The Blueblood And Her Lycan King

Brooklyn.

The door of the classroom slams shut, snapping me out of my haze as I involuntarily wince at the loud noise. My glare directs at the person who just stepped inside and it's no other than Mike Ross, my stupid seat mate and best friend who makes it his life mission to frustrate my life.

From the smirk on his idiotic face, I know that he did that deliberately. Of course, it isn’t beyond Mike to be this childish.

 “You look like someone pissed in your breakfast this morning, Brooky.”

And I equally hate that nickname.

I give him a sweet smile, “and it happens to be your stupid face.”

 I can claw it if I want to. I have the claws for it after all.

He chuckles, like always. My words should irritate him as much as his' does, but he finds it funny. Always. 

Before I can ask him what the cause of his amusement is, the bell rings —which by the way, makes me want to throw it and the person with it so far away— and people start shuffling in. The teacher included.

Soon, it is lunch. Usually, I'll always spend that in the library, but I've been banned from there since yesterday when Mike came looking for me with noise. And now, I have a goal; make Mike's break time insufferable.

That's why I'm here, in the hall full of hormonal teenagers that I'll rather be away from, eyes searching for one person. My lips tilt up into a smirk when I have my eyes on him and I trudge over.

The people around his table: his goons are enough to stop me because I'm never a people's person, especially the girl sitting beside him. My smirk widens when an idea comes to mind. 

If Mike Ross thinks he can get away with what he's done, he should think again.

“Hey, baby,” I say with a sultry voice as the tip of my finger grazes the back of his shoulders before resting on one of them. I feel Mike stiffen under my hold. I grin inwardly. 

Step one, check.

 “I've been looking all over for you,” I added.

Slowly, he turns to me. His eyes wide and pleading. The eyes of his friends are also on us. My mouth pushes downward in a sad frown. 

“Don't you think it's unfair to leave me hanging in the Janitor's closet and you're here having lunch with your friends? And…” My gaze travels to the girl besides him, who looks like she's a minute away from crying. 

For a second there, I feel pity for her. Only for a second. “...her?” The disdain in my voice surprises him.

Damn, I should sign up for an acting role.

“Brooklyn!” Mike grits his teeth together, a harsh glare directed at me. “Stop this now.”

I feign confusion. “What?”

At that, the girl sitting beside him bolts for the door. We all watch her run down the hallway until her shadow is gone. Then I stop my act.

“Hi, Mikey.” I grin, acting like I didn't just ruin his potential relationship with her. 

I don't even know who she is. She must be a junior. So gullible to think that Mike can ever love her. Taking her spot, I pinch out of his bread and chew before my gaze travels back to him. “So, how was that?”

“Fuck you, Brooklyn.”

My eyes widen a bit at the harshness in his voice. “Don't tell me you both were getting serious…” My words trail off when his glare becomes meaner. I shift in my seat, have I ruined something good?

“They were.” Caleb, one of his friends says.

“Yep. Dude fucking went all romantic on her to ask her to be his babe. Damn you, Brooklyn.” Adam, another one of his friends, chuckles, pushing fries into his mouth.

“Oh.” Is the only word I say as I continue to eat out of his food. I can't find it in me to care at all. Why? I wonder, too. Maybe because Mike and I have been at it since middle school. We literally frustrate the hell out of each other and learn to live with it. 

“Oh? That's all? Oh? What the hell, Brooklyn?” Mike snaps at me, his jaw clenching.

I narrow my eyes on him. “What should I do? It's done.”

“Fix it.” 

“No.”

“Fuck you,” he repeats, grabbing his bag and storms out of the hall.

I sigh, getting up and trailing after him, not forgetting to discard his lunch wrapper in the entrance bin.

 “Come on, Mike! You'll get over her sooner than you think.”

~~~~

For the second time that day, the door slams shut and I groan. Except this time, it's the front door of my home. And from the way my nose crunches up at the scent of the fruity perfume, I know it is my mom.

I've always had a close relationship with my parents. It always helps that I'm the only child and they're smothers. My dad, especially, is way overprotective of me and I've learned to make my peace with it. 

I look at my chat tab with Micheal to see that he once again sent me the middle finger. I roll my eyes. Give him a day and he'll come around. I put my phone in my pocket before rushing downstairs. 

“Hey, mom.” I swiftly peck her cheeks on my way to the fridge. I grab a bottle of coke and watch my mom wash out the vegetables she bought for dinner.

 “What's for dinner? Where's dad?” I ask her.

Another thing about my parents? They are together. Always. I've always admired and wanted that type of relationship. The love they share after twenty years of relationship is uncanny.

“In his study. Go get him,” she orders.

I roll my eyes at the way she ignores my first question before doing what she says. Turning round, I walk down the dimly lit hallway to his study.

“... we agreed on when she's 21. She's just a kid for Pete's sake!” 

The voice of my snappy father stills me. Kid? My eyebrows furrow together in confusion. I'm the only kid my parents know because I never bring anyone home, not that I have any to bring anyway. Except Mike and my parents hate him. Although I always wondered why. So, does that mean I'm the kid?

I hold my breath and tune into the conversation. It's hard hearing what the other person is saying so I shuffle closer, making sure I don't hit any of the vases. 

“I don't care. I want what's mine! Don't forget who you work for, Jack.” An angry growl answers back.

Huh?

My dad sighs. “B-but she's just eighteen,” that's me, then? “And she doesn't even know about it yet.”

“Once again, I don't care. She's my bride.”

Bride?

“Ben, please. Give us time, give her time.” My dad begs. 

Who's her?

“Don't tell me you've gotten attached to her, Jack. Remember she's not your daughter and never will be.” The voice snaps. “I'll come for Brooklyn tomorrow. You have more than twelve hours to prepare her. Until then.” 

Quiet. Everywhere is quiet in the house, so silent that it's almost disturbing. The call ended? Oh. Shrugging, I take a step closer, suddenly remembering what mom said to do when the conversation that I just heard registers in my brain.

Mine. Work for me. Eighteen. Bride. Real parents. Brooklyn.

Me.

Me.

Me. 

I am Brooklyn. I am the bride. They are not my real…parents?

I take a step back. And another. Then an— the sound of a vase crashing in the hallway alerts him. I freeze as I hear the sound of shuffling before his door opens.

“Brooklyn?” 

My eyes snaps up at him. He watches me in confusion before walking towards me. 

I'm coming for Brooklyn tomorrow.

I swiftly turn around and run. 

“Shit.” As if just realizing why I'm running, he's on my tail.