Chapter 8
Aurora
Charlotte appeared beside him, brushing his arm as they headed for the center table.
Mira followed my gaze. "Zayn Duskbane. Lycan prince from Velmoria."
"Velmoria?" I blinked.
"His kingdom," Lira said. "One of the oldest Lycan territories. His family has ruled it for centuries."
I frowned. "So he’s… next in line?"
Mira shook her head. "Not even close. Three older brothers keep him from the throne." I nodded.
Riven snorted. "And Charlotte—his perfectly matched princess—is from Moordusk. The other Lycan kingdom. Think thrones, politics, war treaties, arranged futures, family drama…the works."
"So… he’s royalty?"
"Yep."
"And she’s… also royalty?"
"Mmhm," Mira said, eyes still on Charlotte. "Betrothed since they were, like, kids."
"Oh." I tried to sound casual. "Cool."
It wasn’t cool.
It was the opposite of cool.
It was the kind of untouchable that made me want to throw something.
And suddenly, last night’s warning hit me again—loud and impossible to ignore.
"Stay away from him."
I stabbed at my bread, chewing like it might squash the knot tightening in my stomach.
"I don’t get it," I muttered, not really expecting an answer. "If he’s so important… why does he keep glaring at me like I just kicked his royal wolf or something?"
Mira smirked. "Because you confuse him."
"I’m not confusing. I’m nobody."
"Exactly," Riven said. "And people like him don’t like things they can’t put in a box."
"Besides," Selene added, like she was thinking it through, "this whole school's a hierarchy. It’s not just werewolves—it’s bloodlines, kingdoms, packs, and status. When someone like
You walk in with no scent, no aura, no title… you don’t fit."
"So, that makes me, what, a threat?" I asked flatly.
"Or an anomaly," Riven said. "Which, around here, might as well be the same thing."
I let my head drop onto the table with a soft thud. "Great."
We all jumped when a tray crashed down nearby.
My head snapped up just as a tall, broad-shouldered boy—clearly not happy—shoved someone back into a seat right across from me.
A kid with round glasses and wide, terrified eyes looked like he wanted to disappear into the floor.
"You bump me again, runt, and I swear—"
"I—I didn’t mean to—" the kid stammered.
"Watch where you’re going," the tall boy cut in, voice smooth but full of menace.
He was maybe a year or two older, but there was something about him that just gave off this ruthless kind of confidence.
Without warning, he grabbed the kid’s tray and flipped it off the table. Food splattered everywhere. Laughter erupted from his table behind him.
"Oops," he sneered.
"Hey!" I blurted before I could stop myself. "That wasn’t necessary."
The boy turned to look at me.
When his eyes locked with mine, a cold shiver ran down my spine.
He stared, like he was sizing me up, or like he knew something I didn't.
"Look who decided to speak," he said with a smirk. "Little Miss Unmarked."
Unmarked?
The word hit me like a stone in my stomach.
A hush fell over the tables nearby.
"I didn’t know we were letting housepets sit at the grown-up table," he added, loud enough for everyone to hear.
Yeah. He definitely knew something, but the question was—what?
Lira pushed halfway out of her seat. Mira’s jaw tightened.
I stayed put, forcing my voice to stay steady. "I said it wasn’t necessary."
"And I said," he leaned in, voice dropping low, "maybe someone like you should remember her place, little human."
The last two words were meant only for me. I went pale.
"I picked up on you the moment I looked your way," he whispered, and I swallowed hard.
"I don't—"
"Back off, Malric."
I was interrupted by a voice behind me.
low. Cold. Powerful.
Zayn.
Malric straightened slowly, but I noticed the change in him—not scared exactly, but… aware.
"Didn’t see you there, Prince," Malric said, mocking the title with a shallow bow.
Zayn’s eyes didn’t leave him. "Good. Then you won't see this too—"
Before Malric could take another step toward me, Zayn moved faster than I could follow, gripping Malric’s wrist tight.
Malric hissed. A soft crack echoed between them—barely audible, but enough to silence everyone in the cafeteria.
Everyone was watching.
Zayn’s voice was colder than ice. "Touch her again, and I’ll make sure you shift with a limp for the rest of your miserable life."
Malric yanked his hand back like it burned. "She’s not even—"
"I don’t care."
Those words hit heavier than any threat.
Malric’s mouth snapped shut.
Zayn finally looked at me. Not kindly. Not protective. Just… intense. Like he was trying to figure out why he’d just done that.
He didn’t say a thing—just turned and walked away, and everyone kind of moved out of his way like he was some big deal.
He was.
Malric cursed under his breath and stormed off the other way, clutching his wrist.
And me?
I was left sitting there, stunned, staring at my tray like it might have answers.
Because Zayn Duskbane—the untouchable, cold-as-winter Lycan Prince—had just defended me.
And I had no idea why.
Or worse—why part of me didn’t want him to stop.
The silence after Zayn left stretched out long enough for my pulse to start pounding in my ears. It wasn’t just me—half the cafeteria seemed frozen, holding their breath, waiting to see if Malric would come back swinging or if I’d break under the weight of being singled out.
Neither happened.
Malric muttered something under his breath and stormed off toward the far exit, shaking his wrist like it was burning. His pack followed, some shooting me looks like I’d just stolen their favorite chew toy.
Slowly, the noise picked back up around us, quieter this time—more careful. Forks scraping plates, chairs squeaking, whispers weaving through the air like smoke.
I leaned back and forced my hands to unclench under the table. They were cold and clammy.
"Wow," Lira finally said, slumping back in her chair. "First day and you already have two of the strongest Lycans ready to break bones over you. Either you’re cursed, or
you’re—"
"Lucky?" Mira guessed.
"Doomed," Riven finished with a snort, taking a sip from her drink.
Selene didn’t look up from her phone. "Or marked in ways none of us understand."
My head snapped toward her, but she didn’t say more—just kept scrolling like she hadn’t just dropped a
bombshell into my head.
I stabbed at the bread on my tray. I wasn’t marked. I wasn’t even anything. That was the whole damn problem.
"Anyway," Mira said, clearing her throat. "Ignore Malric. He’s all bark, no bite. Zayn… well." She leaned in, voice dropping. "That’s different. He doesn’t do that. Not for
anyone."
I didn’t answer.
Couldn’t.
The rest of lunch passed in shaky waves—bits of normal talk cut through by sideways stares from other tables, bites of food I barely tasted, and Zayn’s words looping in my
head until I wanted to scream just to drown them out.
When the bell finally rang, it was like someone untied the knot squeezing my ribs.