Chp 17
1706 Words
Zyra POV
The halls of Blackridge Academy buzz like a hive, voices, footsteps, whispers, the faint clanging of lockers. But the noise barely touches me. My head is stuffed with leftover panic from the coffee shop, the smell of roasted beans still clinging to my uniform as if Dael branded me with it.
I keep my gaze fixed ahead, shoulders tight, clutching my bag like a shield as I weave through the crowd.
Just one class.
Just one hour.
Just one uninterrupted moment where his shadow doesn’t..
My steps falter.
Dael.
I spot him before my brain fully registers it, leaning against the far corner wall of the courtyard like he’s bored of gravity itself. His hood is down, his hair a messy halo of black and dark red strands. His head is tilted slightly as one of his friends Roth, I think talks animatedly with hand gestures.
But Dael isn’t listening. His eyes are on me. Not glancing, not checking, Fixed.
Locked like a sniper sight.
Heat punches through my ribs. Not warm heat, burning, suffocating, the kind that makes skin feel too tight. I force myself not to react. Not to look away too fast. Not to break into a sprint like a frightened deer.
Instead, I keep walking. His friends laugh about something. Roth smacks Dael’s arm. Another guy nudges him with a smirk.
Dael doesn’t move.
He doesn’t acknowledge a single one of them. His entire body, built like something carved out of night and bone and violence is turned toward me. A silent warning. A claim he has no right to make.
I try to slip into the classroom before the weight of his stare drags me down completely.
The moment I step inside, the buzz of students washes over me, chairs scraping, pens tapping, someone complaining about exams. My chest loosens. Slightly.
I take my usual seat near the window, pull out my notebook, and exhale shakily. Maybe he’ll stay outside. Maybe he’ll pretend..
“Hey, um… hi.”
I blink up.
A boy with warm brown hair and sympathetic eyes stands at my desk. He gives me a shy smile. Not creepy. Not threatening. Not dangerous, a normal boy.
“I’m Ryan,” he says. “From… uh, pack Hillstone.”
An omega pack. Peaceful. Friendly. Nothing like Dael’s killer bloodline.
“Can I sit here?” he asks, motioning to the chair beside me. “All the other seats are taken.”
That’s not true.
Half the row is empty.
But I see the hopeful flicker in his expression, like he’s offering something simple. Something human. A start.
“Sure,” I say quietly.
He beams and sits, dropping his bag with a soft thud.
“I’ve seen you around,” he says. “First year? What’s your major?”
“Criminal psychology and law,” I reply.
His eyebrows rise. “Ambitious. Cool. I’m doing business studies but… mostly because my dad wants it.”
I nod.
He relaxes a little, tapping his fingers on the desk. “If you ever need notes, or… company, I guess, I can help.”
It’s sweet. Genuine. Like he doesn’t see the curse in my hair or the threat in my existence.
I open my mouth to answer,
Ryan freezes.
I sense it before I turn.
That shift in the air.
That sudden drop in temperature.
That electric tightening of every muscle in my back.
Slowly, painfully slow, I glance over my shoulder.
Dael stands behind me.
No sound announced his arrival. No footsteps. No breath.
One moment, he was a distant threat in the hallway.
Now, he’s here.
Towering.
Silent.
Eyes burning a deep, livid crimson.
His presence fills the room like smoke. Every student within reach stiffens instinctively, shoulders curving inward.
Ryan swallows. Loudly. “A-Alpha Dael.” His voice cracks.
Dael doesn’t look at him. His stare is fixed on me.
On my face.
My hair.
My lips.
The space between me and Ryan.
Something ugly, dark, territorial grows hotter in his gaze with each second.
“Move,” Dael says.
One word.
Low.
Soft.
Devastating.
Ryan stutters, “I—I was just—”
Dael’s head tilts a fraction, the red in his eyes deepening like fresh blood spilling into water.
He doesn’t repeat himself.
He doesn’t need to.
Wolves don’t mistake that tone. It’s the sound before a kill.
Ryan nearly trips, getting out of the chair, bumping into another desk as he scurries away. He mumbles something like an apology probably to me but I can’t hear it through the ringing in my ears.
Dael steps into the space Ryan left, but he doesn’t sit.
No.
He stands.
Close enough that his shadow falls across my desk. Close enough I feel the heat of his body at my back. Close enough my skin prickles like every nerve recognizes him before my mind does.
I grip my pen so hard it might snap.
He says nothing.
Does nothing.
Just breathe. Slow. Controlled. Dangerous.
I stare at my empty notebook, hand trembling.
“You talk too much,” he mutters quietly, his voice a blade disguised as velvet.
I stiffen. “I wasn’t..”
“Omega boy.” His tone sharpens. “Smiling at you.”
“He was just being friendly.”
“Friendly,” he repeats, disdain dripping from the word. “He was trying to sit in my seat.”
My breath catches. I force myself to look over my shoulder.
“You weren’t even in the classroom,” I whisper.
“I was coming.”
“That doesn’t make it your seat.”
A slow, vile smirk touches the corner of his mouth. “Everything near you is mine.”
My heart slams painfully against my ribs. “No. It’s not.”
His eyes flick to the strands of hair framing my face.
“They are,” he says darkly. “Especially when you look like that.”
“Like what?”
His gaze drags down my throat, slow and heated and infuriatingly possessive.
“Soft,” he murmurs. “Distracted. Touchable.”
I swallow hard. “Stop.”
His jaw clenches. “Make me.”
I whip my head forward again, face burning with anger, fear, humiliation all of it tangled into something sharp.
Dael shifts closer.
Closer.
I feel the brush of his breath on my shoulder. “You let him sit,” he mutters. “You let him take space beside you.”
“He asked politely,” I whisper. “Something you should try.”
He laughs under his breath. A low, dangerous sound that curls down my spine.
“I don’t ask.”
“No,” I say bitterly. “You just take.”
His fingers, those long, rough hands that held me against the wall last night, ghost near my shoulder without touching.
“Does it bother you?” he asks softly. “That I take?”
“I hate it.”
He hums, as if tasting the word. “You hate me.”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
I turn. “What kind of answer is…”
His eyes lock with mine, and the world narrows to two points of violent red.
“You hating me,” he says quietly, “means you feel something.”
My breath stutters.
“That’s enough,” he adds. “For now.”
The “for now” slices deeper than the rest.
I want to retort, scream, shove him, anything but the professor enters the room, silencing the class. Dael steps back one pace but he doesn’t leave.
He stands behind my chair the entire lecture.
Not sitting.
Not pretending to be part of the class.
Just watching me.
Breathing near me. Existing like a storm pressed too close to skin. Every time I shift, his eyes flick there.
Every time I tuck hair behind my ear, I feel his gaze burning.
Every time I take a breath, I sense his presence pulling at the air I inhale.
When I jot down notes, his voice brushes my ear, quiet enough only I can hear.
“Don’t talk to him again.”
I ignore him.
“Don’t let anyone sit beside you.”
I keep writing.
“I won’t warn you twice.”
My pen stops.
“You don’t own me,” I whisper without turning around.
He leans forward until his breath warms the back of my neck.
“I don’t need ownership,” he murmurs. “Instinct is enough.”
A chill shivers down my spine.
“You’re not my instinct,” I hissed.
He chuckles softly, dark, a little unhinged.
“Tell that,” he breathes, “to the part of you that didn’t flinch when I came close this time.” My entire body locks.
He noticed, of course he did.
The bell rings loud, merciful but I’m too shaken to move. Dael straightens.
Students rush out quickly, avoiding him like plague.
He stays.
Still behind me.
Still looming.
Still waiting.
Part of me is terrified to stand. Another part is terrified not to.
Slowly, I get up.
His hand rests on the back of my chair, right where my neck had been moments ago. He watches me pack my bag with the same focus he had outside the coffee shop. As if studying me fills some dark hunger he doesn’t recognize.
When I move to walk past him, he shifts his body into my path.
“Try to avoid me,” he says quietly, “and I’ll just find more reasons to stay close.” My pulse hammers.
“You’re insane.”
He smiles, lazy, lethal, honest.
“Probably.”
I shove past him, and he lets me, but only barely. As I step into the hallway, I feel his eyes on my back again.
Heavy. Hot. Unavoidable.
A presence I didn’t ask for.
A shadow I can’t escape.
A curse worse than my silver blood.
Dael doesn’t follow.
But he doesn’t leave.
He stands at the doorway, watching me disappear into the crowd. Watching like I’m something he’s already decided belongs to him…even if he doesn’t understand why.
Even if he hates that it’s true.
Even if it destroys us both.
- Writer
