Eros Ivanov, one of the twin sons of the Lycan King (and Caspian's younger brother) meets his match in a psychopathic ex-convict.
Tequila: I have no problem admitting why I'm here. I'm in prison because I'm psychopathic (so they say) and set a world...
"TEQUILA, GET OUT HERE," Grant barks, as he bangs on my hotel room door.
"I'm coming. I'm coming. Shit. Calm down" I say, as I finish tying up my curly pastel pink hair.
I decided to put it in two large messy buns with a couple strands that frame my face.
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I open the door to see Grant glowering at me, a deep scowl on his lips.
"Let's go," he says, before turning and walking towards the elevator.
"But I'm hungry," I whine, as I speed up to match his pace.
He is quiet for a couple moments before he finally sighs and says, "..We'll get McDonald's on the way."
*****
"We can't have her causing any trouble and disrupting the learning environment," the principal says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"I assure you that won't be a problem. She'll be accompanied by either myself or another member of my squad."
"Very well. Tequila, was it?"
"Laugh. I dare you," I glare at him when I see his lips twitch.
He clears his throat and shuffles some papers before handing me a small booklet.
"This pamphlet contains your schedule, your locker number & combination, a map of the school, and a QR Code to our school handbook."
I nod and he takes that as a sign to continue.
"All the textbooks you'll need for your classes are already in your locker. Do you have any questions?"
"Yes. Do I have to take all these fucking classes?"
"I'm afraid I don't understand," he stammers as he adjusts his glasses.
'What's he afraid of?' Natasha snorts.
'His own stupidity,' Tatiana cackles and the rest of the voices join in her laughter as I fight to control the urge to smirk.
"Do I have to take all these classes? Like English IV. I speak English perfectly fine. And ICA. What even is 'ICA' and why is it necessary? What is forensics? Fashion Design I? Oh, so you assume because I'm a woman, I should be into fashion. Remove that and put me in Cosmetology. And dance? Hell no. Take that shit off. I'll be in Track & Field instead."
The principal gapes at me like a fish for a couple moments before he shakes his head and says, "I can put you in Cosmetology and Track but the other classes are required to graduate. ICA stands for Intermediate College Algebra, which is your math credit. It's either that or Calculus."
"Fine. I'll take ICA" I grumble.
"That's what I thought," he says, a smug smirk on his face and I am about to lunge over the table to beat the grin off his lips but Grant grabs my elbow and sends me a warning glare.
