Walking past them, I pushed open the cafeteria doors and walked inside, finding only a trickle of Thibault hybrids here and there. Everyone looked over at me as I came in, and I realized belatedly that it was probably because I was still wearing a fuck me dress and boots.
“Oh. My. Gods.”
Cheryl’s voice was like whiplash snapping me to attention.
There was a rush of air that blew back my hair as she suddenly flashed in front of me. She grabbed me by the shoulders, staring me up and down with wide eyes. “You had a makeover without me?” she screeched.
I winced at the sound, fairly certain that some of her siren power had slipped through. “Umm, yeah,” I said uncomfortably as the other people in the room continued to stare.
Cheryl’s lips formed a thin line. “That is, like, totally rude, Motley! I would’ve invited you.”
I sighed and knocked her hands off my shoulders before picking a table and slumping down onto the bench. Cheryl followed hot on my heels, staring at me pointedly from across the table until I gave in. “It wasn’t like I was watching romcoms and having a spa day, Cheryl. They dressed me like this for a mission.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, making the buttons on her pink blouse strain. “So you’re saying you didn’t even like it?”
“I’m saying I was forced.”
Her eyes dropped down to my hands. “Is that—” She gasped and snatched up my hand. “You got a manicure too?”
I pulled my hand back and hid it on my lap. Her eyes narrowed. “Let me see your toes.”
“What? No.”
“I knew it!” she exclaimed, pointing at me with accusation. “You got a pedicure too, didn’t you?”
I pinched the bridge of my nose. I wasn’t in the mood for this. I was too raw from what had happened with Risk.
“If you tell me you got a facial, I might never speak to you again,” she said while staring me down.
“I got a facial, Cheryl,” I replied dryly before rolling my eyes. Part of me hoped that there was merit to her threat, and the other half was thankful for this brief moment of normalcy. Cheryl would always be Cheryl.
She opened and closed her mouth, assessing me with her selfish gaze while debating on whether or not she was actually going to go through with her no speaking promise.
“Motley?” a rigid voice called at my back. I turned around to see my brother, noting that he’d at least made an effort to clean up since I’d seen him last, though the bruises were still there.
“What happened? Is it true that you mated a high level demon that’s agreed to help Belvini?” he asked, his expression stormy.
I felt eyes immediately come over to us, perked up ears trying to listen to our conversation. Stiles straightened and looked around the room, realizing that others were looking on with curiosity. Shame-filled tears swarmed my eyes and trailed down my face before I could stop them, and I shuddered with fresh, cutting pain.
“I-I didn’t mean…” Short breaths escaped me, cutting off my words.
I was so fucked. I should have seen this coming. My body had become a vessel for powerful men’s whims, and yet I’d foolishly allowed myself to think that I could win against them.
Everything crashed into me at once. Risk’s betrayal. Spector’s plans. The threat on my family. The bullying. My abandonment. There was an ache like a cavern in my chest. I held the power of two devastated souls in one body, and it was turning me into a panicked, distraught mess.
“Stiles, back off,” I heard Cheryl say before I felt her wrapping her slender arms around me in a grounding hug. I never expected comfort to come from her, but I sunk into her arms and let myself fall apart.
“It’s okay that you got a manicure without me. I’m not that mad,” she cooed while awkwardly patting my back. I wiped the snot dripping from my nose on her blouse just because I could.
While clutching her tightly, I replied to Stiles, too ashamed to meet his gaze. “He tricked me. And I don’t know how to help you if you don’t explain to me what’s going on,” I said, punctuating my words with a sniffle while pulling away from Cheryl. I was so embarrassed for breaking down in front of everyone. My whole life, I survived on strength and a hardened exterior, but this was all too much.
Stiles looked around the room with a huff. He was always fucking huffing. “They’re trying to market us,” he explained in a whisper. “Belvini has perfected the ritual as best he can. The next phase in his plan is for Spector to bring in the council. In exchange for a cut of the profits, my father is helping with that, since he has connections to the council members.”
“But the council will shut Spector down once they realize what’s going on,” I said hopefully. “They have to uphold the laws, and this breaks dozens.”
Stiles shot me a look that said I should know better. “The council is power hungry, Motley. If they like what Belvini shows them, they’ll sign on. They’ve already got one council person on their side.”
My mind flashed to Mrs. Cainson—the pregnant woman in Belvini’s office. Hadn’t Belvini said she was a council member?
“The council will privately finance Spector,” Stiles went on. “Most of them will probably want to become hybrids themselves for the extra power. And then they’ll force more possessions. On our enforcers, our supe armies...who knows who else? Belvini already realized with the last trial run at Thibault that the success rate for possessions is best with younger, more impressionable supes. The council could approve to do it to more students under the guise of protecting ourselves and
