Chapter 15 #2
When I first found out I was in the Draven Bond Group, I only had the gossip and rumors from the Gifted community of the Draven brothers as reference and none of it was good, or fair, or, fuck, even sympathetic to the prejudice and tragedy their family has faced over the generations.
As time went on and we all came to be friends, the bullshit perpetuated by the fear within the community was proved wrong to me, and I’ve unintentionally become an expert about many of the finer details of Draven lore.
Importantly, the fact that it doesn’t matter how similar North and Nox are in looks, they’re polar opposites in every other way.
North does everything he can to prove himself kind, humble, and unthreatening.
Nox is a walking altercation waiting to happen.
North spends all of his time with people, serving the community and helping those without the means to help themselves.
Nox disappears into his own head for months on end, a seething mess of rage if he’s interrupted by anything he deems unimportant, like his work at the university or threats of the council.
North is clear, straightforward, and direct with everything he does, both professionally and within our Bond Group.
Nox would choose death before he spoke about his feelings.
North’s anger at our Bond stems from the pain and fear her running away caused us all.
Nox loathes her for daring to breathe in the first place.
Gryph shifts on his feet again, a silent cue for North to get this meeting of sorts back on track.
He’s not one to fidget without reason, so what he’s doing is obvious as North’s gaze finally shifts away from Nox and over to us both.
He glances at the bag of football gear at my feet, his jaw clenching for a moment, before he nods at Gryph again.
“Black can Transport you both back to the campus.”
My eyebrows raise as Gryph pushes away from the wall. “Oli is going to the game with Benson. We’ve tripled the security, but I told North I’d rather we traveled in together, less target points to worry about covering.”
And that’s how I find out that Gryph has been given the all-clear by the Healers.
Instead of the immense pressure we’re all under easing off some thanks to the good news, it only seems to get worse as North goes on to read out report after report to us of all the intel he’s collected.
The Resistance have changed their tactics completely, but they haven’t slowed down at all.
Nox was right, no matter how reckless and stupid his actions were.
They’re hunting something.
Or someone.
Finally, after way too many casualties, North lets out a long breath, looking resigned to the magnitude of danger we’re in. “I’ll get this mess with the council dealt with. Keep your eyes peeled and call me the second something feels off.”
Stooping to grab my bag, Gryph nods at me without moving. “Black is just finishing up his last assignment for North, he should be here soon. I’ll meet you both out front.”
The sharp look he sends to North promises I want no part in sticking around, so I just nod and walk back out, pulling my phone out to check messages while I wait.
It’s a terrible idea, I already know it, but I can’t help looking directly into the fiery pits of hell that my social life has plummeted to.
There are a heap of rumors about my Bond and a ton of speculation about why I wasn’t in any of my classes today, but I’m expecting that.
Finding photos of North’s council lunch is a surprise and getting them from my cousin is even weirder.
He doesn’t go to Draven, his family lives hours away, and none of them have connections to the council—aside from me, of course.
Someone from my school sent me these, I thought you’d want to see them. That’s North Draven, right? I need to speak to you, Gabe. It’s urgent. Are you going to be at the game tonight?
The pop sound of Kieran appearing next to me tears me away from the text, startling me so badly that I almost drop my phone. He doesn’t notice, the frustration on his face distracting me entirely from Toby’s message.
Glancing around, he groans at the closed door to North’s office and rubs a hand over his face as he mutters at me, “Don’t tell me Shore’s still in there with him?
There goes any chances of having a decent night.
Finding that Bond of yours was supposed to make things easier around here, but it’s only really made shit worse. ”
I groan back at him, shoving my phone into my pocket again. “Don’t remind me.”
He side-eyes me for a second as if he’s gauging how much he should say here, but whatever is on my face has him shrugging instead. “Can’t say it won’t keep happening, especially not with Sharpe’s latest campaign. Did Draven let you in on that delightful shitshow?”
A shiver runs down my spine at all the interest North is garnering right now.
Worse still, I can’t think about what actually went on at that meeting too much, not without every predator that sleeps underneath my skin waking up and demanding to be let out to hunt.
They all crave Sharpe’s bones snapping in our jaws, his blood covering our fur, and his screams of pain as we tear him limb from limb.
Kieran looks a little sheepish at how quickly he’s managed to send my control spiralling, and he winces when I finally grind an answer out from between my clenched teeth.
“He’s a sick fuck—that’s all I can say about that crap.
Who the hell would ever want a forced Bond?
I can’t think of anything worse, which is saying something considering the nightmare I’m already living in! ”
I turn away from him, my cheeks heating with shame at the admission, but Gryphon finally stomps out of North’s office and saves me from having to figure out how to brush my outburst off entirely.
As we Transport out, the last thing I see is Nox Draven still sitting in the armchair before North’s desk and staring down at his hands with a grim face as he flexes his fingers, lost in whatever bleak thoughts plague the Death Dealer.
The night only goes from bad to worse.
My Bond being here tonight messes with my head so badly that the coach takes me off of the starting lineup before we even get through stretches.
There’s no arguing it, I know exactly why he’s making the call, but the frustration I feel over it has my bond reacting so viciously that the rest of the team start side-eyeing me as if I’m a bomb about to go off.
It only sends me further off of the deep end.
When I crack my helmet in half without meaning to, I’m given marching orders to the locker rooms to ‘get my head together’ before the game.
The careful tone Coach uses makes my skin crawl with shame, my chin tucking into my chest so I don’t have to make eye contact with anyone.
There isn’t a Gifted here who isn’t well aware that there’s no fixing this.
I’m screwed now thanks to my Bond’s rejection.
In the grand scheme of things, having a bad game and being benched isn’t that big of a deal, but it’s the sidelong looks of confusion and pity I get from the rest of the team as I walk off that has my jaw clenching so violently that I’m sure my teeth are going to snap under the pressure.
None of the coaching staff working in our rooms knows what to do with me, being rejected by your Central Bond isn't exactly common, so instead they all just give me a wide berth as they scurry around to get shit in order for the rest of the team.
Setting the broken pieces of my helmet into my locker, I dig my phone out as if it’s not going to be full of more bullshit that’ll have me raging, but I need something to make me look busy.
The tiptoeing that’s happening around me right now is setting my temper alight, and I’m struggling to fall back into the smiling, happy Shifter who wouldn’t harm a fly.
I’ve spent a lot of time and energy on that image and now it’s gone.
Seriously, Gabe, I need your help. Are you still playing tonight or have you bailed?
Like a balloon deflating, all the frustration ekes out of me as I drop down to sit on the bench in front of my locker, leaving only confusion behind.
I can count on one hand the amount of messages my cousin has sent me since my dad died.
Years ago, we’d spend every weekend together when our moms would both take us to see our grandparents, and being the closest in age, we’d always end up playing video games or throwing the ball around their backyard.
Toby liked all the same things I did, was easy to talk to, and he was one of the few family members who didn’t talk shit about my Gift or my Bond Group.
All that stopped when my mom retreated into her grief and forgot about the world.
Initially, my grandparents tried to send her to therapy, tried visiting with her often to coax her out, but eventually, they all got back to their own lives.
They forgot about those weekends, about the relationships they all had with my mom, about the way life once was.
They forgot about me.
Part of me wants to hold on to my bitterness and tell him to get lost, but I guess the idea of having someone in my life willing to stop rejecting me is too tempting to pass up. It’s pathetic, really goddamned pathetic, but I cave.
I’m in the locker room. I can meet you in the hall, but you’ll have to hurry.
Toby replies almost instantly, like he’s been waiting on me this whole time, and unease starts to pool in my stomach.
What the hell could be going on with him that’s so bad that he’d be coming to me instead of his own family?
It’s not like he’s short on people who care about him and look out for him—not like I was, anyway.