was he talking about?

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