Nikolias
Derek couldn’t believe it, but it was definitely Nikolias.
He’d met Nikolias when he’d tripped all over himself into Derek’s sand castle in the only daycare in Frey Shores that took lycan children. The pale boy had apologized, spitting out sand. Then, he did his best to try to help Derek remake it. That ended up being his water-fetcher because Nikolias’s always-moving hands would have been a disaster to three-year-old Derek’s masterpiece. They’d been something like friends until Nikolias had moved away four years later.
Derek had never made a friend after that. The curated and approved list of people his parents had provided was shallow and little more than spies for his parents or their own. They were loud. Obnoxious and didn’t think much of him anyway, being human and all. As chaotic as he had been at three, Nikolias had been the nicest, most considerate person he’d ever met. They had sat together at the edge of the playground watching several games of kickball together because Derek hated recess and Nikolias didn’t want Derek to be alone.
He had once liked being active, but after getting scolded by his parents about how messy he got, he’d just sat out. It was better that his teachers remarked about him being a sullen and withdrawn child than be scolded for ripping his dress shirt while playing tag.
Nikolias scoffed. The sound pulled Derek out of his thoughts, and he laughed a little at the grimace on Nikolias’s face.
“Just call me Niko’, honestly.” He gestured to his attire. “Do I look like a Nikolias?”
“It's your name, so I suppose you do?”
Nicolias grinned. “It's good to see you! At least, I won't be surrounded by assholes.” He cocked an eyebrow, sweeping his gaze over Derek. “You look like you stepped out of a yacht catalog or something. Got plans later?”
“No. It's just…” He grimaced, not wanting to admit that, essentially, he let his mother dress him. “Clothing.”
“Well, everybody has their own style,” Nikolias shrugged. “You pull off posh and rich well as always.” Nikolias thrust his hand forward. “So good to make your re-acquaintance, my liege.”
Derek chuckled and reached out to take his hand to shake when his mother's voice cracked like a whip down the hall.
“Get away from my son, you miscreant!”
Derek jerked back. Heart in his throat as she reached his side, grabbing him by the arm and yanking him back, her nails digging into his arm. His father appeared between them, looming over Nikolias with a snarl.
Nikolias didn’t even flinch. His expression was cold as he met Dimitri’s glowing red eyes.
Unmoved.
Fearless.
Derek’s heart tripped, and an odd tingling feeling started in his gut.
“Stay away from my son,” Sorelia hissed. “Or I’ll have you removed before you can even blink.”
Nikolias scoffed, glancing at her. “Say less, lady.”
“You will address her properly—”
“I don’t know who she is, and I'm not sure I even want to.” Nikolias glanced between them. “Aren’t you overreacting? You’re literally menacing me and hurting your son over being polite.” He cocked an eyebrow. “Thought rich people took etiquette?”
Derek swallowed the laugh burning in his chest, blotting out the pain in his arm. Holding it back was so painful that he was surely straining something. Neither of his parents spoke for a long moment.
“Derek,” Sorelia hissed, not turning back to him. “Who is this?”
“He’s—”
“It’s Nikolias,” Nikolias cut in. “And you’re starting to bear a striking resemblance to the jackasses who put me in a locker.”
“How dare you accuse—”
“I don’t have to accuse your pack of anything.” He pointed at the ceiling. “The Council-mandated surveillance will have it all recorded for evidence.”
Sorelia turned, pulling Derek along and tightening her grip on him.
“How many times have I told you to be discerning about the company you keep?”
Derek gritted his teeth as the bite of her nails grew more intense. She had definitely broken skin. His father stalked after them. Derek jogged to keep up with her, every jostle making the pain worse as they headed back to the counselor’s office. His eyes burned, not just from the pain.
It seemed like he wouldn’t be making any real friends now, either.
The office was empty when they entered, and the receptionist didn’t even look up. Sorelia pulled him down the hall into another woman's office. Sorelia set the list of classes she wanted Derek to take on the table.
“These are his classes, and make it quick.”
The counselor glanced at the pages, typed a bit, and Derek tried not to pull away, though Sorelia’s grip was getting tighter and more painful by the second. It would only make her angrier. He was already bleeding through his shirt.
“We’re all out of band classes,” the counselor said after a moment. “No orchestra either.”
He shut his eyes, fighting the urge to cry.
Nikolias watched Derek get dragged away. The sight of the blooming dots of blood on Derek’s shirt made him nauseous, and he hoped that was visible on surveillance, too.
So that was Derek’s mom and dad? No wonder Derek’s eyes had been so hollow. He doubted Derek even breathed without bracing for impact. The fear that had filled Derek's eyes when his mother had yelled down the hall was enough to make Nikolias want to punch someone, probably starting with Derek’s father.
Guilt gnawed at him. He should have just waited out the time to get a faculty member. Then, Derek wouldn’t have gotten hurt. The fact that this was probably not the first time Derek had been injured by his parents in public only made it worse.
He clenched his fists. A wave of anger rising in him. Was that his heart beating or war drums in his head? He took a deep breath, calming himself. As much as he wanted to help, Derek’s life hung in the balance. The world didn't like to talk about how barbaric certain supernatural populations still were, but the reforms that were sweeping across territories would change that soon. The International Council of Supernaturals had issued a lot of new laws that were designed to pull back the thin veil that hid the rampant abuse that went on among supernaturals.
Places like Frey Shores were being targeted, and it was clear that they had their work cut out for them. He had ended up with what felt like a cracked rib and stuffed in a locker to overheat or suffocate, trying to defend someone from some lycan asshole. And Derek's mother was willing and comfortable with making him bleed over a handshake.
His heart was in a vice. He wanted to help. It wasn’t in him to do nothing. That wasn't who his parent raised him to be.
And he didn’t need to think of them right now. He blinked back the burning in his eyes. Crying was not happening right now.
He’d figure out what, if anything, he could do to help Derek, but first he needed to find his stuff.
He turned and saw a bright blue shred of cloth on the ground.
“For fuck's sake.”