Obsession: A Rejected Mate Shifter Romance (The Mate Games #1)(32)

“Do you submit?” I snarled, barely recognizing my own voice.

Her face was turning purple, mottled with fear and rage. But I saw my victory in her eyes.

“Y-yes,” she gasped.

“Say. It.”

She closed her eyes and released every ounce of fight left in her. “I submit.”

I squeezed her throat just a bit tighter, not a big enough person to win gracefully, before I flung her to the ground. Callie connected with the forest floor hard enough the ground beneath my feet tremored. Dust and pine needles lifted into a cloud, and when the air cleared, she was there, in a crater made by her own body.

The shock of it was enough to pull me out of whatever dark, unrecognizable fugue I’d been lost to.

The clapping came first, just loud and obnoxious enough to be heard over the roar of my blood through my veins.

“Brava, little wolf. Seems you were right. You didn’t need my help, after all.” Noah smirked. “You certainly put her right where she belongs.”

My gaze snapped to the place where Noah and Kingston stood. Noah barely looked rumpled past the smudge of dirt on his cheek and uncharacteristically tousled hair. Kingston was worse for wear, leaves clinging to his hair and shirt. A dark bruise bloomed across his cheek. Part of me was surprised to learn the Alpha-to-be had submitted to the vampire. The other part wondered if that had more to do with an unlikely truce while they watched the chick fight taking place right beside them.

Callie was alive; I was sure of it. She was bleeding from her mouth but breathing slowly. She remained unconscious as the scene we were immersed in melted away and became nothing more than a cold, sterile space made of four walls and gray paint. Everyone else in the class came into view, all disheveled and many sporting bruises, sweat stains, and torn clothing.

Professor Sanderson appeared in a cloud of purple mist, her gaze trained on me. “Everyone stop. Remove your beacons and place them at your feet at once.”

Oh, no. What had I done to earn that look of reproach?

“Sunday Fallon, shower, collect your belongings, and return to your dormitory. You spilled blood during this exercise even though you were instructed not to. Following instructions is paramount for the safety of all students when we are in mixed-species classes. You’ll attend sessions with Father Gallagher Saturday at sundown. Do you understand?”

Callie sat up and stretched, a saccharine smile on her face as she wiped away the blood that had trickled from the corner of her lips. Lips I never once hit.

“Professor, I didn’t—”

“Don’t argue with me, sugar. You did what you did. Now get out of my sight.”

As I tossed my beacon on the floor, I looked back at the two men I’d been in the middle of before my fight with Callie. They both stood with their arms crossed over their chests, frowns on their faces. I wondered if they knew just how much they resembled a pair of faithful guards.

Callie got to her feet and offered me a little wave. “See you around, Sunday.”

She’d marked me with a target that all but said, watch your back. She might not have said the words, but her message couldn’t have been any clearer.

This wasn’t over, not by a long shot.





Chapter

Seventeen





THORNE





I slammed my locker closed, loathing the necessity of such a mortal convenience. I had a private shower and changing area, perks of the family name, but in times such as these—when I was intent on ‘bumping into’ a certain pretty dove—convenience trumped indulgence. Thus my willing use of the men’s changing room.

Our conversation had been interrupted, and I intended to finish it. A mission that would be much easier to accomplish from here. Ideally, by intercepting her on her way back to her flat and locating a nearby alcove to pull her into until I had her moaning my name in defeat. She thought I’d let her go easily? Not a fucking chance. I may be a prince, but I was far from a gentleman.

I may not be able to sink my teeth—or my cock, for that matter—into her, but that didn’t mean I was about to let her go off seeking pleasure in the hands of any other man, either. Sunday Fallon was mine. And it was well past time she realized it.

My thoughts were interrupted by the hum of dozens of whispered conversations and an unfamiliar twinge in my chest. I’d worked hard over the years to control my ability to read the thoughts of others, to insert myself into their minds. Here at Ravenscroft, it was part of the code of conduct agreement to respect the privacy of all students and staff. But this was different. This was . . .

Sunday.

I’m not sure why I was certain she was at the center of whatever was going on, but I just knew. Rising, I crossed the room in a few ground-eating strides, stepping out of the men’s locker room the same moment Callie vacated the women’s.

She was wearing her cat-that-caught-the-canary smile when her gaze found me, looking far more poised than she had the last time I’d seen her.

“What did you do?”

“Who, me?” she asked, pressing a nearly perfect, manicured hand to her chest. The polish was chipped and one of her nails jagged from her sparring match with Sunday.

I allowed myself a small smile at the visible evidence of her resounding loss. Donoghues, like Blackthornes, rarely lost anything. To do so in such a public fashion could not be sitting well.