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“Oh,” Will said. “I see.”
“And don’t go running off in a fit of temper, I have more than enough to deal with.”
William’s instinct was to punch Maddox right in his suddenly assholish face. Maddox had never made him feel out of place before. He’d always gone out of his way to make Will feel at home. Suddenly it was all Maddox’s — though Will guessed it had always actually been that way. He’d just never pushed that boundary before.
He didn’t hit Maddox. He didn’t even make a sour face. He just turned around and walked away, harboring a growing resentment far more toxic than any aggressive act would have been. Will went back to the kitchen because he was fucking hungry. He ignored the others.
“Hey, kid.”
The big, handsome guy spoke to him.
“’Sup,” Will said. He was back in prison mode, not in control of anything going on around him, not being consulted on anything, being at the mercy of stronger men and gangs who formed without warning and overtook territory as if nobody else had been occupying it in the first place. He could feel the danger emanating from them, and even if he hadn’t been able to feel it, he could have smelled it. They reeked of blood hastily wiped away but not properly washed clean. A human might have been fooled, but Will was not.
He didn’t bother to make the pastry in the kitchen. Ninety seconds with this crowd was ninety seconds too long. He grabbed the box of pastry and he grabbed the toaster and took both upstairs without engaging in further conversation.
He went to his room. Not the one he shared with Maddox. The one he’d been put in to begin with. It felt empty. Empty was good. Empty meant no wolf assholes and no impediment to getting his pastry fix.
Setting the toaster on the floor, he plugged it into the socket, crouched down, and ripped the pastry box open.
“Tell me to go make friends in the kitchen like I’m a goddamn five-year-old,” he muttered to himself. “What the fuck. Stupid fucking Henry. Should move out like Lorien did. I don’t need to goddamn live here.”
He complained to himself the entire time the pastry was cooking, and when it popped, he realized that there was nowhere to put it. He hadn’t gotten a plate.
“Argh, fuck,” he swore to himself as he undertook the less than brilliant idea of using his left hand as the plate. Having burned his palm immediately, he then tried holding it by the very tips of his fingers and shoving it into his mouth. But his mouth wasn’t really any better at dealing with the heat than his hand had been and so he ended up spitting half of it out onto the floor, which was both gross and pissed him off because now he’d wasted a whole bite of the pastry without even getting to eat it.
“Fucking fuck.”
By this time, the pastry was starting to cool so he set about nibbling at the very edges until he reached the searing hot interior, at which point he was forced to pause again until it cooled to an edible temperature. He was not enjoying his breakfast. Will liked enjoying his breakfast, so this was another strike against the assholes downstairs who had made him den up like some feral pastry beast.
There was a brief knock at the door.
He ignored it. Steam curled up from between his fingers. He took a slightly larger bite and regretted it immediately. “Fucking fuck,” he cursed to himself, his mouth open to try to draw air over the molten filling.
Unfortunately, whoever was outside the door took his muffled curses as some kind of invitation.
Will hoped it was Maddox.
It wasn’t Maddox.
It was Henry, the tattooed do-gooder after-school-special Christian-rock version of a werewolf.
“Oh, fuck off,” Will cursed.
Henry folded his massive guns over his chest. “You’ve got to stop cursing me out every time I see you, or I will beat your ass.”
“Yeah? What’s new. If beating me did anything, Maddox wouldn’t have you here.”
“True,” Henry acknowledged. “That, downstairs before. That was rude.”
“Yeah. It was,” Will agreed, meaning something completely different. “Apparently, I don’t get anything like the respect the rest of you freak the fuck out if you don't get. People show the fuck up out of nowhere. No explanations. Not even a fucking hello.”
There was a pause in which Will figured Henry was trying to work out how to call him a shit without calling him a shit again.
“You’re right,” Henry said.
That was a surprise.
“Am I?”
