Home > Betrayals (Strange Angels #2)(17)

Betrayals (Strange Angels #2)(17)
Author: Lili St. Crow, Lilith Saintcrow

Not so lucky for him, since he’d got bitten and ended up here.

“You looked lonely.” He hunched over his plate, his long fingers almost but not quite touching the meat. “And they bet I wouldn’t do it, since I’m sub. Sometimes you have to show them they’re wrong, even the doms.”

“Sub?” Doms? Oh boy.

“I, um, was born that way. Born, not bitten, and born sub, too.” He blinked. “You don’t know about that, huh? Graves said you knew a lot, but not some stuff.”

“He did, huh?” I shoved in another bite of egg. Dibs relaxed a little. “What else did Graves say?”

“That if anyone messed with you, he’d call “em out. He got into it the first day he got here, proved he was dom. He sleeps in a top bunk.” Even though he was showing his teeth, Dibs’ expression was gentle. He scooped up one of the steaks and bit into it, teeth scissoring effortlessly through.

Isn’t that interesting. “And you don’t?” I played with a line of syrup on my plate, dragging fork tines through it and swirling.

“There’re lots of beds, but not every wulf sleeps in one. It’s complicated.” He took another massive bite. The meat splorched a little, and I felt distinctly queasy.

Deal with it, Dru.

But I remembered a werwulf’s teeth tearing through flesh and grinding down on Graves’ shoulder, and the thought made me feel green all over. Not a nice springtime green, either.

“Hey, dogboy!” A yell from a passing djamphir, one of Irving’s friends, a slim dark-haired kid in a red shirt and jeans, slouching past with that eerie gracefulness. “Put your dish on the floor!” He sneered a little as he passed, elegantly.

Dibs hunched up even further, and the ball of acid inside my chest boiled up as if something had been dropped in it. I slid my chair back, my legs tensing, but Dibs’ hand came down on my wrist with surprising strength.

“Just let it go,” he whispered under the crowd noise. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“It does.” I tried to pull my hand away. “It means something.”

A ripple ran through the caf. I turned my head, keeping the djamphir in sight. He dropped down at Irving’s table, one of the prime spots of cafeteria real estate, and laughed. His friends were laughing too. My braid bumped my back as I tried to pull away from Dibs again.

Mark. Memory served up the djamphir’s name just as my free hand curled into a fist. I’m pretty sure his name is Mark. He even looks like a Mark. Go figure.

“Wow. You really do care.” He laughed, a shaky little sound. “Just let it roll off. I’m not upset, see? You’ll just make trouble if you say anything. Keep your head down.”

The tension simmered down a notch, but it didn’t leave me. My shoulders were a rigid bar under my T-shirt and hoodie, and I’d lost every ounce of appetite I’d had.

“You don’t argue with them.” He let go of me, finger by finger. “Not over a wulf. They won’t make it hard for you, get it? They’ll make it hard for me. But don’t worry, the doms will take care of it. Sooner or later. They always do.”

“Jesus.” I let out a long, shaky breath. It had bothered me before, the dismissive way Christophe treated Graves; as if he was somehow tainted. Somehow less. It bothered me here, too, the djamphir were the top of the food chain.

I’d thought things would be different somehow. I’d thought the Real World didn’t play petty bullshit high school games. But here, it was just the same old thing. It was depressing. Could you ever get away from it?

But picking a fight the day I’d decided to turn over a new leaf wasn’t a good idea. I should start this out right.

Dibs was watching me anxiously, a vertical line between his golden eyebrows as they wrinkled together. He looked like a retriever I’d seen once, a sweet dog that lived in a trailer park outside Pensa cola. The way he tilted his head and chewed at the same time reinforced the impression.

Scratch behind his ears, who’s a good boy? I swallowed hard, disgusted at the thought. I wasn’t like them, the dismissive, pretty djamphir boys. I’d always been an outsider.

I stabbed at my pancakes like I was stabbing at the face of stupidity. “Do they all act that way? The djamphir?”

“Yeah. I mean, except you. Graves said you were different. He said you—”

“Hey, Dru.” Graves yanked out the chair on my other side and dropped into it. He smelled like cold air and cigarette smoke, his long black coat still carrying a chill from outside. A bloom of red up high on his cheekbones did good things for him, and his earring glittered. His eyes were sparkling, too. “Dibs. Nice to see you, man.”

Dibs shut up so fast I was surprised he didn’t lose a chunk of his tongue. He busied himself with tearing at the steak and chewing, with a guilty hangdog look.

“So you’re a dom, huh? Nice.” I stabbed my pancakes again. “Kinky.”

“You’re the one who ties people up, babe.” Graves’ gaze flicked past me, touched Dibs, and returned. “What happened?”

Dibs shrugged, took another mouthful.

My tone was hard and dismissive. “Some djamphir asshole just catcalling, that’s all.” Stab, stab, the fork hit the plate hard. “I’m about due for class.”

“I’ll walk you, we’ve got first period together. Glad you decided to show up.” He looked smug.

   
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