A King's Weakness (Book 1)

Chapter 12

TUESDAY COMES AND GOES. I am able to steer clear of Lyra, or she avoids me—I don't care which. I don't see Ryder, though his scent is all over the school, so I know he's here somewhere.

Wednesday rolls around and it's the same thing—no one bothers me, and I am able to settle into the new school without any further incident.

Kage seems pleased to see me return to some semblance of normal. I feel relieved, too. If I keep myself separate from the shifters and stay calm, I won't hurt anyone else—especially someone who can't heal like Ryder.

Ryder.

Just the thought of him makes my stomach curl. He had seemed genuine about being willing to help me understand my shifter side, but after the disaster in the woods, I don't want to know more. I want to forget it all. I want to forget what I am, and I want to return to the routine Kage and I know so well—a new city in a few months, start over, stay quiet.

When Thursday morning comes, I stride through the hallways to class. Kage had dropped me off, as per usual, and I had just finished printing my English paper before the bell rang for classes to start.

I glance at it one last time, the black ink a stark contrast to the processed white paper. I am by no means a genius, but with everything that has happened recently, plus the fact that I had transferred late in the fall semester and missed the original assignment work period, I am pretty damn proud of this paper.

Mrs. Richter, the English teacher, will be pleased. She is a sweet, elderly lady with a mild Shakespeare obsession, but I don't mind. If I had to teach thirty hormonal high schoolers about tragic plays, I would probably be a little obsessed with the material, too.

As I slide into my desk—an unassigned seat near the door that is quickly becoming my unassigned, assigned seat—I hide a wince. Someone near the back of the room is playing the latest rap album at an excruciating volume, practically deafening me. I'm shocked that no one else seems to notice, but then again, Mrs. Richter frequently forgets to turn on her hearing aids before class, so she is probably completely oblivious, and the other students just don't care.

"Assignments to the front, please," the teacher announces, turning her back to us to write something on the board.

Papers shuffle, the sound a tornado in my ears, beating angrily against my eardrums. I duck my head, trying to hide my reaction and muffle the sound as I look around at the other students. No one else seems affected.

I grind my teeth together, clenching my jaw as the students in the row behind me pass their essays to me. I add mine to the top of the pile and wait for Mrs. Richter to come around and collect them.

The music is thudding in my head, threatening to drown me, and I try to cover my ears inconspicuously.

How is no one else noticing this?

The entirety of my first period class consists of me trying to prevent the cacophony of the classroom from reaching my ears. When the bell finally rings, I think it might deafen me.

Lockers slam in the hallway, each clang of metal on metal becoming a sonic boom in my head. Sneakers squeak on the linoleum, stabbing icepicks into my eardrums. My jaw is sore from clenching it so hard, and my teeth feel like they are going to crack from the pressure. I must be getting a migraine, because any and every sound here is threatening to drive me insane from pain.

I always keep a small bottle of ibuprofen in my locker, and right now, the only thing I can focus on is that little white container. I practically rip the small metal door from its hinges in my hurry to get the medicine, adding another ungodly loud screech to the hammer of noise in my skull.