Chapter 58
Ellie's POV
Samantha stood in the patio doorway, swaying slightly, a half-empty martini glass clutched in her white-knuckled grip. Her blonde hair whipped around her pale face in the October wind, and even from several feet away, I could smell the sharp tang of alcohol mixed with her perfume.
Her eyes—glassy and unfocused—locked onto me with unmistakable fury. The alcohol had stripped away her usual mask of sweetness, revealing the raw jealousy and rage she normally kept hidden beneath careful smiles.
"Ellie Green." Her voice cut through the night air, sharp and venomous. "You really are something else, aren't you?"
Several students smoking in the corner of the patio turned to watch. My pulse quickened. This wasn't good.
"Samantha—" Lucas started, his voice tight.
"Shut up!" She stumbled forward, the martini sloshing in her glass. "You know Lucas is my boyfriend!" Her finger jabbed toward me, trembling with rage. "So why—why do you keep throwing yourself at him?! Why can't you just leave us alone?!"
The accusation hit like a slap. My hands clenched at my sides.
"I haven't—"
"Don't lie to me!" Samantha lurched forward, closing the distance between us in three unsteady steps. Her hand shot out and grabbed my arm—right where Lucas had held my wrist moments ago.
Metal pressed against my skin.
Her bracelet. Silver.
Pain exploded through my forearm, sharp and searing like a hot iron. Thalia roared inside my head, demanding I rip away, defend myself, fight. But I couldn't move. Couldn't react. Couldn't show what that silver was doing to my skin.
"Let go." My voice came out strained, barely controlled.
"You've always wanted him!" Samantha's grip tightened, her nails digging in alongside the burning metal. "Everyone knows it! You can't stand that he chose me!"
White-hot agony lanced up my arm. I felt my skin blistering under the silver, felt Thalia clawing at my control, felt my vision starting to blur at the edges—
Lucas moved, reaching for Samantha's hand. "Stop, you're hurting her—"
"Good!" Samantha shrieked, yanking away from him. The martini glass flew from her other hand and exploded on the concrete, glass shards scattering everywhere. "She deserves it! She's been trying to steal you since day one!"
The patio had gone silent. Everyone was watching now. Phones out. Recording.
My arm was on fire. Literally on fire. I could feel the silver eating into my flesh, could smell the acrid scent of burned skin mixing with Samantha's perfume. Much longer and there'd be permanent damage. Much longer and I wouldn't be able to hide my reaction.
"Samantha." I forced the word out through gritted teeth, my voice dangerously low. "Let. Go. Now."
Something in my tone must have registered because her eyes widened slightly. But she didn't release me.
"Why should I? You—"
I moved.
One second I was standing there, burning. The next, I'd twisted my arm in a way that broke her grip without seeming aggressive, stepping back in the same motion. The movement was pure instinct—part self-defense class, part wolf reflex.
Samantha stumbled, off-balance.
And then her hand came up, palm open, swinging toward my face.
Time crystallized. I saw the arc of her swing, calculated the trajectory, felt every muscle in my body coil to respond. Thalia surged forward with a feral snarl—how dare she, how DARE she—
A hand materialized out of nowhere, catching Samantha's wrist mid-swing.
"Enough."
Jackson's voice was ice. Pure, crystallized ice.
He stood just behind Samantha, his grip on her wrist immovable, his entire body radiating a controlled fury that made even me take a step back. His eyes—usually warm—were cold and flat.
Dangerous.
"Let go of me!" Samantha wrenched against his hold, but Jackson didn't budge.
"No." The single word carried absolute authority. "You don't get to assault someone."
"I wasn't—I didn't—" Samantha's face crumpled, confusion bleeding into her rage. "Why are you all defending her? What about me? What about what I've been through?!"
Jackson released her wrist and stepped forward, positioning himself squarely between us. His shoulders were rigid, his stance protective.
"You need to leave," he said quietly. "Now."
"I'm not going anywhere!" Tears streamed down Samantha's face, her makeup running in dark rivulets. "This is all her fault! She gets everything—the looks, the money, the attention—and I get nothing! I've done everything for Lucas, and he still—"
Her voice broke on a sob.
Lucas stood frozen off to the side, his face ashen. His hands were clenched into fists so tight I could see his knuckles white even in the dim patio light. His eyes—God, his eyes were glowing gold, actually glowing, and his chest was heaving like he'd just run a marathon.
We were barely halfway through the lunar cycle. The full moon wasn't for another two weeks. But Lucas was showing signs of transformation anyway—his control was slipping even when it shouldn't be.
This was about to get very, very bad.
"Lucas." I kept my voice level, but I let a thread of command seep in—the tone we'd used as kids when one of us was losing control. "Take her home."
He flinched like I'd struck him.
"She tried to hit you," he said, his voice rough and strange. "She—"
"I know." I held his gaze, willing him to understand what I couldn't say out loud. You're losing it. Your eyes are glowing. Get out of here before someone sees. "Take her home. She's drunk and upset. Just... go."
For a moment, Lucas looked like he wanted to argue. Like he wanted to do something dramatic and stupid and completely unlike him.
But then Samantha let out another wrenching sob, and his expression shifted. Guilt. Concern. That familiar, frustrating need to fix everything.
"Come on." He moved toward her, one hand outstretched. "Let's get you back to—"
"Don't touch me!" Samantha recoiled, her eyes wild. "You're just like her! You're all just like her! None of you care about me—none of you ever cared—"
She was spiraling. Full-on breakdown, right here on the patio, in front of at least twenty people with their phones out.
I should have felt vindicated. Should have felt satisfied that everyone was finally seeing her true colors.
Instead, I just felt... exhausted.
So deeply, profoundly exhausted.