Seven twenty-five. The dining hall doors loom in front of me, and Rhys isn't here yet.
I check my phone for the third time—no message, no explanation. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe this was all some elaborate joke, get the halfblood to agree to a fake relationship and then leave her waiting like an idiot.
Seven twenty-eight. Still nothing.
I should go inside. Sitting alone is better than standing here looking desperate. I push through the doors before I can talk myself out of it.
The dining hall is packed, the usual divide splitting the room—gold and black on the left, silver and crimson on the right. I scan the vampire section for Rhys's dark hair, his broad shoulders. Nothing.
I don't even make it three steps inside before three shadows cut off my path.
Three vampires. The blonde one from my first day in the Fangs' facility, flanked by two others built like refrigerators with fangs. They form a wall of pale skin and predatory smiles, blocking my way forward.
"Look who wandered into the wrong side of the room." The blonde one tilts his head. "Still smelling like wet dog."
"I'm just passing through." I grip my tray tighter. "Move."
"Did the mutt just give me an order?" He laughs, glancing at his friends. They circle closer, cutting off my escape. The dining hall is full of witnesses, but no one's going to help—half of them would pay for front-row seats to watch a halfblood get torn apart.
"I heard you were sniffing around the locker room yesterday." He leans in, cold breath washing over my face. "Looking for someone? Or just hoping to roll in our scent like the bitch you are?"
My hands shake. The tray rattles, and I hate myself for showing weakness.
"What's wrong?" He reaches for my cheek, fingers extended. "No witty comeback? No—"
His hand never makes contact.
One second he's reaching for my face. The next he's airborne, his body slamming into the wall hard enough to crack plaster. The sound echoes through the suddenly silent dining hall—a thunderclap that freezes every conversation, every breath.
Rhys stands where the blonde vampire used to be, hand still extended from the throw. His gray eyes have gone dark, dangerous, fixed on the crumpled figure sliding down the wall.
"Touch her again." His voice is quiet, controlled, more terrifying than any shout. "And I'll rip your arm off and beat you with it."
The blonde vampire groans, trying to push himself upright. His friends have gone statue-still, caught between loyalty and self-preservation.
"Rhys." The second vampire's voice comes out strangled. "We didn't know she was—"
"She's mine." Rhys pulls me against his side, arm wrapping around my waist, possessive and deliberate. "Anyone who touches her answers to me. Anyone who looks at her wrong answers to me. Is that clear?"
Silence. Then a whisper from the werewolf section, loud enough to carry: "Holy shit. Is that Grayson's sister?"
"With Rhys Vance?" Another voice, higher, incredulous. "No way. No fucking way."
The whispers spread like wildfire, rippling through both sides of the room. Every eye in the dining hall fixes on us—on Rhys's arm around my waist, on the impossible image of the vampire prince claiming the wolf captain's halfblood sister.
"Walk with me." His voice drops low, meant only for me. His hand spreads warm against my hip.
He guides me toward the vampire section, and the crowd parts. Students scramble out of our path, conversations dying as we pass. We reach his table and he pulls out a chair for me. I sit because my legs are shaking too hard to stand.
Rhys settles beside me, thigh pressing against mine under the table. His hand stays on my waist, thumb tracing slow circles against my hip that the audience can't see but I feel everywhere.
"Breathe." His lips brush my ear, close enough to look intimate from across the room. "You look terrified."
"I'm not terrified." My voice comes out steadier than I expected. "I'm recalibrating."
His laugh is soft, meant only for me. "Look at me like you want me. Give them something to talk about."
I turn my head. His face is inches away, gray eyes searching mine. I let my expression soften into something that feels dangerously close to the truth. His thumb stills against my hip, and for a moment neither of us moves.
"Better," he murmurs. But his voice has gone rough, and he doesn't look away.
Across the room, Grayson rises from the wolves' table. His face has gone white, then red. He takes a step toward us—but his packmates catch his arms, holding him back with urgent whispers.
He can't act. Not here, not without causing an incident. His own rules are trapping him.
I meet his eyes across the dining hall and let him see what I'm feeling. Not fear. Satisfaction.
His expression twists, but he sits back down. His packmates release him slowly, exchanging glances.
"Eat something." Rhys slides a plate toward me—fruit, toast, normal breakfast food. "You'll need your strength for the aftermath."
"The aftermath?"
"Your brother's going to corner you the first chance he gets." He picks up his coffee, casual as anything, like he didn't just throw a vampire into a wall for me. "He's not the type to let this go quietly."
"I can handle Grayson."
"Can you?" He raises an eyebrow. "Because last time I checked, he had you on a leash and you were grateful for the length."
The words sting, but he's not wrong. I pick up a piece of toast and force myself to eat, hyperaware of his thigh against mine, his hand on my hip, the weight of every stare in the room.
This is it. No turning back. I'm Rhys Vance's girlfriend now—publicly, officially, in front of everyone who's ever made my life hell. The whispers will spread, the rumors will multiply. By lunch, the whole school will know. And my brother will make me pay for it.
The bell rings, signaling the end of breakfast. Rhys walks me to my first class, his hand on the small of my back the entire way. Students press against the walls to let us pass, staring openly, not even trying to hide it.
At my classroom door, he leans down and presses a kiss to my temple—soft, brief, devastatingly public.
"See you after lunch," he says, loud enough for the gathered crowd to hear. Then, quieter: "Watch your back."
He's gone before I can respond, disappearing into the stream of students. I turn to head to my first class—and Grayson is right there.
He must have crossed the hallway the moment Rhys left, timing it perfectly so no one would see the confrontation. His golden eyes burn into mine, and up close I can see the vein pulsing in his temple, the white-knuckled fists at his sides.
"You have no idea what you've done." His voice is barely a whisper, pitched so only I can hear. "No idea."
"Grayson—"
"Don't." He leans closer, and his breath is hot against my ear. "You think he's going to protect you? You think spreading your legs for a vampire makes you untouchable?"
My stomach turns. "It's not like that."
"I don't care what it's like." His hand closes around my wrist, grip bruising, hidden from view by the angle of our bodies. "You just declared war on your own family. On your own blood." His lips curl back from his teeth. "And you're going to regret it."
He releases me and steps back, composing his face into something neutral for the students streaming past us. To anyone watching, it looks like a brother checking on his sister. A brief exchange between siblings.
No one sees the threat underneath.
"Enjoy your vampire while you can," he says, loud enough for nearby ears to catch. Then, quieter: "This isn't over."
He walks away without looking back, golden and perfect, already pulling out his phone to text someone—rallying his pack, probably. Planning whatever comes next.
My wrist throbs where he grabbed me. I'll have bruises tomorrow, hidden under my sleeves like always.
But for the first time, I don't feel like crying.
I feel like fighting back.