Chp 12
1694 Words
Zyra POV
I should leave, I should walk away and pretend none of that happened, pretend Dael didn’t snap the moment Roth reached for me, pretend he didn’t look at me like I was something he owned but my body moves before my brain does.
“Dael.”
He stops.
Just stops.
Mid-stride, chest rising and falling, back rigid as if my voice struck a nerve he didn’t know he had. The courtyard stretches empty around us, the sky turning deep indigo. The breeze is cold, but my hands are colder.
He doesn’t turn fully. His head shifts only slightly, enough that I see the corner of his jaw, sharp and tense.
“What?” His voice is quiet. Too quiet. I force myself to walk toward him, each step heavy. My heartbeat feels loud, reckless, stupid. When I reach him, he still hasn’t faced me all the way.
“Why did you do that?” The words scrape out of me. “Why did you stop Roth? I didn’t ask for your help.”
He turns now.
Slowly.
Like he’s not sure if he wants to face me or destroy whatever part of him is reacting. His eyes lock onto mine, those burning, unreadable red eyes and my breath stutters.
“You didn’t have to ask,” he says.
“That’s not an answer.”
He takes one step closer.
I take one back.
His lips tilt, not in a smile, but something almost mocking. “You’re brave now? You weren’t two minutes ago.” Heat floods my cheeks, anger, not embarrassment. “Don’t twist this. You watched. You let them corner me.”
“And you walked right into it,” he counters. “Do you know how stupid that was?”
My fists clench. “So you’re calling me stupid now?”
“If that’s what it takes for you to understand how easy it is to get hurt here, then yes.”
“Why do you even care?” I snap. “You hate me. You said I didn’t belong here. You told me to leave.”
His expression freezes.
A shift.
A crack.
Something sharp and volatile flickers behind his eyes. “I didn’t do it because I care.” His voice drops lower, harder. “Don’t confuse things.”
“Then why?” I push, stepping closer despite myself. “Why stop Roth? Why act like…like you had some right to interfere?”
His jaw flexes, and he looks away for a single second, as if steadying something inside him. When he looks back, his eyes are darker. Angrier. Haunted.
“Because he doesn’t get to touch you.”
My stomach drops.
“That’s not..”
“I decide what happens to you,” he says quietly, dangerously, “not him. Not anyone else.” The air between us thickens, vibrating with something I don’t have a name for, something violent and possessive and twisted. I swallow, the sound painfully loud.
“You don’t own me,” I whisper. “You’re nothing to me.”
For the first time, something stabs openly through his expression. Not pain, Dael doesn’t feel pain. Something more like offense. Or fury.
“You keep saying that.” His voice is barely a breath. “But your eyes say otherwise.”
“What does that even mean?” My chest tightens. “You don’t get to read me. You don’t get to decide what I feel.”
He steps so close I feel the faint heat of his breath against my forehead. “Then stop looking at me,” he says. “Stop reacting to me.”
“I’m reacting because you’re impossible to ignore!”
“And that’s the problem.”
For a moment, neither of us moves.
The courtyard is silent, the world narrowed down to Dael’s harsh breathing and my trembling exhales.
Then he lifts a hand not to touch me, but to run it through his own hair, frustration raw on his face.
“You,” he mutters, “are a mistake I don’t have time for.”
My chest twists, but I refuse to show it.
“Good,” I say coldly. “Then stay away from me.”
His jaw tightens. “If Roth or anyone else comes near you again…”
“I can handle myself.”
“No,” he snaps. “You can’t.” I flinch just a fraction and his eyes narrow like he caught it.
Before he can say anything else, I turn sharply and walk away. I don’t run, even though my instincts scream too. I don’t look back, even though I feel his gaze burning into my spine.
But when I reach the steps of the academy building, I hear him behind me.
Soft. Low.
A promise or a threat, I can’t tell.
“Zyra…”
A pause.
“You should’ve left when you still had the chance.”
A shiver runs down my spine. I don’t answer. I just keep walking.
Dael POV
I should’ve walked away. I should’ve ignored her voice, the way it cracked on my name.
But the sound hit me like a blade to the spine, sharp and unwelcome.
“Dael.”
I froze.
I hate that I froze.
Every instinct tells me to keep moving, to put distance between myself and the silver-blooded curse standing behind me. But I turn anyway, slowly, deliberately because some part of me refuses to pretend I didn’t hear her.
She walks toward me like she’s forcing her own fear down her throat. Good. She should fear me. It’s safer for both of us. “Why did you do that?” she asks. “Why did you stop Roth?”
I grit my teeth.
That question again.
That damned question I don’t want to answer. “You didn’t have to ask,” I say, because it’s the truth.
“That’s not an answer.” Of course it isn’t. Nothing is ever simple with her.
I take a step forward; she takes one back. And it irritates me that her retreat stings more than it should.
“You’re brave now?” I mutter. “You weren’t two minutes ago.”
Her eyes flash. “Don’t twist this.”
“Do you know how stupid that was?” I cut in, because the memory of Roth reaching for her still crawls under my skin. “You let yourself get cornered.”
“So I’m stupid now?”
“If that’s what it takes for you to understand how easily you can get hurt, then yes.”
Her breathing changes faster, but steady. She’s angry, not scared. And that makes everything inside me tighten.
“Why do you even care?” she spits. “You hate me. You told me to leave.”
My jaw locks. My vision tunnels for a moment.
She’s right. I did tell her to leave.
Because she shouldn’t be here.
Because silver wolves mean death.
Because her blood is the reason my pack nearly went extinct.
But seeing her pinned by someone who wasn’t me?
That did something to me I didn’t expect.
Something ugly.
Something possessive.
“I didn’t do it because I care,” I say, because admitting anything else would destroy me. “Don’t confuse things.”
“Then why?”
The question hangs, heavy and suffocating.
I look at her, really look.
Her silver hair peeked through that cheap black dye.
Her defiant chin.
Her trembling hands she’s trying to hide.
Why?
Because her scent is wrong.
Because her presence is a violation.
Because she triggers every instinct to kill and something else I don’t have a name for.
Finally, I force the words out, low and brutal. “Because he doesn’t get to touch you.”
Her breath stops.
Her heartbeat trips.
I hear everything.
“That’s not…”
“I decide what happens to you,” I say, voice dropping without my permission. “Not him. Not anyone else.”
Her eyes widen, and for a moment, I hate myself for the truth in my own voice.
“You don’t own me.” She steps closer not away, closer and the scent of her fury hits me like heat. “You’re nothing to me.”
The words cut deeper than they should.
I don’t react.
I don’t flinch.
But something inside me cracks open, bleeding anger.
“You keep saying that,” I murmured. “But your eyes… say otherwise.”
She stares at me like I just slapped her. “You don’t get to read me.”
I do, though.
I can read everything.
Her fear.
Her confusion.
Her unwilling attraction.
And the part of me that should kill her finds it intoxicating.
“I’m reacting because you’re impossible to ignore!” she bursts out.
And there it is. The admission I wasn’t supposed to hear.
“That’s the problem,” I whisper.
Her shoulders go rigid.
She wants distance.
She wants clarity.
I want neither.
I drag a hand through my hair, frustrated at how tightly she coils around my thoughts.
“You,” I say quietly, “are a mistake I don’t have time for.” Her face flickers, hurt, quickly smothered. She hides it well, but not well enough.
“Good,” she says. “Then stay away from me.” I almost laughed. As if I can. “If Roth or anyone else comes near you again…”
“I can handle myself.”
“No,” I snap, sharper than intended. “You can’t.” She flinches, barely but I notice, I always notice her.
I don’t breathe again until she turns and walks away, back stiff, steps too fast. I watch her until she disappears around the corner. My voice escapes before I can choke it down.
“You should’ve left when you had the chance,” I say, because it’s true because the next time something tries to touch her, I won’t be able to pretend it’s only hatred making my blood boil.
I don’t know what the hell she’s turning me into.
But it’s nothing good.
Nothing sane. And definitely nothing safe.
- Writer
