Savage Royals

by Callie Rose

  “I wasn’t planning on saying anything about it,” I said quietly. “Why aren’t you in gym with everyone else?”

  Finn laughed and pushed his fingers through golden blond hair. “Are you kidding me? I work my ass off at football practice. Have you seen me on that field? Coach pushes me in practice, and I push myself during games. I don’t need fucking gym class too.”

  “Right,” I muttered. I actually hadn’t been to a football game yet. I wasn’t exactly bursting with school pride, and sports had never been my thing.

  We stared at each other in silence for a long moment—long enough for my neck to start getting uncomfortable, bent at an odd angle. Finally, Finn nodded, stepping back. “All right. Just remember, if you open your big mouth, we can make you wish you hadn’t.”

  Irritation sizzled under my skin. My big mouth? I haven’t reported any of the shit you and your asshole friends have pulled, you dick.

  Finn must’ve picked up a hint of what I was thinking from my expression, because his lips tilted up in a grin that would’ve been sexy if I hadn’t wanted to slap it off his face.

  “Then again, maybe I should give you credit. You’re not stupid, are you, Idaho?”

  He left the word trash off the end of the sentence, but I heard it anyway. I pulled my gaze away from his eyes, focusing on his knees as I shook my head.

  “Nope. I’m not.”

  “Good.”

  He huffed a sound that was almost a laugh and then sauntered off down the hall and out of sight. As soon as he was gone, I scrambled to my feet, hefting my bag over my shoulder and darting around the corner. I yanked open the door to the studio and stepped inside.

  Part of me didn’t want to be in here at all, could still smell sex in the air and hated the thought of it. But there was half a period left, and I’d be damned if I let a manwhore like Finn take this away from me.

  I flipped on the lights, and that helped. It made the space seem more like the dance studios I knew, the bright overheads reflecting off the polished light wood floor.

  Quickly, I tugged off my tennis shoes and laced up my ballet slippers. Then I pulled the sweatshirt over my head, gathered my hair up into a loose bun, and approached the mirrors. With every step I took, the strange, unsettled feeling in my stomach faded. The sight of myself in the black leotard and pale slippers was comforting, familiar.

  My body had softened some in the months since I’d been able to practice regularly—I hadn’t put on weight, but I’d lost muscle tone—and I knew it would be a long slog to get back to where I’d been before the fall.

  After my legs healed, I’d done as much physical therapy as I could afford. My dad had even worked extra shifts at the plant to help pay for them, and even though I knew it was motivated purely by guilt, I took it. I would’ve done anything to get better.

  But after I’d cleared physical therapy and dealt with the worst of the stiffness and weakness, his interest had faded back to zero. He’d had no desire to help me dance again, he’d just wanted to make sure he wasn’t the guy who put his daughter in a wheelchair for life.

  I reached out and gripped the barre, and a feeling like home grew in my chest. Standing parallel to the mirrors, I ran through a series of stretches and warm-ups. Even these, which used to be so easy, were more difficult now, and occasional aches made me wince, but I kept running through them until the motions smoothed out, becoming graceful and light.

  The movement soothed me, and I got lost in the rhythmic patterns of breath and extension. But when I heard the door open and close, all the ease evaporated from my body. When I glanced up, Finn had slipped into the room.

  Motherfucker. I knew that was too damn easy.

  My breath tried to come faster, but I refused to let it, inhaling through my nose as I grabbed the barre with my other hand and switched sides. After a few minutes of silence, I peeked out of the corner of my eye, but he was still there. Still staring, with an unreadable expression on his face.

  “I use this room too sometimes,” he said finally.

  “Yeah?” I asked as I straightened up and raised my arms above my head. “For practice?”

  Finn laughed dryly, his lips curling up on one side, making his dimple pop. He strolled toward me with his hands in his pockets, tilting his head to the side as he examined me, watching me point and flex my foot.

  “I think we both know I don’t need practice, Idaho,” he said evenly. “You know what I use the room for.”

  I glanced at him and grimaced. Is it rude to vomit right on rich boy shoes? Yeah, I knew exactly what he meant. He brought girls here and let them suck his dick. Maybe more than that, for all I knew.

  Fuck. My stomach churned. Is he going to try to throw me out?

  I knew he could if he wanted to, but I didn’t want to go. I needed the quiet, the empty space, the chance to do one thing that brought me joy.

  “So, what’s your point?” I asked when he wouldn’t stop staring, making my skin flush.

  “My point is that if you’re going to be doing all that”—he waved a hand toward the barre and the mirrors—“we’ll have to learn to share it.”

  I blinked, too stunned to reply.

  He didn’t seem to think a response was necessary though. He turned away and sat against the wall before he pulled out his phone and started scrolling on it. My heart sped up, watching him sit there so casually, like there was nothing at all odd about this situation.

  I wanted to say something, to thank him for not taking away the one bit of peace I had left.

  But instead, I lifted my head and went back to practicing.

  Chapter 8

  My strange truce with Finn apparently didn’t extend outside of the small, abandoned dance studio on the second floor of the gym. Outside of that little sixth period haven, I continued to be harassed and teased, shoved in the halls and ganged up on by kids looking to get in good with the Princes.

  That was one of the shittiest parts about it.

  These people who were making my life miserable weren’t doing it because they hated me—there was no way I could’ve personally offended or pissed off so many people. They were doing it because someone else told them to.

  Or rather, four someones.

  It was strange. Finn was still an arrogant, cocky asshole when he showed up every day to chill out in the empty studio while I trained. But he didn’t taunt me or torment me, and—thank fucking God—he didn’t bring any other girls to the room. For the first week, I cracked the door carefully and peered inside before entering, heart thundering in my chest at what I dreaded I’d see.

  But it was always the same thing.

  Finn, sitting languidly up against the wall, elbows propped on his knees while he texted, watched videos on his phone, or scrolled through Instagram.

  He watched me while I worked—I could feel his gaze on me like a heat ray—but we usually didn’t talk much, which was perfectly fine by me. I got more comfortable with him there, and by the end of the second week, I was able to mostly forget his presence, falling into the comfort of dancing again.

  My strength and flexibility were improving steadily, and I was careful to walk the line between pushing hard and pushing too hard. The last thing I wanted was to re-injure myself, possibly permanently this time.

  I’d finally caught up in my classes, and Leah and I had had several intense chemistry study sessions. Both times, we actually got a few hours of real studying in before the conversation drifted to which guys she thought were the hottest, and who she hoped would ask her out.

  I listened, but didn’t have much to offer on those topics myself.

  For one thing, no guys would be asking me out anytime soon—not unless they wanted to ruin whatever social standing they’d managed to build up in this school where image was everything.

  And for another thing, I had no desire at all to talk about who I thought the hottest guys in school were. The answer to that question made my stomach flip-flop like a dying fish. I hated that I was dr
awn to the boys who’d single-handedly ruined my life, but the undeniable truth was that they were stunningly gorgeous. I shouldn’t feel guilty for recognizing that fact, but for some reason, I always did.

  It felt like a betrayal of myself.

  On my third Friday at Oak Park, Leah came over to study at seven. We ended up hanging out in the common room with Maggie after we finished, and Maggie pinned me down talking about some romance novel she was reading for a good thirty minutes after Leah flashed me an apologetic look and made her escape.

  I really liked Maggie—and I wasn’t in a position to say no to any friends at this point—but the girl could talk my ear off when she got on a roll. I was usually pretty good at recognizing the warning signs and making an escape before she really got going, but I’d missed them this time.

  By the time I finally made some lame excuse and escaped upstairs, it was almost midnight. I wasn’t sure what the other kids at Oak Park did for fun on the weekends, but I’d fallen into a habit of hiding away in my room, trying to build up my fortitude for the coming week.

  I trudged upstairs to my dorm and opened the door, not even bothering to flip on the light. A yawn tugged at my lips as I shuffled into the living room, kicking off my shoes.

  Then I stopped.

  My living room had windows on two walls—one facing the stretch of campus alongside Hammond hall, with the main dormitories in the distance, and one facing the woods to the west, which were interrupted by the wall that surrounded the entire campus.

  I crept slowly toward the windows, glad I hadn’t turned the light on. It made it easier for me to see out, and harder for anyone else to see in. And I swore I had seen—

  Yep, there.

  People dressed in dark clothes were crossing the stretch of lawn alongside Hammond. For a moment, I thought they might be coming for my dorm, and my heart thudded hard in my chest. I wasn’t sure quite what my wild imagination expected—an attack with pitchforks and torches?—but it didn’t matter in the end, because before they reached the Wastelands, the figures veered west, disappearing into the trees.

  What the hell?

  I stood silently by the window for a while, watching as several more people followed the same path. One or two turned their phone flashlights on briefly when they hit the trees, but most of them made their way in the dark. Obviously trying not to get caught.

  My pulse sped up, and I chewed my lower lip anxiously.

  Shit. I should just go to sleep. Whatever it is, it’s none of my business.

  But curiosity tugged at me like a physical force, and before I could think about it too long, I crossed quickly back to the door, slipping my tennis shoes back on. I’d changed out of my school uniform into a pair of dark gray sweats and a t-shirt, so I threw a black hoodie on over that, tugging the hood up over my head.

  Then I stuffed my key card into my pocket and slipped out the door.

  Outside, I squinted into the darkness, but I couldn’t see anyone else coming from the other dorms. Wherever everyone was going, they must already be there.

  Clutching my phone, ready to turn on the flashlight at any moment if I needed to, I made my way into the wooded area near the wall.

  As soon as I reached the wall itself, I realized where all the students had gone, and a little thrill of excitement and nervousness trickled down my spine. There was a gap in the high stone wall—not large, but big enough to fit through single file. Wherever all those kids had gone, they were off school property, which probably meant they were doing something super against the rules.

  I slipped through the break in the wall, glancing around the dimly lit woods to make sure no one was waiting to jump me or anything. There was no marked trail or anything, but there was a small path worn from use, so I followed that.

  About fifteen minutes later, just when I started to think maybe I should turn back, I heard noises coming from up ahead of me.

  Voices.

  As I drew closer, I moved slower, slipping behind tree trunks to stay hidden. In a small clearing, light glowed from electric lanterns hooked on tree branches, and a group of guys were gathered in a wide cluster in the open space. The whole world had taken on a primal feeling, like modern life didn’t exist.

  It took some maneuvering to find a better vantage point without getting too close, but when I did, my eyes widened.

  Inside the wide circle of bodies, a guy was getting punched in the face—and the one doing the punching was Cole.

  He was out of his school uniform, wearing just a pair of low-slung black pants. With his shirt off, I could see the tattoos that wrapped around his arms and up over his shoulders, covering his torso and back. Underneath the swirling black ink, his muscles bunched and rippled as he took another shot at the guy in the makeshift ring with him.

  The kid blocked it feebly, dancing away as he tried to catch his breath. Cole didn’t give him a chance though, advancing quickly and punching the boy in the stomach. They were both covered in a sheen of sweat, and Cole had a mark near his left eye that told me the other kid had gotten in at least one lucky hit before the real beating had begun.

  I caught sight of Mason, watching with an almost bored expression as the crowd around him “ooohed” when Cole’s fist collided with the kid’s face.

  Stark power radiated from him, like a predator on a hunt. His black hair gleamed in the lantern light, sweat making the strands stick together. His eyes were narrowed, but his face stayed oddly calm as he fought.

  My fingers curled, my nails digging into the bark of the tree I hid behind.

  I should do something, right? Stop this somehow.

  But I didn’t move. All I could do was stare at Cole as he worked like a machine, blocking the wild punches the other kid threw at him before moving in to deliver his own.

  He looked… primal. Wild. Unhinged.

  My heart slammed in my chest, my breath coming in sharp gasps as I watched them move around the makeshift ring.

  “What the fuck are you doing here, Idaho?”

  The low voice from behind me made me jump, pushing my pulse into overdrive as I stifled a scream.

  Fuck. Fucking fucking fuck.

  I knew who it was before I even turned around. I recognized all their voices easily by now—heard them in my dreams, my nightmares. Elijah’s voice was smooth as silk, deep and almost melodic. It was the kind of voice you wanted to murmur sweet things to you, which made it all the worse when he called me names or mocked me in our biology class.

  I shrank back against the tree trunk, but he grabbed my arm before I could say a word and dragged me back through the woods. When we were a good distance from the light and noise of the crowd, he turned to face me, staring at me through the darkness. I bit my lip, gazing up into his eyes as he gripped both my arms. He looked half angry and half… I wasn’t sure what.

  Squeezing my arms tighter, he repeated his question. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “I was just…” I shook my head. He knew what I was doing here, didn’t he? Did he think I always took midnight strolls through the woods off campus? “I saw people going into the trees. I just wanted to see what was going on.”

  He sighed, releasing his grip on me so suddenly I almost fell over. He ran a hand through his bronze hair before wrapping it around the back of his neck. His usually calm demeanor had cracked, and he looked agitated. Finally, he leaned toward me, putting his face close to mine. The warm smell of oak and sage filled my nostrils, and I sucked in a breath through my mouth, trying to keep his scent from invading my body.

  “This isn’t a place for you, Idaho,” he murmured softly. “Royals only. Don’t let me catch you where your nose doesn’t belong again. Got it?”

  I nodded. “Got it. Sorry.”

  Elijah looked me over again, his lips pressing together as his gaze ran up and down my body. Then he gave a small nod and walked away, disappearing back into the crowd. My legs wobbled, and reached out for a nearby tree to steady myself.

  At leas
t he didn’t tell the others I was here.

  Then I paused, my spine stiffening.

  Why hadn’t he told them? It would’ve been so easy. I was right there, ready to be tortured and humiliated, a sacrificial lamb delivered like a prize to this rich boy fight club.

  And Elijah had kept quiet.

  Why?

  Chapter 9

  The second I made it back to my dorm, I kicked off my shoes and sank onto the couch, pulling my knees up to my chest. My damn hoodie still smelled like Elijah, even though he’d only touched me for a minute, so I yanked it off and wrapped a blanket around myself instead.

  It was close to 1 a.m., but my body was so strung out and wired I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep, so I sat in the dark and gazed out the window until I saw figures slowly emerge from the woods a couple hours later, heading back toward the dorms across campus.

  There must’ve been a few fights, by the look of it. I saw at least two guys holding a hand to their faces, and one of them leaned slightly on his buddy, as if walking was painful. I wondered if he was the kid Cole had fought.

  The four Princes emerged last, like four territorial wolves stalking out of the woods. Cole had a tank top on, but the tattoos on his arms still stood out starkly against his skin in the moonlight. Mason clapped him on the back, and Finn and Elijah were deep in conversation. None of them looked up at me, but I shrank back into the couch cushions anyway.

  When there were finally out of sight, I hauled myself off the couch, brushed my teeth, and fell face-first into bed.

  I slept until almost noon the next day, and as I lay in bed with an arm draped over my face, I decided Elijah was right.

  Whatever the hell kind of fucked up shit was going on at this school, whatever the Princes did in the middle of the night, it was none of my fucking business, and I resolved to keep my nose out of anything that didn’t concern me.

  Especially if it involved the four of them.

  It’s amazing what you can get used to. How adaptable humans can be to shitty situations.