But honestly, it’s not like I can blame them. If I wasn’t me, I’d be staring, too. I mean, come on, supernatural or not, they’re still high school kids and I am still the girl who just caused a fight between the alpha wolf and the most powerful vampire in existence.
It’d be stranger if they didn’t stare.
That knowledge doesn’t make the walk across the room to my desk any easier, though. Even with Mekhi giving me a supportive smile.
“We just started act 4, scene 5,” he tells me in a soft undertone as I slide into my desk. “You can share my book.”
“Thanks,” I answer, pulling a pen and a small notebook out of my purse. I have no idea why I didn’t grab my backpack before heading down here, but I didn’t, so this is going to have to do.
“Everyone’s taking a turn reading today, Grace,” the instructor informs me from her spot at the front of the classroom. “Why don’t you read Ophelia in this scene?”
“Okay,” I answer, wondering why I have to play the damsel in distress. Because I’ve already read the play, I know this is the scene where Ophelia goes mad—or at least, where the audience gets to see her insanity for the first time. I try not to take it personally that she seems to think I’m the right one for the job…
Mekhi is playing Laertes, my brother, which makes it a little easier to read the lines of an insane girl who has just lost her father and feels all alone in the world. But I still struggle to get through them, especially the lines toward the end.
“‘There’s a daisy: I would give you some violets, but they withered all when my father died: they say he made a good end—For bonny sweet Robin is all my joy.’”
Mekhi reads Laertes’s line—obviously concerned about the state of my mental health. And by my, I mean Ophelia’s, I remind myself as I move into softly singing my last lines in the scene—and the play. “‘And will he not come again? And will he not come again? No, no, he is dead; Go to thy death-bed: He never will come again—’”
The bell rings before I finish her lines, and I stop as the rest of the class starts shoveling their books into their backpacks as fast as they can go. “Thank you, Grace. Tomorrow, we’ll pick up where you left off.”
I nod, then shove everything back into my purse, doing my best not to think about the death scene I just read. Doing my best not to think about my parents—and about Hudson. About Jaxon’s grief over who Hudson was and what that forced him to do.
It’s harder than I want it to be, especially when I realize my World History of Witchcraft Trials （and yeah, okay, now that I know about the whole paranormal thing, classes like this one make a lot more sense） is next.
It’s not the class that bothers me; it’s the walk through the creepy af tunnels. Especially now that I wonder what would have happened to me down there alone with Flint if Lia hadn’t come along when she did.
But I’ve got to get to class, so it’s no use spending too much time dwelling on might-have-beens. Especially now that Jaxon has pretty much made me untouchable. What happened in that lounge might have been horrifying to witness, but I’m not going to lie. The fact that I no longer have to be afraid of chandeliers falling on my head or random shifters shoving me out into the snow isn’t a bad thing.
And when Mekhi walks with me down the hall instead of racing off to his next class, I realize that Jaxon’s protection extends even further than I thought. The threat was made—and I’m pretty sure heeded, judging by the wide berth everyone is giving me at the moment—and still it’s not enough for him. Still, he wants to make sure I’m safe, so much so that he’s called in other members of the Order to ensure I am.
Maybe it should bother me.
And honestly, if this was a normal school or a normal situation, it would probably bug the hell out of me to have such a protective…boyfriend? But I’m currently surrounded by shifters, vampires, and witches—all of whom play by rules I don’t have a clue about. Plus, it’s been less than three hours since a chandelier nearly crushed me to death. Not accepting Jaxon’s and Mekhi’s protection would be foolish, at least until things calm down around here.
I turn to thank Mekhi for walking with me, then freak out a little when Flint pretty much shoves his way between us. “Hey, Grace. How are you feeling?” he asks, all sweetness and concern. “I’ve been worried about you this morning.”
“Worried about me or worried that the chandelier didn’t do its job well enough?” I query, walking faster in what I already know is a useless attempt to get away from him.