Page 37 of Taste of Thorns (The Firestone Academy #3)

Chapter Thirty-Four

B riony

After my rendezvous with Fox, I arrive late to dinner and as I pull out my chair and sit down between Fly and Clare, I know immediately that something is up. Fly is worrying at his lip and Clare is staring down at her food and not meeting my eye.

When I glance around the canteen, I can see Odessa’s old gang grinning like hyenas and Stanley Chandlers looking just as satisfied. Yep, something is definitely wrong.

Ice worms its way down my spine and settles in my stomach. Messing around with Fox just now may have been fun, but it may also have been incredibly stupid. Did someone hear or see us together after all?

“Okay,” I say, squaring my shoulders. “Hit me with whatever it is.”

“You haven’t heard then?” Fly says, his brow creased with worry.

“No,” I say, “and I’m not going to like it, whatever it is, am I?”

Fly leans back in his chair and grimaces.

“Everyone’s saying that Beaufort and Henrietta hooked up in the middle of combat training this afternoon.”

I laugh. Beaufort and Henrietta? No way.

But when Fly’s face doesn’t crack with humor, I realize this isn’t some kind of silly joke.

I frown. “What do you mean by ‘hooked-up’?” I say.

“They were making out,” Clare says quietly. “Everyone’s saying they got back together.”

I stare at my friends in disbelief, then shake my head.

“Everyone must be mistaken.” I pick up my fork and shove a piece of pasta into my mouth, chewing aggressively as Fly and Clare exchange glances.

“Oh, come on,” I say, “you know what the rumors are like in this place. And,” I lean forward, “you also know he is my fated mate.”

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean he wouldn’t cheat on you with another girl,” Fly says, looking uncomfortable. “This is Beaufort Lincoln we’re talking about.”

“And doesn’t he have history with Henrietta Smyte?” Clare adds. “Weren’t they like a golden couple back in Onyx?”

“No idea.” I swallow down my food, ignoring how it seems to stick in my throat.

Me and Beaufort may have our disagreements – he may be a mega asshole at times – but I can’t imagine he would do this to me.

I don’t think he’d want to. He said I was special.

He said what we had between the two of us is special.

I take a big gulp of water, forcing down my food, although it scrapes all the way down my food pipe.

Didn’t Stanley also say I was special, that we were special, and look how that turned out?

I shake my head. Beaufort is the one who has been pursuing me. He has the fated mate marks on his wrists.

I peer down at my own wrists. The skin is clear and unmarked.

But what if he’s wrong? What if I’m not his mate? What if it’s some other girl walking around with patterns on her wrists right now?

What if that woman is Henrietta Smyte?

“My head hurts,” I say, rubbing at my forehead.

Clare reaches over and rests her hand on my forearm.

“You’re probably right,” she says, backpedaling. “He’s your mate. This must be some kind of misunderstanding.”

“I’m not sure what there is to misunderstand about him shoving his tongue down her throat,” Fly mutters.

“He did that?” I say, my voice suddenly high and the food sitting heavy in my stomach.

“Cupcake, they were rolling around together on the ground.”

I shake my head. That doesn’t sound like Beaufort at all. He’s not like Dray. He’s much more reserved in public. Or at least he is with me.

“Fly,” I say with irritation, “you were the one pushing me into this relationship in the first place and, now what? You’re doubting Beaufort and his motivations?”

Fly pats at his hair and sighs.

“I think Beaufort is really into you, Cupcake, in a big way. I think he’s also a shadow weaver and, as you’ve told me yourself multiple times, they are arrogant and spoiled.

They are used to doing what they want and getting away with it.

I doubt he even considers it necessary to restrict himself to one girl. ”

“I’m beginning to realize that not all shadow weavers are like that,” I say.

“I’m just saying I would not drop down dead with astonishment if I discovered he thinks it’s in his right to two-time you if he wants to.” He shrugs. “Plus there were witnesses.”

“Witnesses?”

“Damian was in the same lesson, Briony,” Clare says softly, “he saw them.”

Fly picks up his fork and pokes at his potatoes. “But Clare Bear could be right. It might be a misunderstanding.”

“Yeah,” I say with lackluster, chewing on another piece of pasta. “A misunderstanding.”

After dinner, I don’t go charging around to the Princes’ tower throwing accusations around at Beaufort.

I’m tired and I don’t want to argue. If truth be told, I’m also scared about what I may find out.

Just thinking about it hurts my heart and yet I acknowledge I’m being ridiculously unreasonable.

I’m sleeping with other men. Why shouldn’t he be allowed to sleep with other girls?

We’ve never talked about being exclusive. I simply assumed that we were.

Then again, we did talk about it before I got together with Dray and with Fox. We had an agreement. And I’m sleeping with my fated mates, not my ex-boyfriend.

I tell Clare and Fly I have a headache and when they walk off towards Clare’s tower, I take my opportunity to slip away to see Blaze in the forest – perhaps a few face licks and some tummy rubs will make me feel better.

I find him curled up by the entrance to his new favorite location – the cave – and sit down next to him, leaning against his now much bigger frame and rest my head against his warm, smooth scales. He purrs in satisfaction and I glide my hand up and down his back, realizing I’m crying.

I sniff and wipe away the tears with the back of my hand.

This isn’t the same as Stanley. That boy was my only friend back in Slate.

For a brief moment in time, he made me feel special and wanted, cherished even in a world where nobody seemed to care about me at all.

Then he had that stupid growth spurt. He beefed up and people started noticing him.

I, all of a sudden, was not good enough for Stanley Chandlers – not the girl with a drunk father and a permanent black eye.

I could have coped with it, if that is all it had been – ghosting me, ignoring me, pretending I didn’t exist. But he had to punish me too, didn’t he?

Like he was angry at me for something I’ll never understand.

So he’d find me alone and use the opportunity to take out all his frustrations with his fists.

Just like Muriel. Someone else’s punching bag.

Beaufort Lincoln isn’t Stanley Chandlers, I tell myself over and over again. I’m not sure he’s a good man exactly but for a moment in time I trusted him.

The question is, am I right to trust him now?