Crave (Harlequin Teen)

turned ugly as I unlocked my door. “Meet you at the cafeteria picnic tables in the morning.”
    “Yep, see you there.”
    Grinding my teeth, I jumped into my truck and pulled out of the parking lot, squealing the tires by accident. Luckily the cop posted at the corner was a descendant and just shook a warning finger at me. I had too much work to do to wait for a ticket this evening.
     
    The next day, I stayed in the cafeteria long enough to see Anne slip something into Savannah’s bags at their table while Savannah stood in the food line. Then I headed outside to get rid of some serious energy overload. Even making all those charms last night hadn’t put a dent in my energy level. The descendants had looked ready to kill me at our table to day. Emily had just pointed at the doors in silence, her eyes murderous.
    But there was just no way to stop feeling like this. All I could think about was the need to hit Stanwick. Over and over. And how, as far as everyone else knew, I had no right to feel this way, much less act on it.
    Leaning back against my grounding tree, I’d just started siphoning off the energy when I felt it—a too-familiar ache in my chest and gut that only one girl caused. But Savannah should be inside with her friends and protected by four of my memory confusion charms.
    Still, the sensation was too strong to ignore. So I opened my eyes. And cursed.
    Stanwick and Savannah were at the cafeteria’s rear exit near the Dumpster station. The curve of the building blocked them from the view of the outside picnic tables. But not from me.
    Her eyes were wide, the hurt in them like a punch to my stomach as she handed Stanwick his ring. He pushed back her hand without taking the ring. She tried again, and he ignored her hand, instead pressing his body into hers against the cafeteria’s brick exterior.
    I was stalking over to them without ever deciding to move. As I got closer, I could hear them.
    “No, Greg. Stop. This isn’t really you. It’s my fault. I did this, I know. But you have to stop.”
    He tried to kiss her lips. She turned her head and shoved at his shoulders, but he only leaned harder against her and kissed her neck. She stomped on his toes, but he didn’t even flinch.
    I saw the fear and frustration in Savannah’s eyes a second before she recognized me. That look in those eyes fueled my own fury, pushing it to a point I’d thought impossible for my anger to reach. The rage ate me up from the inside out, burning away all logic and reason.
    I grabbed Stanwick’s shoulder and spun him off her, then threw the dazed senior behind the nearest Dumpster.
    It felt too good, landing that first surprise blow to Stanwick’s chin and sending him sprawling. I went after him again. But I should have remembered to avoid the soccer jerk’s feet; he kicked me in the thigh. The pain had me on a knee in the gravel before I even realized it.
    Then we were on each other, Stanwick on top long enough to get in a couple of good hits to my jaw and splitting my lip before I could use the advantage of my bigger size to flip him. Once on top, I landed three good blows to his nose, mouth and right cheek.
    Then two soft hands grabbed my upper arms, and her warm, lavender scent drifted around me. At the same time, a red curtain of hair covered my face, blinding me.
    “Tristan, stop! It’s not his fault,” Savannah demanded right against my ear.
    “Like it’s your fault instead?” I snapped back, trying to hold on to the anger. But the feel of her lips against my ear and the light scent of her was drowning me with a different need.
    I leaned down to mutter in Stanwick’s ear, “You know if we’re caught fighting on campus, we’re both screwed. Still want that soccer scholarship?”
    He glared at me for a long minute then gave a quick nod. Satisfied we understood each other, I stood up. I stared at Stanwick as he picked up his ring from the grass and stomped off.
    “Tristan. Your face,” she whispered, reaching up to touch my stinging lip.
    “It’s nothing.”
    “That is not nothing. How are you going to hide that?”
    I froze so I wouldn’t scare her away. She didn’t seem to be aware of how she was pressed against my side and arm in her effort to reach my face. “I don’t have to hide it. I play football. It’s a rough sport.”
    “That regularly messes up your face?”
    She was so close, her face just inches from mine. It would be too easy to kiss her….
    “It’s a really rough