HIDDEN WOLF

Chapter 4: Monstrous Awakening

Muffled conversations and low laughter hummed through the room as Lyria pushed through the gathering of vampires. Her chest burned with indignation, her hands holding fast to the leather-bound diary she had no business reading, yet couldn't stop herself from investigating. She ignored the sneers and side glances that came as the vampires parted; she didn't want to test her temper. She zeroed in on Talia, who was standing near the edge of the great hall, her eyes going from surprised to defensiveness as Lyria stormed up to her.

With no words, Lyria thrust the diary at Talia, her voice threatening to buckle with rage. "Take it," she hissed. "I should've known it was you who set me up!"

Talia's cheeks flamed, but she refused to back down. "What are you talking about?" she snapped, snatching the diary from Lyria's outstretched hand.

"You know what I'm talking about!" Lyria barked. "You told him to pick me up all so you can have him to yourself, if you wanted him, you should have told me!"

Talia's eyes had slitted as she clutched the diary to her chest. "You had no right to read this," she said, her voice rising. "It's private! You—"

"I don't care about your privacy right now!" Lyria interrupted, shaking, her voice trembling in a mix of rage and hurt. "I trusted you, Talia! And you betrayed me!"

"Betrayed you?" Talia's voice cracked, her hands tightening on the diary. "You think I betrayed you? This was private property, you had no right to read it. Why act all the time like you are better than everyone that surrounds you, and only your justice is justice?"

"What?" Lyria shook her head in a confused manner. "Better than- where are you getting that?

The bitterness in Talia's laugh cut through Lyria like a blade. "I am frank, I don't know what he sees in you. You give him half of what he gives you; saggy about the whole thing, acting like you are the only one life is hurting. I didn't tell you all this because I thought it was unnecessary, but it is the truth! He only notices you still, but…" she shook her head. "You shouldn't have read my diary!

For a moment, Lyria's anger faltered as she heard the raw jealousy beneath Talia's words. "This isn't about attention, Talia," Lyria pressed on, her voice lower yet no less strained. "This is about trust. I thought you were my friend."

"I was your friend," Talia snapped back, flashing her eyes at him. "Until you decided my feelings didn't matter. Until you decide you could snoop through my things and then judge me for it! This is my diary, mine. My private thoughts!

The argument escalated, their voices booming across the room. The crowd had now gathered, vampires drawn by tension like moths to a flame. Their faces ranged between those that were amused and utterly disinterested, but none of them interfered. The air between Lyria and Talia vibrated, neither willing to give in.

"Your feelings?" Lyria's voice rose again, this time finally in a boil-over of frustration. "What about mine? Do you have any idea what I've been through? What I'm still going through?"

"And have you ever stopped to ask what I am going through?" Talia replied nonchalantly.

"Enough!”

One word, spoken low and commanding, rustled the room like a physical force. The wave of energy sweeping over them now was heavy, oppressive; the air seemed suddenly to have turned solid, resting on shoulders, stealing voices. Even Talia stumbled, her words cut off in mid-sentence.

The source of the power stepped forward; his presence commanded attention. The royal vampire, with a head full of perfectly groomed dark hair and sharp features housing an air of authority, looked between Lyria and Talia with a mixture of irritation and amusement.

His gaze was more on Lyria, staring at her like a rat that jumped a certain height-which was a derogatory kind of admiration. It seemed that he found her and the whole situation quite amusing.

"How tiresome," he said with a voice smooth but laced with condescension. "A petty squabble disrupts my evening. I suppose I should be impressed by your audacity."

He turned slowly, his sharp eyes locked on Lyria as a faint curl worked its way up his lips. "You," he said, his voice softening just enough to be disconcerting. "You have been quite the nuisance, but I'm willing to overlook your lack of decorum if you agree to dance with me."

Lyria stared at him, completely unimpressed, as if the oppressive energy simply slid off her like water. Arms crossed, she snorted in disdain. "Not interested," she spat.

The smirk was gone from the vampire's face, and a flash of honest-to-goodness anger took its place. Quicker than most could catch, in a blur of motion he was behind her, his hand tangling in her hair. He yanked her head back, forcing her to look up to him. There were murmurs through the crowd, but none moved to intercede.

"You will learn respect," he growled, baring fangs.

Lyria's heart pounded, but her defiance never left her eyes. As he tugged her toward the room's centre, something caught her eye-a figure, standing in the far corner, his silver hair catching the dim light. His presence was almost ghostly, and yet it seemed to ground her in a way she couldn't explain. Her chest constricted, a strange knot unraveling as their eyes met. The silver boy again-just watching her.

As the vampire pushed her to the floor, he did not catch her distraction. "On your knees," he yelled, his words echoing in the air. "You will bow and beg for forgiveness."

But Lyria couldn't focus on his words. There was a sudden, sharp burning sensation spreading through her body, centered in the pit of her stomach and radiating outward. She hunched over, grasping her stomach as it heightened. Her vision blurred and her breaths came in short, ragged gasps.

The room was growing darker, lights flickering as if in response to her turmoil. Outside, the moonlight streaming through the grand windows seemed to gain brightness, its silver rays lying around her like liquid light.

"What's happening?" someone whispered, his voice tinged with worry.

The vampire reached for her again. She moved this time; her hand flashed out, raking the air with those razor-sharp claws, and her blow sent him flying across the room. He crashed into a marble pillar with a sickening crack, slumping to the floor in a daze.

A guttural roar tore from Lyria's throat as she rose to her feet. Her face was twisted, features pulled between human and far, far more feral. Her hands ended in sharp claws and her eyes shone like an otherworldly light.

The crowd recoiled as murmurs of shock and terror spread like wildfire. But one figure pushed through the throng, his expression a mix of concern and determination. Callan.

"Lyria!" he yelled, his voice piercing through the chaos.

Her wild eyes locked with his, and for a moment, the world seemed to stand still. The pain subsided; clarity returned to her gaze as she recognized him. Whatever had taken hold of her began to subside, and she regained control.

Callan stopped a few feet away, his eyes searching hers. "Are you okay?" he asked softly, his tone laced with worry.

Lyria didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her knees buckled, and she sank to the floor, her mind reeling from what had just happened. Around her, the crowd remained silent, too stunned to speak.

And in the far corner, the silver-haired figure watched, his expression unreadable as the shadows seemed to gather around him.