The kid’s talking again. The press behind me seethes in close enough to hear. “They said the Bea—you—require a sacrifice.” He shudders again and looks down at the floor. “Every full moon.”

The crowd behind us roars. Laughter is supposed to be healthy, uplifting. Not in Port, Michigan.

“It’s okay.” I restrain myself from patting his shoulder. “We’ll get Mr. Finnley to bring his bolt cutters.”

The kid won’t shut up. His head comes back up, and he grimaces at me. “They said you’d drag me into your lair—”

More laughter.

Heat pours into my face, and I mumble, “I don’t eat freshmen for breakfast.”

“Eat me?” Confusion knits the kid’s brows together. “That’s not what they said you’d do.”

Riot levels break out behind us. It sounds like half the school has crammed into the hall.

I don’t turn and look. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Can you knock me out first?”

The laughter, mocking and harsh, bounces back and forth across the hall, off the metal locker stacks.

This kid must have swallowed every word of the Beast legend. I’m a giant. I’m hideous. But a crazed female rapist preying on skinny freshmen?

I hold up my hands and back off. “They got you, okay.” My eyes sting. They got me, too. “You’re safe.” I turn and try to push through the wall of unyielding bodies to find the custodian. My eyes are blurry. Crap.

Don’t lose it. Don’t lose it. Don’t lose it. “Excuse me. Please.” The surging wall of cackling bodies solidifies.

Then I see Mr. Finnley’s head. Scott’s there, too—leading him through the crowd. I swallow hard.