CHAPTER 18
1220 Words
ADINNA’S POV
The day drags on slowly, sunlight shifting across the walls like lazy paint strokes. My body still aches, but it’s bearable now. I’ve managed to sit up without feeling like the room is tilting. Riley keeps fussing around me, adjusting pillows, checking the temperature, muttering under her breath about “idiots who think torment is a sport.”
Then there’s a knock. Not sharp, not hesitant. Just… casual.
Before I can even respond, the door swings open, and Dean strolls in like he owns the place.
“Missed me?” he asks, carrying a bag this time instead of a tray.
Riley stiffens beside me. “You can’t just walk into girls’ dorms whenever you feel like it.”
“Technically,” Dean says, setting the bag on the desk, “I can. I’m Dean.”
I groan. “That’s not how rules work.”
“Rules,” he says, dragging a chair closer, “are for people who don’t know how to bend them.”
Riley rolls her eyes and mumbles something about “wolves with too much ego,” but when she looks at me, I catch the flicker of concern in her gaze. I shrug, silently telling her I’m fine. At least, I think I am.
Dean sits down, pulling out a thermos and a couple of apples from the bag. “You look better,” he says. “Less corpse-like.”
“Wow,” I mutter, “your charm is really something.”
He grins. “I try.”
He starts talking — about his classes, about how Professor Darren’s wolf form accidentally sneezed on an entire row of students during transformation practice, about a bet he made with someone named Felix that ended with both of them covered in mud. His stories are ridiculous and strangely captivating. I find myself laughing, real laughter that cracks through the heaviness in my chest.
At first, I hate that he’s making me laugh. It feels wrong, like I’m betraying myself by finding humor in anything connected to him. But Dean has this way of speaking that makes the room feel lighter. He doesn’t push, doesn’t pry into the parts of me that still hurt. He just talks, and for a while, I forget to be angry.
Riley watches us with a wary frown. Every time Dean flashes me that easy smile, she looks like she’s debating whether to throw him out or warn me. When Dean finally turns his gaze on her, she stiffens again.
“You can relax,” he says gently. “I’m not here to hurt her.”
Riley crosses her arms. “You already did. You just don’t realize it.”
Dean’s smile fades slightly, and for a brief second, something unreadable flickers in his expression. Then he nods, slow and almost regretful. “Maybe you’re right.”
He turns back to me, and the tension in the room thickens. Riley catches the look between us — the kind that says too much without a single word — and clears her throat.
“I’ll, uh, go get some tea,” she mutters, heading for the door. Her tone is casual, but her eyes warn me to be careful.
Once she’s gone, Dean leans back in his chair, arms resting behind his head. “She doesn’t like me very much.”
“Can’t imagine why,” I say dryly.
He smirks. “It’s a mystery.”
For a moment, the silence between us isn’t awkward. It’s… comfortable. I don’t know how that happened, but it did. I study him — the way his hair falls over his forehead, the lazy way he sits, the faint scar that cuts across his knuckles. There’s something disarming about him when he isn’t putting up that smug front.
“Why are you here again?” I ask softly.
He shrugs. “Maybe I like talking to you.”
I snort. “Yeah, right. Jace’s friends don’t ‘like talking.’ They like tormenting.”
Dean’s smile falters, but he hides it with a small laugh. “Guess I’m not great at following the pack.”
The words hang there, heavier than they should be. I open my mouth to respond, but the sound of footsteps outside interrupts me — firm, deliberate ones that make my stomach twist.
Dean hears it too. His posture stiffens a fraction, eyes flicking toward the door.
And then it bursts open.
Jace.
The air changes instantly. His presence fills the room like smoke — suffocating, dangerous, cold. His eyes find us, narrowing when he sees Dean sitting by my bed.
“What the hell is this?” he asks, his voice low and sharp.
Dean doesn’t move. “Breakfast part two,” he says casually. “Want a bite?”
Jace’s gaze drops to the spoon in Dean’s hand — the one Dean had been using to feed me bites of soup moments before. His jaw tightens. I can practically feel the fury rolling off him in waves.
Adrenaline rushes through me. I shift upright, but Jace doesn’t even look at me. His focus is entirely on Dean.
“Didn’t realize you’d gone soft,” Jace says quietly. “Feeding her now?”
Dean smirks, but his voice is steady. “Someone has to make sure she doesn’t starve. You’re not exactly the nurturing type.”
Something dangerous flashes in Jace’s eyes — not rage exactly, but something colder. He takes a step forward, and the air feels heavier.
“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Jace murmurs.
Dean leans back in his chair, pretending to relax, but I can see the tightness in his shoulders. “Maybe I just got tired of yours.”
For a moment, the room goes silent except for the faint hum of my heartbeat pounding in my ears. Their eyes lock, an unspoken battle stretching between them.
I can’t hear every word after that, but I catch fragments.
“…not your puppet…”
“…don’t forget who you owe…”
“…she’s not part of this…”
My chest tightens. Whatever this is, it’s more than simple rivalry. There’s something deeper, darker under the surface — a history that neither of them wants to acknowledge out loud.
Finally, Dean stands. His expression has shifted — no longer playful, no longer calm. There’s something bitter in his eyes now. He adjusts his jacket and glances at me briefly.
“I’m done playing your games, Jace,” he says, voice low. “Find someone else to pull your strings.”
Jace doesn’t respond. He just stares at him, something unreadable flickering across his face. Dean holds his gaze for one last moment, then turns and walks toward the door.
The silence he leaves behind feels deafening.
Guilt twists in my stomach. I shouldn’t care. He’s Jace’s friend. He’s part of all of this. But the way he looked at me — the quiet concern, the strange gentleness — it lingers.
When the door finally clicks shut behind him, Jace exhales slowly. The sound is soft, almost thoughtful, but I know better.
He turns to me, and his expression hardens. “You think he’s saving you, Adinna?”
I meet his gaze, trying not to flinch.
His lips curl into something that isn’t quite a smile. “He’s not.”
- Writer
