Page 57 of Echoes of the Banshee

“Yes,” Mavrik grumbles. “Obviously we aren’t close.”

“Well, at least we know what Mavrik would look like with a stick up his ass,” Thea jokes, and we both can’t help the laughter that follows.

I leave Mavrik and Thea by the math building before walking toward my ethics class, the sting of coffee up my nose still lingers as a reminder of how easily she can catch me off guard. I push it aside, telling myself it was just a joke. But deep down, I wish it wasn’t.

Zair

Accidentally in Deep

My morning nightblind classes pass in a blur as I try to focus on psychology without digging too deep into my own unraveling head. Lunch has never been my favorite part of the day. By the time I reach the cafeteria, an unease has taken root in my chest like a second skin. I sit down next to Benson and Dylan. They’re my real friends, the ones who don’t need me to pretend, who don’t question the walls I built around myself. I can’t say the same for the rest of the group. They’re more like familiar faces; people I’ve tolerated over the years.

The table is alive with chatter, mostly revolving around the latest drama: who’s hooking up with who, which party had the best after-party, and which video game was trending. Typical stuff.

“Yo, Zair.” Marco slaps me on the back, his voice too loud. “You coming to the Delta Sigma Chi party on Saturday, right?”

I barely look up from my tray, pushing my food around distractedly. I’d gotten used to going through the motions. Parties were predictable: show up, grab a drink, maybe find a nightblind to take the edge off. It’s different now. All I think about is Thea. That smart mouth, the way she challenges me, the fire in her eyes when she fights. And her touch. It fucking wrecked me. I had to jerk off this morning just to function, and even that didn’t help. I tried thinking about someone else. But it didn’t matter. No matter what I pictured, I kept seeing those green eyes.

She wore long sleeves afterwards. Does she not want to touch me again? Or is she just trying to respect my boundaries? Or is it just cold?

Why am I obsessing about why someone is wearing long sleeves?

I nod vaguely, not giving a damn about the party. Dylan leans over, bumping my shoulder. “You’ll be there. You always are.” Yes, because you drag me. Why am I even friends with a werewolf? Always tugging me to events and then dumping me there.

Benson, eating his pasta, glances at me with a raised eyebrow. “You sure about that? You’ve been kind of MIA lately.”

“New girl?” someone asks. I try to focus on the conversation, but it shifts again to something about a siren scandal. My mind keeps drifting to Thea. First, she says she doesn’t like me, and then she jokes about liking banshees. What the hell does that mean? Does she know? Could she actually?

Banshees – at least what everyone thinks we are – are nothing but trouble. Cursed, shrieking creatures who rip the souls from the living. We’re associated with death. We don’t love, we wail. So how could anyone like something like that?

I’m just a monster hiding in my human skin. Banshees don’t get to be loved. Not for who they really are. Not for the parts that are broken, haunted, and kept locked away. And I know Thea. She’s good. She’s warm, full of light. Her soul has already been shredded once, the last thing she could ever truly want is someone like me.

I glance at Benson and Dylan, laughing at something Benson sketched on his napkin. I almost want to talk to them. I’d ask Benson for advice, but he’s a goblin. He wouldn’t understand. If I told him I might like Thea, he’d just tell me to figure it out. If I told him I was a banshee… well, who knows. That’s the problem. And Dylan. Well, he doesn’t bother with feelings because he thinks they’ll disappear as soon as he finds his mate.

I want to tell myself I’m overthinking it, that it’s just her usual teasing, nothing more. But deep down, there’s a part of me that doesn’t want to let it go. Could she actually like me? But no, she doesn’t. It’s a stupid thought. But what if, just this once, someone actually accepted what I am?

Then, just as my thoughts start spiraling, the noise at the table shifts. Laughter dies down, like something better or worse is about to start.

Jack elbows me in the ribs. Hard enough to annoy, not hard enough to start a fight.

“So,” he says, dragging the word out. “You and the weak witch. That a thing now?”

I don’t answer right away.

Marco takes the opportunity. “Wait, you mean Adora?”

“Her name’s Thea,” I say. “And she’s not weak. She’s holding back. There’s a difference.”

Jack whistles low. “You’re really out here defending her. That’s cute.” He grins. “Helping her climb the ladder, huh? Good guy Zair, lifting up the less fortunate.”

“Didn’t think you liked witches. Isn’t that your whole thing?” someone further down the table mutters.

I keep my face smooth. Shrug like I don’t care. “I don’t date witches,” I say, same way I always do. Simple. Final.

Jack leans in again. “But this one’s different?” He taps his fingers on his temple. “Or are you just into fixer-uppers now?”

I give him a tight smile. “She doesn’t need fixing.”

“Oh, so you’re just hanging around her for the vibe?”