Mai~
The tension between Liam and had always been strong, but that mont—when I finally said the words I had been holding back for weeks—changed everything. My heart beat painfully in my chest as his sharp blue eyes flicked to mine. His voice—when it ca—was like ice. "Bullshit."
It felt like a slap.
Liam’s lips curled into a bitter sneer. "You think any of this is going to fix anything? You think a couple of notes and punching a few assholes for is going to change what you did? You’re the reason I’m in this ss, Mai. The scars on my face? The years of therapy? That’s all your fault."
Each word was like a blade cutting deeper, shredding sothing inside of that I wasn’t prepared to lose. I’d hurt him. I knew that. But hearing it, hearing him lay it out in such a raw, unforgiving way, it struck a place in I didn’t even know existed. My chest tightened, and for a mont, I couldn’t breathe.
Liam’s voice rang out again, louder, almost desperate. "You ruined my life. You destroyed , and now you think showing up with little notes and pretending to care will change that?"
I opened my mouth, but no words ca out. For the first ti in my life, I was speechless, and it wasn’t because I didn’t know how to respond—it was because I couldn’t feel the usual surge of anger, the need to lash out. No. It was different. This wasn’t just about being the Alpha’s daughter or about him being the scarred, awkward kid I’d tornted. It was deeper than that.
The truth was, I was the one who was wounded now.
I stood there, paralyzed by a truth that had never hit so hard before: Liam’s anger wasn’t just justified, it was earned. I was the reason for his pain, and no matter what I did, nothing would ever make that go away.
I don’t know how long I stood there. Minutes? Hours? But when I finally looked at him again, his eyes were already off , staring into his locker, his posture hunched as though he couldn’t even stand to be in the sa space as . His words echoed in my head, bouncing around like a broken record.
He was right.
I could feel the stinging burn of my own emotions—ones I wasn’t used to. My pride. My power. I had none of it now. He’d shattered that part of .
And for the first ti, I didn’t know how to fix it.
The following days were... quiet. Too quiet.
I tried—goddess, how I tried—to apologize. But every attempt felt like it was slipping through my fingers like sand. I couldn’t just go up to him and say, I’m sorry. That wasn’t . I’d never been good at apologizing, not when my pride was so tightly woven into my existence. So, I tried to do it my way. My own way.
I started small. I’d slip into the back of the classroom where Liam sat, leaving a half-closed notebook with a la poem inside, on his desk. Nothing that scread "I’m sorry," but enough that it would make him think—think that maybe I was trying.
It didn’t work.
Then, I thought about what and Eldur did, the fire—goddess, the fire. I had noticed more often than not while stalking Liam, how he always flinched everyti he ca in contact with fire, no matter how small that fire was. Maybe if I did sothing to help him get over that fear in my own way, he’d see that I was trying. I told myself I would find a way to make it right. I just didn’t know how yet.
One evening, I snuck into my art teacher’s house. Yes, I broke in. No, I wasn’t proud of stooping so low for anyone other than myself, but desperate tis called for desperate asures. And this? This was my last attempt.
Mr. Dawson had always been a peculiar man—neat, but oddly nervous around the students, especially when my father’s na ca up. As an Alpha’s daughter, I’d learned early how to use that fact to my advantage. But there was more to Dawson than he let on, and I knew it. I had seen it.
I rembered one night, I had used my bedroom vanity mirror to watch him like I usually did with many people in the pack when I was bored, it wasn’t sothing new to . Spying through the veil of the glass. What I saw that day made my blood run with excitent. Excitent I knew Eldur would have eaten up quickly if only we were in talking terms again.
Mr. Dawson had been involved in a dark deal—one that had involved using forbidden magic to try and increase his own artistic abilities. He’d called upon witches he had no right to summon to pack lands. Worse? He’d made a blood pact with them. And if the Alpha found out? Dawson would be hunted down. Killed, maybe. My father didn’t tolerate treason, especially when it involved the dark arts.
So, naturally, I used this to my advantage.
I snuck in through the back window of Dawson’s house, my witch magic doing the work of unlocking the door silently. He wasn’t ho yet, which was perfect.
I had a few monts before he returned.
I paced the small room, steeling myself for the next part. The room slled faintly of oils and paints, but there was sothing more. Sothing sinister.
Finally, I found what I was looking for—his collection of magic books hidden beneath a floorboard in the corner. I pulled them out with excited fingers. These weren’t just sketchbooks. These were the dark arts books that held the power to bring about destruction. And Mr. Dawson had used them. He’d used them and betrayed the trust of the pack.
I waited for him to co ho.
The mont he walked through the door, I was ready. His eyes widened when he saw standing in the middle of his living room, the books in my hand.
"Mai..." He choked on the word, fear rising in his voice. "What are you doing here?"
I grinned. "I need a favor."
I could see the sweat beading on his forehead, his hands shaking. He knew. He knew what I was capable of. Everyone knew.
"I want you to pair with Liam Rivers for the next art project," I said, my tone smooth, deadly calm. "If you don’t... I’ll tell my father about your little... side business." I lifted the books higher, letting the light glint off the edges of their leather covers.
His face drained of color. He swallowed hard. "You—You wouldn’t..."
I stepped forward, my voice low and dangerous. "I would. And you know it. The Alpha doesn’t like traitors, Dawson. You wouldn’t want to make an enemy of him."
I could almost hear him tremble as he nodded. "Fine. I’ll do it."
The next week, the project was announced in school.
Dawson’s gaze flicked nervously over to mine as he began reading out the pairs for the art project. When he got to us, I caught the faintest, resigned sigh from him before he said, "Mai Blackwood, Liam Rivers."
I had to fight the urge to smile. Victory.
Once Dawson had finished calling out the nas, I watched with a smile on my face as Liam got up from his seat and went to talk to him privately. However, nothing was private when I was involved. I laughed as Liam begged Dawson to change his project partner but Dawson, as a good boy that he was, told Liam flatly that it wasn’t possible.
After class, I found Liam hanging out in the hallway, looking like he might just take off the second he spotted . I didn’t give him that chance. "You’re stuck with now, Rivers," I said, letting my words hang in the air. "Hope you’re ready for a lot of . It’s not just the project—it’s , too. Get used to it."
He stared at , his mouth opening like he was about to protest. But I could tell by the look on my face that he knew arguing wasn’t going to change anything. "What do you want from Mai? You know I don’t want to do this," he muttered, frustration already creeping into his voice.
"Oh, I know," I said with a smirk, the corners of my lips turning up. "But too bad. We’re partners now. I’ll be following you around every step of the way. You might as well accept it or risk failing the project."
Liam looked like he might burst from the frustration building up inside him. But in his eyes, I caught sothing else—a flicker of sothing. Maybe it was resignation. Maybe not. But it was there.
"Enjoy the ride," I added with a soft, almost teasing tone, though there was a bite to it that made it clear: I wasn’t going anywhere.
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