KAMILA'S POV
Restlessness coils through me like a venomous snake, and I gnaw on my newly manicured nails.
Hours have passed since I met with Hawthrone, that insufferable wretch. The audacity she has, rejecting my generous offer as if she's above it all, above us. As if being different somehow makes her better. Superior.
She thinks she knows me, but she's oblivious to the sacrifices I've made, the things I've done, and the load of bullshit I've had to endure just to secure my current position.
Every ounce of respect and authority I've garnered as the Alpha princess and future Luna wasn't handed to me on a silver platter.
Her self-righteousness irks me to no end.
For a fleeting moment, I'd allowed myself to be moved by all that talk of justice and fairness. I allowed myself to believe we were similar, two girls fighting for their place, cut from the same cloth.
How mistaken I was.
I tried to educate her, to make her see that seizing opportunities and making sacrifices are the keys to the kingdom. And what do I get for my efforts?
A glaring display of her witless thinking.
In a fit of rage, I hurl my plush pillow across the room, imagining her face as the target.
What the hell was that? Tossing the plan aside just because he's giving her the silent treatment?
Why does she even care? She told me he didn't matter to her, but today, her eyes told a different story.
This is what I get for trusting anyone other than myself.
Just as I contemplate taking my frustrations out on my innocent teddy bear-my claws twitching with the urge-there's a knock at the door, pulling me back from my spiraling thoughts.
"Enter."
The door creaks open, revealing Yoko Suzuki. Her hair is a sleek bob that frames her round cheeks, her eyes slender and calculating, her lips thin with a cleft in her chin that appears when she smiles-though she seldom does.
Yoko is one of my many informants, the eyes and ears I have strategically placed throughout the school to ensure nothing escapes my notice.
It's a system that's served me well, allowing me to maintain a delicate balance of power, keeping the social hierarchy exactly where it should be-with me at the top.
And today, I've enlisted Yoko's services for a very specific task: keeping tabs on Hawthrone, the human who's become an irritating thorn in my side.
From the day she asked me for a key to the Obsidian Library-a place with very restricted information-I've been curious about what she was searching for in there.
Yoko bows at the door, going on her knees and bending her head down.
I sigh, running my hands through my luscious hair.
"So, what did you find out, Yoko?"
"Per your request, my lady, I followed her into the library. At first, there was nothing noteworthy. She just wandered around in awe for a few minutes before hiding from the guard," Yoko pauses, pressing her eyes shut, clearly holding something back.
"And?" I say, growing impatient.
"She was talking to herself, staring at something that wasn't there with dilated pupils. It was... unnatural," Yoko's voice conveys her confusion.
Not surprising. The human girl has always been eccentric.
"Go on," I prompt her.
"She suddenly seemed to know where to go, as if she had the entire place mapped out in her head within just two minutes of being there. She found what she was looking for," Yoko meets my eyes, pausing. "It was the door leading to the archives of that witch cult tribe from 500 years ago-the one completely forbidden to everyone but the Alpha himself."
Now I'm invested, sitting upright and leaning forward.
"What did she do next?"
"She walked up to the door that was closed with locks and, somehow, she walked right in," Yoko states.
I pull back, resting my back against the wall, and laugh bitterly. I'm already in a sour mood, and this revelation is the last thing I need right now.
"You're telling me a weak human girl, having no key or instruments at hand, walked into a room fully locked and barricaded by simply pushing the door open? Do you take me for a fool, Yoko?" I question her, raising an eyebrow, and she visibly stiffens.
Despite how ludicrous it sounds, I ponder on it for a moment. What reason would Yoko have to lie about a girl she's never met?
Her allegiance lies with me, and even if it didn't, the fate of her family's business rests in my palms. She wouldn't be foolish enough to risk the lives of her seven younger brothers.
"Continue."
"Once inside, she was reading the books, mumbling them out as if she could understand what they were saying. I ran away before she could catch me," Yoko finishes, looking up at me again before averting her gaze.
I nod, deep in thought, unable to hide the smirk that crawls up my lip.
"You've made a very interesting discovery, Yoko."
"Thank you, miss," she says, bowing repeatedly.
"You may leave now," I say, waving her off.
She stands up, performs a full bow once more, and dashes through the door.
I sit there for a few moments, digesting everything she's said.
From Sera's desire for a key to the Obsidian Library, to her ability to find the Astria witches' books and decode their gibberish-something is clearly amiss.
Smiling to myself, I realize that one way or another, I'll uncover this mystery. I'll find out what that little rat is hiding.
Suddenly, I'm in a good mood; I have leverage over her.
Soon, I'll wipe that annoying self-righteous smugness off her face and show her who should be cowering in front of whom.
Feeling less murderous, I decide it's time to pay a visit to my mate, Artemis.
It's been a week since his fling with her ended-a week for him to wallow in sadness and guilt, which should be more than enough time for him to revert back to being my Artemis.
I stroll to his hangout lounge in the boys' dorm building and knock on the door. A second passes before footsteps approach and the door opens, revealing Jasper.
"Where is Artemis?" I cut to the chase.
Jasper grins. "Hello to you too, señorita. Might I add how gorgeous you look today?"
"I don't have time for your childish antics, Jasper. Get out of the way," I warn.
"I'm wounded, yet charmed, by your icy-cold personality," he replies, adding a wink at the end.
Ignoring him, I push past and enter the room. There's Artemis, by the gym section, furiously punching a bag.
"Artemis," I call out.
He pauses and turns to look at me. This should be the moment he runs back to me, realizing his sins. Instead, his gaze briefly meets mine before he looks away.
"You're here," he says casually.
I'm momentarily stunned but shake it off.
"Of course. I know you've been upset for the past few days, so I wanted to see how you were doing."
"Sure about that? You're not here to point fingers and say 'I told you so'?"
I feign hurt. "That's not why I'm here. I care about you, Artemis. We've been through a lot, and the truth is, we only have each other."
His frown deepens, and he looks away, almost irked.
There's no sudden pull of emotion that tells me he's missed me. No softened eyes or welcoming smile. He doesn't take a step closer to embrace or kiss me, nor does he confess love like he usually would.
None of it.
All I get is a stoic, cold stare, as if I'm an unwelcome stranger intruding on his space. It hits hard-too hard-and confuses me.
She's out of the picture, so why this cold treatment? Why doesn't he want me?
"I'm sorry, Kamila. You took the time to come here to make me feel better, but I can't right now. I can't accept your goodwill or pretend we're friends. What I need is to be alone," Artemis states.
"Artemis, you're hurting, and I understand that. One's mate bond can be a soothing balm, you know. I'm willing to forgive and move on. Why not have dinner like we used to?" I propose, hoping to find a sliver of the man I knew, the one always desperate to fix his mistakes with elaborate dinners, fancy gifts, and brain-numbing orgasms.
Suddenly, Artemis lunges at the punching bag, his muscled arm tearing through it. He faces me, his eyes ablaze and teeth clenched, a manifestation of barely contained wrath.
"I'm holding back every fiber of my being from hurting you right now; you're testing that patience."
He strides toward me, stopping just inches from my face, locking his enraged gaze onto mine. His eyes are a window to his emotions: anger, hurt, perhaps even hatred.
"I don't buy your false narrative of caring for my well-being. I humored you, so you could get the fuck out. Don't let me do that by force," he snarls.
Without another word, he turns back to his new punching bag, apparently finding it more worthy of his attention than me.