Chapter 7 Damien's POV

Silverwood thrived on spectacle. Whispers were its currency, and blood its entertainment. This morning, the dining hall buzzed with both.

From my table, I watched Serena Vale glide across the marble floor, her shadows in tow. Tessa with her syrupy whispers, Maya with her nervous little laugh, three predators in silk skirts. Serena didn’t move without purpose, and today her gaze fixed on something new.

Riley Walker.

I already knew the name. Scholarship. Human. Alone. The kind of fragile thing Silverwood liked to devour just to prove it could.

Serena’s smile curved slow and poisonous, and though I couldn’t hear her words, I knew the flavor of them. Tessa’s voice rose just enough for the crowd to catch, Maya’s laughter punctuating every barb. It was the same script they’d used on a hundred others.

But Walker didn’t crumble. She stood there, tray in hand, her chin lifted, eyes steady. Not a tremor in her voice when she answered Serena. Not a single flinch.

Interesting.

The room waited for her to break. Instead, she simply stood. A mistake. A challenge. Unwritten laws ruled Silverwood, and one of them was simple: never meet fire with fire unless you wanted to burn.

Cassian leaned forward, elbows braced against the table, smirk carved across his mouth.

“Looks like the scholarship girl’s got a spine.”

“Spines snap,” Jaxon muttered, tearing into his steak like it was flesh.

Lucien didn’t bother to add words. He never needed to. Just sipped his coffee, a faint smile tugging at his lips like he was already calculating odds.

I kept silent. But my eyes didn’t leave her.

It wasn’t the defiance that caught me. Any fool could stand tall once. It was the way she held still, calm, and deliberate. Most humans dropped their gaze the second ours touched. Riley Walker didn’t.

Her eyes found mine across the hall, dark and steady, and for one suspended second, everything else fell away. The chatter, the clatter of silverware, even the weight of my circle’s eyes on me, gone.

It was just her. Something inside me shifted. My wolf bristled, unsettled, prowling against the cage of my control. Recognition sparked in him, primal and unwanted.

She should have looked away, but she didn’t.

Heat crept at the base of my neck, and I forced steel back into my gaze. A warning. A reminder of the distance between us.

Her shoulders stiffened. For a heartbeat, her eyes flickered. Not much, but enough. I felt the corner of my mouth curl, not in amusement, not exactly. Satisfaction, maybe. Proof she wasn’t as untouchable as she pretended.

Cassian’s laugh broke the moment, low and knowing. “Well, well. Seems the little stray’s already under your skin.”

“Enough,” I said, my voice even but final.

He only smirked wider. Jaxon gave a grunt. Lucien’s smile didn’t falter.

I didn’t look at them. Couldn’t. Not until Riley finally tore her gaze from mine. She turned back to her tray, shoulders squared, as though she could pretend the moment hadn’t happened.

I leaned back, mask snapping into place. Detached. Unmoved. But inside, my wolf still prowled, restless, unsatisfied.

Day one, and Riley Walker had already broken rules she didn’t even know existed, and I wasn’t sure if I wanted to make her regret it or see just how far she’d go.

The first class was History of Wolves and Lore. A mandatory course for all heirs. The humans took it too, though few of them lasted past midterms.

Professor Gideon Rourke was a gentle, wise man in his late 50s, whose lectures weren’t just lessons; they were stories spun with the cadence of firelight tales, the kind that made even the most arrogant heirs lean forward despite themselves.

I took my usual seat near the back with Lucien, Jaxon, and Cassian lounging around me like sentinels.

When Riley stepped into the room, every eye followed her. Shoulders squared, though the strap of that battered backpack cut hard into her palm.

Professor Gideon, bless his patient soul, simply smiled and gestured toward the empty rows.

“Ah, Miss Riley, welcome. Please, find a seat. You’re just in time, we’re beginning with the First Accord.”

I watched her scan the room, her pulse a visible drumbeat in her throat. Poor thing didn’t realize every pair of eyes here could hear it.

She hesitated. The class was full. The only open space, fate’s cruel joke, was the empty chair beside me. Beside us.

Her eyes landed there, and I saw the flicker of recognition when she realized she’d have to sit among the heirs.

Good. Let her squirm.

Still, when she walked down the steps toward us, I couldn’t tear my gaze away. The click of her shoes on stone echoed like a countdown, and for the briefest moment, her eyes lifted to mine.

That same jolt from the assembly ripped through me, sharp, electric, unwelcome. She sat down stiffly, tucking herself small, trying not to brush against me.

Professor Gideon began, his voice like a steady river.

“Before wolves claimed dominion, before houses bore names, there was the Accord, an agreement carved in blood and oath…”

I should’ve been listening. I wasn’t. I know the history like the back of my palms. I was too aware of Riley beside me, of how she gripped her pen like a weapon, her knuckles bone-white. She didn’t belong here, but she wasn’t cowering the way others might have. She was enduring.

Cassian leaned over, voice pitched low enough only we could hear.

“Well, well. Looks like the little stray found her way into our den.”

Jaxon smirked. “How long before she bolts, you think?”

Lucien gave a soft laugh, sharp as glass. “I don’t think she will, she’s brave.”

Riley’s jaw clenched, but she didn’t answer. She kept her eyes fixed on her notebook, as if copying Gideon’s words was the only thing tethering her.

Then I said something.

“Depends. Some strays learn to bare their teeth.”

Three sets of eyes snapped to me, curious, amused. Riley’s head jerked, surprise flashing in her gaze before she looked quickly away.

Professor Gideon’s voice rolled on, oblivious to the silent storm at our table.

“The wolves who signed the Accord were not just leaders, they were visionaries. They understood that survival requires order.

That without it, even the strongest teeth cannot prevent collapse.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Riley exhale, like the sound of Gideon’s voice gave her the courage to keep sitting there, surrounded by wolves who’d happily rip her apart for sport.

For reasons I couldn’t name, that bothered me more than it should have.