What the Fire Burns
1146 Words
Chapter Seven:
Lucien’s POV
She hasn’t looked at me in three days.
Not once.
Not during training. Not in the halls. Not in the weapons room, where she moves like a ghost, sharp and distant. Her face gives nothing away—but I feel her. Every second. Like a weight I can't drop.
And it’s my fault.
The kiss. The silence. The humiliation.
The part of me that wanted to protect her? I buried it.
And what did I dig up instead?
Something dark. Something cold. Something cruel.
Because it’s easier to hurt her than admit I want her close again.
I see her sometimes in the courtyard after class, sitting with her back against the far wall of the east wing, away from the pack. Her hair is always loose now, wind tangling it around her face like some wild thing too tired to fight anymore.
She doesn’t speak to anyone.
No one sits with her.
Because of me.
Because I let them believe she was a killer.
Because I needed someone to blame after my mother died.
Because she was there.
I keep thinking about the kiss.
How soft her lips were. How they tasted like magic and something old—something familiar. How her hand curled into my chest like she didn’t mean to. Like she was surprised her fingers even wanted to touch me.
I think about the way her breath caught.
The way mine did too.
I keep thinking about what it would’ve felt like if she hadn’t pulled away.
If I’d pulled her closer.
I hate that I want to know.
I hate that I want her.
And yet, every time I see her…
My wolf stirs.
Not just with lust.
With recognition.
She’s still in my dreams.
But not the way you’d think.
Sometimes I see her running—barefoot, bleeding, calling out for someone who doesn’t answer.
Sometimes I see her the way she was at the Luna’s funeral. In black. Eyes hollow. Silent.
Sometimes… I see her standing over my mother’s body, her hands covered in blood, whispering, I didn’t do it. I swear, I didn’t do it.
And I believe her.
And I hate that I believe her.
I cornered her once.
After training.
She was walking toward the lockers, arms sore, bruises hidden beneath her sleeves. I followed without thinking.
“Dillion.”
She stopped.
Didn’t turn.
“You lied,” I said, quieter than I meant to.
Still, no reaction.
“I asked you why you came. You said you were invited.”
She turned slowly, eyes cold.
“I was.”
“Then why didn’t you fight back when she said it was a mistake?”
“Because no one would’ve believed me,” she said, voice low. “Especially not you.”
And she walked away.
Again.
I stood there like an i***t, aching in places I didn’t even know I had.
The worst part?
I keep wondering what would’ve happened if I had turned around three years ago—if I had stepped between her and Lori. If I had questioned the accusation instead of accepting it like gospel.
I keep wondering who I would be if I had believed Dillion Everhart.
And the answer scares the hell out of me.
One morning, I found her at the Luna’s garden.
The one with the sunflowers. No one really goes there anymore.
She didn’t hear me approach. She was kneeling in the dirt, fingers brushing the petals like they might whisper a secret.
She was crying.
Not sobbing. Just… letting it happen.
I should’ve walked away.
I didn’t.
I stood behind the hedge, watching her crumble in silence, and felt like I was the one breaking.
Because that wasn’t the girl who killed my mother.
That was the girl who lost her, too.
Dillion’s POV
I didn’t go to school the day after the memorial.
I couldn’t.
Not after Lori stood on that stage and made me a punchline again.
Not after Lucien said nothing.
I curled up in the attic of the Everhart house, under the old beams and the moth-eaten blanket I used to hide under as a child, and tried to remember who I was before all of this.
Before the Luna died.
Before my mother disappeared.
Before I became a rumor.
I remember the last birthday I had before it all fell apart.
I was twelve. My mother didn’t come.
Again.
She’d promised. Said she would show. She even picked out a dress for me, left it hanging by the closet.
But she didn’t come.
The party started without her. Ended without her.
The Luna found me sitting on the garden steps that night, still wearing the dress. I don’t know if she was looking for me or just… found me by instinct.
She knelt down and held me. No words. Just warmth.
“You matter, little wolf,” she whispered into my hair. “Even when others forget it.”
I didn’t know then that it would be the last time she hugged me like that.
I didn’t know that months later, she would be gone too.
And I’d be blamed for both of them.
Now, years later, that memory won’t leave me alone.
It follows me everywhere.
Especially at night.
It wasn’t just my mother missing the party.
It was what happened after.
The way the Luna looked at me.
Worried. Sad. Like she knew something.
And then I remembered something else.
Something small.
The necklace.
The one Lori “found.”
The Luna had worn it that night.
But I saw her take it off.
I saw her take it off and slip it into her pocket.
Which means the piece Lori planted wasn’t just forged…
It was never near the body to begin with.
Someone else had it.
Someone who wanted to make it look like it had been “found” near my things.
I snuck into the council archives that night.
They keep a locked cabinet of “closed” case files on pack territory.
It took me two hours to pick the lock.
But when I did…
I found the Luna’s autopsy report.
Time of death: 12:02 AM.
Same time Lori said I was “near the drinks.”
But the drinks were already collected at that point.
That part was redacted in the version they shared publicly.
I cross-referenced it with a security log from the pack gates.
Lori left the ceremony grounds at 11:50 PM.
She returned at 12:10 AM.
Ten minutes after the Luna died.
And no one had questioned it.
No one had noticed.
Until now.
Someone was lying.
Someone had always been lying.
And if I was going to survive this place…
I needed to figure out why.
Because if I didn’t?
They’d kill me all over again.
This time without even touching me.
- Writer
