9. Talon

9

TALON

EIGHTEEN YEARS OLD

Three months later…

T wo weeks. Fourteen days until I graduate and have to leave my princess behind. My locker door creaks as I slam it shut, jaw clenched at the thought.

Lena's strong—stronger than anyone gives her credit for. But the idea of leaving her here with these animals is infuriating. Especially that piece of shit, Brad, who can't handle rejection like a man.

Speak of the devil. His voice carries down the hall, that smug tone that makes me want to break his jaw.

"Look who it is, boys, the resident cock tease."

My fingers curl into fists. Through the crowd, I glimpse Lena trying to hurry past Brad and his crew of mindless followers.

"What's wrong, slut? Too good to say hello?" Brad's hand shoots out, grabbing her backpack.

The world goes red. Before I realize I'm moving, my feet carry me through the crowd. Brad's smirk disappears when my fist connects with his face. The satisfying crunch of cartilage fills my ears as blood sprouts from his nose.

"Touch her again, and I'll break more than your nose." My voice comes out in a growl as I tower over him.

Brad's friends charge forward like rabid dogs. "You're dead, freak!"

James's fist flies at my face. I catch it mid-swing, twisting until bones crack. The owner howls. Good. Pain is what they deserve for threatening what's mine.

Derek tackles me from behind. We hit the lockers with a metallic clang. My elbow snaps back, connecting with his solar plexus. As he doubles over gasping, I grab his hair and slam his face into my rising knee.

Aaron, the last one standing, circles, looking for an opening. "Fucking psycho!"

My lips curl into a snarl. The rage pumps through my veins like poison, demanding blood. I welcome it. This is who I am—what I am. A monster wearing human skin.

He throws a wild haymaker. Amateur. I duck under and drive my fist into his kidney. Once. Twice. Three times until he crumples.

Brad tries crawling away, leaving a trail of blood from his nose. I stalk after him, every muscle coiled tight. The crowd parts like water, their fear tangible.

"Please..." he whimpers.

My boot connects with his ribs. The crack echoes through the silent hallway. "I warned you."

Another kick. His pitiful attempts to shield himself only fuel my fury. How dare he touch her? How dare any of them look at her?

"Talon, stop!"

Lena's voice cuts through the haze. My fist freezes mid-swing, Brad's collar twisted in my other hand. Her small fingers wrap around my arm, and reality comes crashing back.

Four bodies on the ground. Blood on my knuckles. Teachers shouting in the distance.

"They're not worth it," she whispers.

I release Brad, watching him scramble away like the coward he is. The rage still burns, demanding more violence, more pain. But Lena's touch anchors me, keeping the monster at bay.

Mrs. Reynolds’s shrill voice pierces through the hallway. "What in God's name is going on here?"

The crowd scatters like roaches, leaving me standing over Brad's whimpering form. My knuckles throb, sticky with his blood. Worth it.

"All of you. Principal's office. Now." Her face pales as she takes in the carnage—Brad's broken nose, Derek clutching his ribs, James nursing his arm, and Aaron barely conscious.

Lena's hand slips from my arm. The loss of contact sends the rage surging back, but I force it down. Can't lose control again.

"Mr. Voss, help Mr. Thompson up." Mrs. Reynolds’s voice shakes.

I bare my teeth. "He can crawl there himself."

Brad flinches when I step over him. Pathetic. His friends stumble to their feet, using the lockers for support. They give me a wide berth as we trudge toward the office.

Principal Matthews is going to have a field day with this. Four against one, and I'm the only one without a mark on me, except for these bloody knuckles that prove exactly what I did to them.

The walk feels endless. Every step echoes with Mrs. Reynolds’s heels clicking behind us. Lena follows, too, probably to give her statement. My chest tightens because this is the first time she's witnessed this side of me. The monster I try so hard to cage.

But they touched her. Threatened her. The rage builds again, demanding more violence.

I flex my fingers, watching the blood crack and flake. Two weeks until graduation. Two weeks until I have to leave. And now, I might not even make it that far.

Worth it. They'll think twice before going near her again.

Brad stumbles, and I resist kicking his legs out from under him. Mrs. Reynolds clears her throat nervously. Smart woman. She knows what I'm capable of now.

We reach the principal's office, and she gestures to us inside. "Sit. All of you."

I claim the chair furthest from the others, my bloody hands resting in plain sight on my lap. Let them see. Let them remember.