Fake Man

Alastair doesn't show up to class the entire week, and I avoid everyone except Taylor who dutifully takes me to school every morning. I am constantly on the edge of rage, resentful of everyone else who seems to be moving on with their lives.

On Wednesday, as I'm leaving gym, I spot three warlocks lounging in the empty hallway. I quickly turn on my heels, hoping to avoid being seen, but with my luck, I should have known it was futile.

"Where do you think you are going, bitch?" Luke grabs my hair, yanking me to face him. He looks angry, angrier than I've ever seen him, even taking into account the time I elbowed him in the nose. Deron and Barrett join his side, the other senior smirking like a cat who just caught a mouse.

Barrett, however, looks— "Guys, let's not do this today. I don't want to kill my high." His body is angled away from me and his brows are knitted together in either annoyance or worry, I'm not quite sure.

Deron laughs, shoving Barrett lightly. "What do you mean? This is the high." His cruel smile spreads.

Luke ignores his companions, keeping his eyes locked on me and his hand firmly gripping my hair. "Do you know how long I've been waiting to beat you into a pulp?" he speaks darkly, close to my ear.

Cold water rushes through my veins, filling me with an unnatural calm, like the sky just before a storm. "Listen Luke, I really don't have the patience for this right now." I don't recognize the ice in my own voice. "So, just leave me alone." Ignoring the urge to pull away from his grasp, I force myself to wait for him to release me.

"See, this is why I've always hated you, Cameron." He ignores my hint. "You think you're better than us. You prance around school with your alpha boyfriend, seducing everyone with your smiles and this nice guy act. You even had Alastair fooled for a minute there, but I know who you really are."

I grind my teeth, control cracking at the mention of the other warlock. "Let go."

"You're a fake." I shove off the sting of his words, clawing at the calm to keep it in place. "You're whole damn kind is fake. Pretending to have high ideals when you all are heartless bigots, never lifting a finger to help your supposed allies, only caring when you're the ones hurt. The whole lot of you are pretending to be people when really you're just territorial dogs."

I'm not sure what he means, but I have a sinking suspicion that I don't want to be confirmed. "This is my final warning, Luke. Let. Go."

Of course, he doesn't. "But you're the worst of them all. Fake smile. Fake attitude. Fake man."

That's it. I headbutt him.

But he is prepared. My forehead meets a thin stone barrier which quickly formed on his browline. I'm momentarily dazed, but I shake off the ache with a growl as I feel the glow rise behind my eyes.

Then I'm taken by instincts. My last coherent thought is the advice Alastair gave me what seems like ages ago. Go for Barrett first. I ignore the pain of fire and stone working in tandem, instead charging for the smallest caster. I push past any hesitation I might feel at seeing his pupils blown wide, chalking it up to the effects of the weed rather than fear. I put all my weight into following through on a punch directly to his left eye. I slam my knee into his groin and when he bends over in pain, I throw another punch to his stomach for good measure before turning back on Luke who is trying to pull me off the younger bully.

Luke is stronger than the other two and easily holds me down while Deron approaches me with his hands burning. I try unsuccessfully to push him off as I feel the fire on my neck where Deron touches me. But while pain disrupts witches' magic, it fuels a werewolf's rage.

I thrash widely, feeling the beginnings of my shift transform my fangs and claws. Partial transformations are… unpleasant to say the least. The pain in my jaw is nauseating and the tips of my fingers burn and tingle, but the discomfort only fuels my desperation as I scratch and slash at the warlock holding me.

The stone mage's grip locks as rock encases his forearms, protecting himself from my rabid attacks. Taking a cue from Deron's assault on the sensitive skin of my neck, I spin in Luke's grasp so I'm facing him and sink my fangs into his throat.

An image of Addy, ripped apart fills my mind unbidden.

I feel like a bucket of ice water was suddenly poured on me, and I am just barely cognizant enough to not tear straight through his flesh. I carefully let my teeth retract, suddenly concerned I might have hit a major artery. Luke releases me instantly, gripping at the wound to stop the steady flow of blood rolling down his shoulder.

A sinking horror sets in. I— I could have killed him.

"I— I'm so sorry. I didn't mean—" I step back, but Deron follows, his hands still aflame.

"I'm going to enjoy burning you to a crisp."

I shrink, suddenly afraid of myself more than my bullies.

He didn't come. He didn't stop them. He didn't stop me. Why didn't he come?

"Deron, stop. We need to get Luke help." Barrett is holding the pale warlock upright, apparently recovered from the pummeling I gave him. "He isn't worth it. Let's just go."

The fire in Deron's hands flickers and then dissipates as his gaze shifts rapidly between me and Luke. Finally, he huffs and turns away from me, going to his friend. "This isn't over bitch. Someday, I'm gonna burn you like the faggot you are."

On Thursday Davy finds me in a quiet corner of the library during lunch, avoiding the pack, hoping to see Alastair.

"Go away," I tell him.

"Cammy, please—"

"I said leave me alone."

"Can't we just talk?"

I turn to face him full on. His eyes are pleading. I know what he wants to talk about and I don't have the desire or energy to talk about us.

"You want to talk? Fine. Has your dad found Ross yet?" I snap.

"Ross? Who—"

He's confused.

I'm pissed.

"The wolf that killed Adeline!" I whisper-shout.

"Oh. Uh… The Clearview Alpha said his link with the pack snapped shortly after her death. He's a rogue now," he says calmly, as if that settles the matter.

"And what is Alpha Edmund doing to hunt him down?" I spit, vitriol rolling off my tongue. I already know the answer based on Luke's insinuations, but I don't want to believe it.

"Hunt him down?" He furrows his brow as if I just suggested something stupid. "Uh… I don't know. I think the witches are dealing with it now. But, um… Cameron, can we talk about us?"

I let anger smother my disappointment. Disappointment means I expected something different, but why would I expect anything else? Werewolves are territorial isolationists who only care about their own kind. Luke was right. We are all fakes. But I'm done faking. Faking only ever hurt me.

"What's there to talk about? We're over. Go find your real mate so my parents stop riding my ass about it."