Page 54 of The Drama King

The abandoned parking lot seemed endless, stretching into darkness beyond the reach of the sparse streetlights. My lungs burned, my throat ached from Dorian's grip, but terror drove me forward through the rain.

I had almost reached the street when headlights swept across the entrance to the lot, momentarily blinding me. I skidded to a halt, heart sinking at the thought of another obstacle, another trap.

The car screeched to a stop, and the driver's door flew open. "Vespera!" Stephanie's voice, frantic with worry. "Get in!"

Relief hit me like a physical force as I recognized her battered Honda. I sprinted the remaining distance and flung myself into the passenger seat just as Dorian and Corvus emerged from the shadows.

"Drive!" I gasped, slamming the door. "Go!"

Stephanie hit the accelerator before I'd even fastened my seatbelt, the car fishtailing slightly on the wet pavement before finding traction. Through the rear window, I caught a glimpse of Dorian's face, contorted with fury as we sped away.

"What the fuck happened?" Stephanie demanded, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. "I got your SOS and called Robbie. He tracked Dorian's car through some hacker thing he won't explain. And Jesus, Ves, you're bleeding!"

I touched my throat, my fingers coming away with a smear of blood where Dorian's nails had broken the skin. "They tried to put a tracker on me," I said, my voice raspy from the assault. "A designation tracker disguised as jewelry."

"A what?" Stephanie's face paled in the dashboard lights. "That's... that's beyond fucked up. That's illegal."

"So is assault," I said, my hands still shaking as I fumbled with the seatbelt. "But that didn't stop them."

Stephanie took a hard right turn, putting more distance between us and the parking lot. "We need to report this. Like, right now. This isn't just harassment anymore, Ves. This is criminal."

I leaned back against the headrest, exhaustion crashing over me as the adrenaline began to fade. "They'll deny everything. It's three of them against me, and they have connections throughout the administration."

"You have physical evidence," she pointed out, gesturing to my throat. "And witnesses. Me and Robbie, we can testify about the pattern of harassment."

I closed my eyes, too drained to argue. She was right. This had escalated beyond academic bullying into something that couldn't be ignored. But the thought of facing an administration that had systematically overlooked designation-based harassment for decades made my stomach knot with dread.

"Where are we going?" I asked, suddenly realizing we weren't heading toward campus.

"My parents' house," Stephanie replied, her tone brooking no argument. "It's closer, and you need somewhere safe tonight. I already texted Robbie. He's meeting us there with a first aid kit and his laptop. We're documenting everything while it's fresh."

I should have protested, should have insisted on returning to campus to maintain my perfect attendance record. But the thought of being somewhere the Alphas couldn't reach me, even for one night, was too tempting to resist.

"Thank you," I whispered, my voice cracking with emotion. "If you hadn't shown up..."

"Don't," Stephanie said fiercely. "Don't even think about what might have happened. You fought back. You got away. That's what matters."

As we drove through the rainy night, putting distance between ourselves and the Ashworth pack, I touched my throat again, feeling the sting of broken skin beneath my fingers. Tonight had changed everything. Lines had been crossed that couldn't be uncrossed, threats had become physical reality.

And somewhere beneath the fear and exhaustion, something else was taking root. A cold, clear determination. They had shown their true colors, revealed the depths they were willing to sink to maintain control. But they had also revealed something else. A weakness I hadn't fully understood until tonight.

They wanted me. Not gone, not broken, but controlled. Owned. And that revelation gave me a power I hadn't possessed before. The knowledge that my talent had made me valuable enough to change their tactics, to make them take risks they would normally avoid.

twenty

Dorian

Blood.

The coppery scent of it lingered on my fingertips, taunting me with its significance. I stared at the dried crimson streaks beneath my nails. Evidence of Vespera's desperate fight. My cheek still stung where she'd clawed me, the shallow scratches a physical testament to her defiance.

I hadn't expected her to fight back with such ferocity. To draw blood. To escape.

The rain continued to lash against the windows of the pack house, the storm that had started during our theater outing now reaching its peak. Lightning flashed, illuminating the three empty crystal tumblers on my desk. Evidence of the hours Corvus, Oakley, and I had spent dissecting tonight's failure.

Corvus had been the first to leave, his analytical mind already formulating new strategies, his parting words carefullymeasured: "We miscalculated. Next time, we'll need to be more... subtle."

Oakley had lingered longer, his cedar scent clouded with what smelled suspiciously like guilt. "Maybe we should reconsider our approach," he'd suggested, voice hesitant. "The tracker was... extreme."