I can’t believe what I’m seeing. I pull out another skimpy shirt; more lingerie than t-shirt. “Fuck…” I whisper to myself, frantically going through the rest of the clothes in my luggage. Where are the comfortable jeans? The pajamas that don’t make me look like a stripper? The normal oversized t-shirts? There’s nothing in here but the skimpiest items of clothing that I own; some of them ones that I hadn't even worn before. Oh that little devil. I knew I shouldn’t have trusted her when she offered to help me pack. I should've checked the damn luggage. I should've done the packing myself. I should've seen through her false angelic smile. “You’re dead meat, Wilma.” I mutter to myself, balling fistfuls of the scarlet chemise in my hands. “Just wait until I get back. Je vais te tuer.” And if I had been paired with Evin in the room, it wouldn't have been much of a problem to wear the skimpy nightgowns, but it’s William for heavens sake. I bury my face in the pillow, thinking of what to d

(William Ravenstone’s POV)Ice cracks beneath my feet.I shiver- no, tremble under the force of the icy wind wiping through my hair and my skin like tiny daggers. My bare feet digs into the snow below, knee-deep, and I’m gasping, falling, bracing myself on bruised palms as I make contact with the unforgiving cold.A chill zaps through my bones.I squint up at a sun-less world, the clouds thick and angry, bearing down on the barren, ice-covered earth like harbingers of doom. For miles around me, I see nothing but white mountains, pure tundra.I try to stagger to my feet.I’m stuck.No, no, no, this can’t be happening, I—“Help!” I yell into the wind. It steals my voice. “Help me!” The fear and panic grip my heart even as the cold begins to slow down my heartbeat. “Luke! Luke, please, I’m sorry!” My voice wraps, bends, breaks in my throat.The world around me zaps out of focus, and then everything shifts. The snow under me turns to stone. The mountains and treacherous distance disappear

Jennifer and I trudge back to the rest of the class group after having our score marked down by Jimmy Beiber. With the excitement of winning worn off, an awkward silence falls between us. Every now and then she glances at me, and from my periphery I see her opening her mouth to say something, hesitating, and then shutting up.“Just say it.”She sighs, tugging at the edge of her ponytail before a determined expression settles on her features. She stops walking and turns to me, the orange flag held limply in her hand. “I’m sorry about Ben, although it’s not my fault, and it’s not his fault, and it’s not your fault either.” She takes a shaky breath, looks up at the blue sky. “None of us can control the mates we get. We can only accept them as they are and have faith that the selection is never wrong.” Her gaze flutters back to me, a small, almost sad smile on her face. “I hope you understand that, Isabella. And I hope we can move on from all this and go back to being good friends.”We we

I finish eating my fries dejectedly, unable to savour or enjoy them because I’d lost my appetite. And yet, I’m still hungry. Opting for something healthier, I take Bibah’s fruit bowl that she’d left behind, contemplating asking the waitress for any type of alcoholic drink they might have. I sigh, glancing over at William who’s still asleep. Maybe it’s best to stay sober. Three spoons of sliced watermelons, apples and grapes later, I lose my fancy for it too. I drag over a plate of untouched spicy noodles, removing the chopsticks from the napkins and tasting.It’s no longer hot, but it’s not bad, I guess.“Enjoying the meal?”I look up at the waitress who had asked; all blond hair and pearly white smile, the same girl that had served us our food. She has a heart-shaped face and an air of natural sweetness, like a Southern Belle.“Um, yes, thank you.” I answer politely, trapping more noodles in the chopsticks and hoping she gives up on being polite and making conversation.Unfortunately

I’m vomitting.That’s not even the wild part. Listen to this.I’m vomitting, and William Ravenstone is holding a large bowl under my face. I can smell the pungent, acidic odor of whatever I’m throwing up, like rotten cheese. I throw up more. His wrist is holding up my limp head, my hair gathered in his fist.“This is gross…” I groan in-between heaves. “It’s so- I’m so-”“Shh,” he replies, and I fall back into slumber, shuddering and gasping while he wipes my face with something cold and damp.Time passes.I think time passes, although I have no sense of it.The clock says 3:05 A.M when I sit upright again. A wet compress falls into my lap. I glance over and jerk in surprise at the weight on the bed next to me.“How are you feeling?” William asks, shifting a chess piece on the chessboard in his lap. He’s sitting against the headboard, lit up only by the glow of the lamp next to him on the nightstand. I notice a stack of medications arranged there neatly too. My gaze moves back to the c