Page 10 of Poet & Protector

Mason was my new situation. I did not have high hopes for our partnership. With any luck I’d think of a way to sideline him, if not get rid of him altogether.

“I want to trade lunches again.” Sabine appeared at my side, shaking a brown paper bag at me. “My mom decided it would be interesting if we went on a vegan diet while we’re human because we get enough meat as wolves. I think she’s going crazy.”

“She’s always been a little weird,” I replied.

“A little?” Sabine scoffed. “Are you forgetting the time she redecorated our house in all macrame accents? Or painted all the interior walls in a monochrome green so our home would represent ‘the spirit of the forest’?”

I did remember. Sabine and I joked about her mother’s perpetual nonsense projects, but we both knew every new obsessive behavior was a way of avoiding an emotional reckoning with the twisted habits of our master Efron.

“I don’t want your vegan food.” I shoved my books into my locker, grabbed my lunch, and slammed the door shut.

“Don’t you love me anymore?” Sabine teased. “I think it’s a Tofurky sandwich. Yum!”

“Gross. Your mom’s sandwiches are a disaster even when they aren’t vegan. Eat it yourself.”

When I walked away from her, she chased me down.

“What’s the thorn in your paw?”

I debated not telling her because she was going to give me a hard time, but she was also the sounding board for every aspect of my life. Even if it meant a lot of jokes at my expense, I needed to vent to her.

“We have to work on a collaborative poem for Creative Writing,” I told her.

“So?” Sabine tried to snatch my lunch bag, but I pulled it out of her reach. “You write poetry for fun. Should be an easy assignment.”

“Not when I have a partner,” I complained. “And that partner is a Nightshade.”

Sabine grabbed my arm and tugged me to the side of the hallway. “Stop. Explain.”

“Ms. Castillo paired up everyone in class.” It was hard not to crumple my lunch bag in my fists, but I didn’t want to destroy my non-Tofurky sandwich that Sabine would not steal from me. “And I got Mason.”

She stared at me for a minute, sussing out whether I was serious. Then her lips curved in a wicked smile.

“Ha.”

“Not ha. It’s a pain.”

“He’s so hot though,” she whispered. “At least you can enjoy looking at him.”

“He’s not that hot,” I lied.

“That lie is a waste of time, Nev.” Sabine rolled her eyes. “You know Mason is hot and it’s stupid to deny it.”

“Whatever,” I growled. “He’s still a Nightshade and I don’t want to spend time with him, much less attempt to write something with him.”

Mason was someone I actively tried to ignore and not only because he was in a rival pack. He was the kind of person who drew attention without effort or awareness. Always smiling and laughing as he brandished wit and confidence; he was the flame moths hurried to make their funeral pyre.

In so many ways, he was my opposite. That wasn’t a self-dig at my more taciturn approach to life. I was very comfortable with who I was, but the sheer, joyful audacity with which Mason moved through the world set my teeth on edge. For me, acting the way he did would be akin to walking around naked while blowing into a trumpet.

And Sabine wasn’t wrong. Mason was disgustingly attractive. His appearance partnered perfectly with his glowing persona. He had ash brown hair that curled at the ends in an almost inviting way. It was always just long enough that he had to brush it away from his eyes, drawing even more attention to his heart-shaped face with its sharp chin and rosebud mouth. He was two steps away from being a fucking anime character. It was ridiculous.

I made a significant effort to not look closely at his eyes. I was pretty sure they were blue and I had no interest in discovering they would make sapphires jealous or some shit.

Mason’s body was long and lean, clad in muscles contoured by the strength all Guardians could boast, and he dressed in a modish wardrobe of expertly tailored clothes, usually crisp, long-sleeved button-down shirts that he rolled up to his elbows paired with vests in an array of fabrics and colors, all of which lovingly hugged his sculpted form. The rolled-up sleeves plus the jeans he wore every day prevented the clothes from coming on too formal, rendering him exceptionally stylish, yet approachable. He had a different pair of shoes on every day, and they all looked like they’d been cobbled by elves.

And yes, for someone I mostly ignored, my assessment of Mason’s looks was meticulous. But I was a writer. Observing people, even the ones I didn’t like, was what I did and due to all his aforementioned characteristics, not noticing Mason was impossible. It was obnoxious and all the more irritating now that I’d unwillingly come to know what he smelled like.

When he sat beside me to discuss our ill-fated partnership, it was the first time he’d been close enough for me to take in his scent. Clover. He smelled like a meadow lush with summer grasses and clover, drenched in sunlight.