The Monster I Made

ENA

, nobody in the River Ash Boxin

ng, the morning sun filtering through the high, dusty windows of the gym. I stand near the front apron w

t-eight, with dark brown skin, box braids tied back in a high ponytail for training, and the fastest

mutter, keeping my

an ice pack pressed to his swollen jaw, glaring daggers at

ffice bangs open, and the chat

o burly third-year trackers drag a heavy black tarp across the concre

st-river mud, rotting

gue I kille

over all of us. "At nineteen hundred hours yesterday, this carcass was pulled from the southern creek. Whoe

r eyebrows, glancing sideways at me, because she knows damn well sout

e, "when the healers examined the body this morning, they fo

th a hunting knife and scrapes back a patch of

is a jagged, crescent-shaped brand that looks

of the gym. Several of the olde

aya whispers, her

e, the name tasting

ord dropping like a hammer. "They are butcher wolves. They believe strength gives them the right to rule, and they slaughter hum

And last night, when my teeth sank into Bass's neck, he saw visions of

oubled. Anyone caught hiding information, aiding an outsider, or fraternizing wit

rt in a low, anxious

ays, reaching for her training glove

es once insid

his morning? He locked himself in the upstairs bathroom before I left for the bake

straight u

pocket and slinging my jacket over my shoulder. "Tell

s literally standin

k fire exit, hitting th

ential lanes, vault over Betty's back fence, and use the s

innamon and coffee. Wait-no. Beneath the

The sound of running water is coming from behind the closed bathroom

mming their head

-Wait. The brass knob is literally crushed inwar

kick straight beside the lock plate. The wooden doorf

between the tub and the porcelain sink sits Bass, his knees pulled up to his chest, his s

ed clean off, lying in jagged white shards around his boots,

wet floor in front of him, ignorin

olent tremor racks his shoulders. "Morena, get out o

from his ears, and wince at the sheer, immovable strength in his arms. He's figh

he pipes humming under the street. I can hear your blood moving in your veins-and there's a voi

s with a strangled roar as his wet

e roll of spare cotton boxing wrap

ainst his soaked temple, and take his bleeding right hand in mine. Slowly, I loop the cotton wrap around his th

teady, and anchored. "Come on. You've watched me wrap my hands a thousand times.

s chest heaving against mine as his fin

wo

he street out. Block the v

g the cotton snug over his skinned knuckles until the violent

forward, burying his burning face in the curve of my neck. His arms come around

onesty in the voice of the boy who has always been my rock nearl

fingers through his wet curls. "What

to rest his chin on my shoulder and the collar of

his hair. My brea

escent scar of my bite, the black-and-gold ve

exact same Goldfang brand my mother just showe