8. Shielded

I noticed the shift the second Victor insisted on walking me to class.

Too many eyes.

Too many stares.

The whispering started before we even made it halfway down the hallway—tilted heads, raised eyebrows, a steady stream of "What the hell?" vibes. The thoughts were even worse. Confusion, speculation, judgment. People trying to make sense of the weird pairing, trying to decide whether they should be disgusted, intrigued, or both.

This is exactly what I've been dreading.

And Victor?

In his mind, we were already starring in some discount Hallmark special—me hanging off his arm in a sundress, laughing, while flowers fell around us and he carried all my books like a golden retriever boyfriend.

I picked up the pace, fast-walking without making it obvious.

'Lara said she's around here.'

Shit. Walk faster.

We didn't even make it two steps before the three dumbasses—Craig, Aaron, and Walter—cut us off.

All three of them wore the same smug look, like they'd just scored backstage passes to a show no one wanted to attend.

"What's been up with you, man?" Craig asked, jerking his chin toward me. "Why you so caught up hanging out with her now? This loser got something on you?"

"I can do what I want," Victor said calmly.

'Fucking idiots. Why the hell are they showing up now and messing up the time I have alone with Anne? I was just about to ask to hold her hand!'

Oh good, and I was just about to sprint into traffic.

Walter snickered. "Are you trying to embarrass Lara or something?"

"Who cares about her?" Victor shot back. "Haven't you three been taking care of her?"

Instant regret. Images I never wanted to see—Lara, moaning, with all three of them in various situations—flooded my head from theirs.

Jesus Christ. She was really living her best life.

"Seriously, what's wrong with you, Milkman?" Aaron smirked, waving his hand vaguely toward my face. "With your damn..."

"My eye?" I asked flatly, deadpan.

"Yeah," he snorted. "You look like a defective science project."

I wanted to grab Aaron's head and slam it into the nearest locker until he looked like the paper mâché art project he was comparing me to.

But I didn't.

Then Craig chimed in.

"Guess she gets it from her dad. Figures. No wonder he bailed on you."

That did it.

I lunged—blind rage overriding everything—but before I could make contact, Victor's arm wrapped around my waist and held me in place like I weighed nothing.

His grip dug into my side just enough to distract me, not enough to hurt. But I'd have a bruise tomorrow for sure.

'These guys are really crossing the line. Where the fuck did they get the courage to say this?' he thought, calm on the outside, storming on the inside.

Victor smiled. "You guys really shouldn't be talking so much shit when your own asses aren't clean, right?"

And just like that, their smug expressions cracked.

Secrets started bubbling to the surface without me even trying to dig.

Aaron: Ballet and tap dancing since he was eight. A prodigy.

Walter: Sleeping with a teacher for better grades.

Craig: PTA mom isn't on vacation—she's in rehab.

Victor didn't even flinch. "Especially you, Craig. You've told me some stuff you don't want thrown in your face."

'I'll break this asshole's ribs. I'll crush his mouth. I'll make him shit his own teeth for talking to my sweet Anne like this.'

All while wearing that same gentle smile.

Craig's face turned ghost-pale.

Aaron grabbed his arm. "Uh, coach said we were late. We gotta go."

And just like that, the three of them bolted down the hall like scared rats.

Victor finally let go of me, slowly. Like peeling away possession instead of protection.

"Should we skip the last class?" he asked, casually. "I know a good place."

I didn't answer. Just followed. Might as well.

But the whole time, I watched him. He was back to normal—whatever his version of that was. All calm and cheery again like he hadn't just threatened three people with social death (and actual death, in his head).

Enough was enough.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" I asked him as soon as we were alone.

Victor raised an eyebrow. "Wrong with me? I held you back because you can't beat all three of them in a fight. You were just gonna charge them."

"I don't think you were helping," I said. "If you wanted to help, why did you want to break Craig's ribs?"

He stiffened. "How did you know that?"

Shit. Too emotional. Too fast.

'I only thought that because he deserves it. Only because they talked to you like you were nothing. But how did you know that?'

"I could see it on your face," I lied, fast. "You looked at his ribs."

'Such an adorable liar. I'm sure she knows exactly what I'm thinking. She's still with me here, so it must be okay.'

He didn't buy it. But he didn't push it either.

"You're silly, Anne," Victor said with that same damn smile. "I just wanted to protect you from getting hurt again. In case you haven't noticed, you've been knocked around quite a bit this week."

He opened the door to an empty art classroom and guided me in like a gentleman hosting a date.

He closed the door behind us.

"This looks like some new swelling though. Who did this to your beautiful face?"

My stomach dropped.

He wasn't just guessing.

He knew.

And not in the vague rumor-mill way either.

His thoughts were playing it back in perfect detail—frame by frame, like a movie only he had access to.

He wasn't in that class.

So unless he's psychic or I've got a fan club live-streaming my trauma, there's only one explanation.

He was there.

He knew to stay seven feet away.

So he knows.

He knows I can read minds.

"I got hit in the face by accident with a basketball," I said quickly.

It was automatic—reflex. A lie I didn't even have to think about. Because the truth? Would lead to blood, and that was the last thing I needed. No drama. No chaos. No more problems with Craig. Not today.

Victor tilted his head, not buying a word. "This is a bit much for just an accident. It was Craig, wasn't it?"

'I've had enough of sparing him. I won't do it again. I'm going to kill him.'

What the hell.

"We need to talk," I said, straightening up, ignoring the sting in my cheek.

"Sure!" Victor lit up like a kid in a candy store. "We can talk about anything, Anne!"

"Look, I appreciate you wanting to stick up for me and all," I started carefully, "but you can't contemplate violence every time someone talks shit to me."

His eyes sparkled. "I knew it! You like it—you just don't want to admit it yet."

I blinked. "No, that's not what I'm trying to say—"

"You don't have to pretend when it's just us two here," Victor said, his voice soft and annoyingly understanding, like I was the one who was confused. "I get it. It's scary to suddenly let someone protect you when you're used to being alone."

What... what version of this conversation was he having?

I clenched my teeth. "Victor. I don't need your protection. I can fight on my own and I don't need anyone dragged into my shit."

He nodded like he was agreeing with me, but his thoughts said the opposite.

'Anne is still too scared to open up. I know she doesn't mean it. She wants me to prove I'll protect her no matter what. She's just too shy.'

I ran a hand through my hair, trying not to scream. The frustration burned beneath my skin.

"Don't act like you're agreeing with me," I hissed.

"I know you just don't want me to get hurt," he said smoothly, "and I love you for that. But I think it's time I step in. You're only scared because no one's ever stood up for you like this before. But that's okay. Like I said before... I'm not going anywhere. You'll get used to it. You'll see."

He smiled at me like he'd just been handed a gold medal.

And I looked at him, realizing something terrifying.

He genuinely believed this was what I wanted. That I just didn't know it yet.

No matter how I told him otherwise, he'd twist it into "proof" that he was right all along.

Victor stepped forward, one hand snaking around the back of my neck. He pulled me toward him, gently.

My heart jumped.

Oh god. I'm going to die here, aren't I?

Except—I didn't.

Victor kissed me.

And not a simple kiss.

His lips crushed mine and when I gasped in surprise, he took that as permission. His tongue slid into my mouth and his hands moved to my hair, brushing it out of my face with disturbing tenderness. The kiss deepened. Again and again, his lips met mine, more intense each time.

The rest of the world vanished—no thoughts, no noise, just him.

It was too much.

'My angel tastes exactly like her lunch. Delicious beef.'

That was the line that snapped me back.

I gasped and yanked away, stepping back like I'd touched a live wire. My face was hot. My head was spinning.

"What the hell was that about?" I snapped.

Victor's smile was wide and content. "Isn't it okay? After all, we're going out now."

What?!

"Wait. What?" I asked, panic crawling up my throat. "Is this some sort of prank? Stop fucking around—"

"Anne, that feeling I got when I first saw you—" Victor licked his lips, actually licked his lips, "—and I probably never will again. You taste just as delicious."

That look in his eyes made my stomach twist. I didn't need to read his mind to know he was spiraling, but the thoughts were still shouting at me.

"What?" I stammered, too freaked out to find better words.

"I love this signature bedhead. And eyes that just beg for attention," he murmured. "I just knew getting to know all of you was my destiny."

"Don't you think you're taking it a step too far?" I asked, my voice low.

"What's wrong with going after who I want?" Victor tilted his head, smiling still. "I love you, and that's all there is to it. My love isn't being presented as accurately as I want yet, but I have a feeling anything more would be too intense for you."

"I just want to live in peace," I whispered.

'Then I'll make everything peaceful for you, Anne.'

No.

I don't like the sound of that thought at all.