"What's gotten into you?" Brett asks.

I giggle. God, that's weird. I never giggle. "Maybe I've just decided to stop feeling sorry for myself. Life is too short to be upset all the time, Brett."

Brett stops in his tracks. "What the hell is wrong with you, Lenore?"

I sigh. "I don't feel bad for once," I tell him. "Just let me have this at least, Brett."

After feeding last night, it was like a switch had been turned off. All the aches, all the pain, all the hunger - it was all gone in that one moment. An insane ecstasy had filled me and it had felt as if a weight had been lifted off my shoulders.

Then came the heightened hearing, taste and speed. I could hear everything my aunt was saying downstairs from up in my bedroom and was hyperaware of the sounds around me.

In short: it was a stark comparison to the pain it had caused beforehand.

"I just want to make sure nothing's happened," he mutters.

I tilt my head back and exhale a long, loud breath. "Nothing's happened, Brett," I say. "Lighten up. This whole brooding, mysterious thing. Not a good look. I miss the fun Brett."

He raises his eyebrows at me. "Alright, then," he mumbles.

We get to chemistry and I sit down next to Brett at the desk. Brett doesn't press the issue any further. About halfway through the lesson, the teacher begins handing back results from our pop quiz.

"How do you think you went?" I ask Brett, leaning over the table.

"To be honest, I probably barely passed," he says. His eyes are fixed worriedly on the teacher who is coming down our line of desks. Brett's extremely jittery, drumming his fingers on the table and bouncing his knee up and down under the desk.

"Hey, calm down," I tell him. I move my hand under the sliver of sunlight on his hand and close my hand over his.

My fingers have barely grazed his skin when I recoil my hand from the heat of the sun. I wince as I look down in alarm at my fingers. My skin is scorched and covered in blisters. My flesh feels like it's playing home to a wildfire.

"Lenore?" Brett asks. "Are you alright? What was that?"

I cradle my hand close to my chest, groaning in pain. "The sun," I grunt. I hold my hand out again as a test and as my fingers brush the light, an agonising pain shoots up my right arm. I swear loud enough to alert the teacher and everyone else in the room.

"Lenore," she scolds. "I don't come to my work place to hear those type of words. If I wanted to hear those words I'd go to a prison."

Brett puts an arm around me and guides me up off my seat. It's hard to ignore the closeness of him. He looks pointedly at the teacher. "Fuck that," he says. "Me and Lenore are getting out of here, anyway."

He steers me out of the classroom still wincing in pain. "Are you alright?" he asks as he hurries me down the hall. He takes special care to stay out of the way of the shards of sunlight streaming through the windows.

"Yeah," I say through clenched teeth. "Just hurts." I look down at my seared hands. "Where are we going?"

"Boy's locker room," he says. "There's not many windows in there."

The boy's locker room is empty when we get there. Brett rushes me over to a basin and holds my hands under a stream of cold water. The coolness of the water offers relief to the sweltering pain on my hands. A glad sigh escapes through my lips as I feel the pain receding.

"You fed," Brett says softly.

I look disappointingly down at my hands, red and blistering. "I'm sorry," I murmur.

He exhales loudly. "I'm not angry, Lenore. You could've died if you stayed like that for any longer."

"You're not?" I look up at him through curtained lashes. "I thought you would've left me."

"No way, Lenore," he exclaims. "I wanted to be honourable and tell you not to feed off someone innocent, but secretly I wanted more than anything for you to live, and if that means feeding, then so be it."

I turn off the tap and dry my hands on some paper towel. They're still sensitive to the touch, but they hurt a lot less than before. I sit down on the bench in the middle of the room. "What do I do now?" I ask timidly. "I can't get out of school, can I?"

"Not until the sun goes down," he says. "We'll visit Peter Hale after it gets dark." We stay silent for a while after that. Brett is leaned over with his elbows on his knees and his face propped on top of his hands. I turn to him and cross my legs. He smiles and turns to me, crossing his legs as well.

"That thing you did to Ms Phillips back there was great," I say. "I would've laughed if I wasn't in the process of being roasted by the sun."

"That's just me. Brett Talbot. Total badass," he declares.

"You are a badass, Brett. I mean, you're a six foot two werewolf who's also captain of the lacrosse team. You're the type of guy people write books about."

He looks down shyly. "No," he says modestly. "I'm just...Brett."

I smile. "Well, not to me."

The sun falls in a show of magnificent lilac and red hues. I push myself off the bench and wince. My butt is feeling very numb at the moment. "Finally," I say with a sigh. "I hate being in school longer than I have to."

"You must go crazy in detentions, then," he says.

"Never had one," I say, hauling open the door. "But don't tell anyone," I add quickly. "It's such a geeky thing."

He raises his eyebrows. "So you've never had late homework? Never gotten into a fight?"

"Oh, of course I have. Plenty of times, actually," I say. I look up at him. "Brett," I say, "have I ever told you about how I speak another language?"

He furrows his eyebrows. "I don't see what that has to do with anything but, no, you haven't. What is it?"

"It's a very tough one to learn," I tell him. "It's called fluent bullshitting."

When we arrive at the front doors of the school, I feel a rush of gladness rush over me. I hate being confined in places. I push the doors open and let the cold air roll over me. Brett and I walk to his car.

"So do we actually know anything about this Peter Hale dude?" I ask, slumping back into my seat.

Brett side-eyes me since he's facing the road ahead. "I know he's a very powerful werewolf. He used to be an alpha. He bit Scott McCall, a teenager who's a true alpha-"

"True alpha?" I ask. "What the hell is that?"

"A true alpha is an alpha who doesn't need to get their power from killing or stealing," he says quickly. "Anyway, he also bit a girl called Lydia, but she never turned into a werewolf because of her banshee genes. He got killed by a member of his family called Derek Hale, who in turn became an alpha. Peter brought himself back to life by creating a link with Lydia and getting inside her mind."

I widen my eyes. "That's mind-blowing."

He sighs. "This is why you need me to escort you to all supernatural meetings you have." The car comes to a halt and I look outside the window.

"Why are we at my home?" I ask, peering over Brett's shoulder.

"Do you really think we're going to seek out one of the most influential supernatural figures in Beacon County wearing our school uniforms?" he snipes. "I don't think it really conveys 'intimidating'."

I clamber out of the car and enter the house with Brett on my trail. I climb the stairs taking two at a time. I push open the door of my bedroom and open my wardrobe up. Brett comes up behind me.

"Any ideas on what screams 'intimidating'?" I ask, biting my lip in thought.

"I don't know," he mutters. "Wear all black or something."

His hand reaches in and pulls out a piece of clothing. I cringe when I see what it is. In his hand he holds a black lacy bra. "Who's this for?" he asks, a smirk stretching the length of his face.

I snatch it away from him. "Put that away," I mutter. I dive into the thick of the clothes and eventually conjure up an outfit that looks badass enough. I lay out my black leather jacket, shirt and jeans.

I look at Brett pointedly. He's laying on my bed with his feet kicked up and his phone in his hands. He raises his eyebrows. "What?" he asks, grinning.

"I need to get changed," I say.

He shrugs. "I don't mind."

"Brett," I say. "You're getting on my nerves."

He grins. "Trust me, I know." He barely even flinches when I throw a cushion at him.

I sigh and face the other way. I unbutton my shirt and slide it down and off my shoulders. Brett whistles. "I will hurt you, Brett," I grumble.

"Kinky," he says. "I like it."

"Leave."

He sighs. "Fine."