The Poison in My Veins
1283 Words
Chapter Two:
Lucien's POV
I see her before she sees me.
Dillion Everhart.
Three and a half years later, and she walks onto the school grounds like she belongs here. Chin up. Shoulders square. Like she’s not the reason my mother is buried under six feet of blessed earth. Like she didn’t tear this pack in half and rip something vital out of my chest the night she betrayed us all.
She’s changed.
Everyone sees it. It’s in the way heads turn, jaws slacken, and whispers start before she even reaches the main courtyard. Taller. Sharper. Beautiful now in a way that makes you look twice, and then hate yourself for it.
But I remember what’s underneath.
I remember the girl who stood silent and wide-eyed while my mother gasped for air, her face turning blue beneath the moonlight.
I remember her not saying a word in her own defense—not even denying it.
I remember Lori pointing at her with tears streaming down her cheeks and saying, “She did it. I saw her near the drinks.”
I remember my world ending that night.
So no, I don’t care how good she looks now.
She’s still poison.
And poison doesn’t belong here.
My name is Lucien Blackwell. Alpha heir to the Blackwell Pack.
At seventeen, my father already calls me his shadow. Says I carry the weight of our people like I was born for it. Most days, I don’t feel anything. Not since my mother died. Not since the light in our home flickered out and the cold moved in.
I lead my pack. I train. I fight. I bleed.
I do everything I’m supposed to do.
But some wounds don’t scab over. They just fester quietly.
Especially the kind you can’t prove.
I watch Dillion walk into Combat Theory ten minutes late like it’s nothing. Mr. Theron glances up and almost frowns, but says nothing. He knows the name. Everyone does.
She walks right past me like I’m invisible.
Cute.
She’s going to pretend we’re strangers now? After what she did?
After everything she cost me?
The anger I buried—the rage I’ve layered beneath duty, training, silence—it stirs again. Hot and alive. Breathing like a second wolf beneath my skin.
I stare her down.
She doesn’t flinch.
There was a time she would’ve.
Now she meets my gaze like she’s daring me to speak.
I don’t.
Not yet.
I wait.
When class ends, I let the others file out. I take my time, but I don’t need to look to know she’s still there. She moves slowly, quiet. Like she’s expecting something. Like she knows I’m watching.
Good.
I walk past her, brushing close. Just enough for her to feel it.
Then I stop.
“You should’ve never come back,” I say, cold and low.
She turns to me, slow as ice cracking in the dark.
“I didn’t want to.”
I wasn’t expecting that. I thought she’d deny it. Snap back. Defend herself with that silver tongue she used to hide behind.
But she just says it like it’s the truth.
And somehow, that pisses me off more.
After school, I head to my father’s office.
The Alpha’s study is as cold as always—bookshelves lined with histories, treaties, and war records. My father sits behind a massive desk, flipping through council notes with the same expression he always wears: calm, unreadable, ruthless.
“She’s back,” I say, stepping inside.
He doesn’t look up. “I know.”
“You’re letting her rejoin the pack?”
“She was never officially removed.”
“You exiled her.”
“I followed procedure,” he says, voice crisp. “She was accused. Not convicted.”
“She should’ve been.”
He finally looks up. His eyes are steel. “Do you have proof of that, Lucien?”
My jaw tightens. “Lori saw her.”
“Lori claimed she saw her. Testimony alone is not evidence. And you know the Everharts are still Betas. Until Marcus says otherwise, she’s protected.”
I clench my fists. “You don’t believe she’s innocent.”
“I don’t care if she is.” His tone flattens. “What I care about is peace. Order. Stability. The council made their ruling. You’re to treat her with the respect her family’s position requires.”
“She poisoned your mate.”
“She was never convicted.” He leans back in his chair. “And she’s no threat to us anymore.”
I don’t believe that.
She’s a walking threat.
Not because of what she did—but because of what she’s capable of. What she makes me feel.
What I can’t stop remembering.
The night of the Moon Ceremony plays on repeat in my mind more than I care to admit.
My mother. Strong, beautiful, radiant beneath the full moon.
Lori crying.
Dillion standing there, frozen, a goblet in her hand.
I loved her once.
Dillion.
I was fifteen too. I used to sneak her extra desserts from the Alpha kitchen. We used to spar together after school. She made jokes that only I understood. Her laugh was soft, easy.
I trusted her.
And then she killed my mother.
That betrayal cut deeper than any blade.
That’s what I tell myself.
It’s easier to be angry than to be broken.
Later that night, I find myself walking the school grounds like I used to when sleep didn’t come easy.
Something pulls me toward the east wing.
I should ignore it.
But I don’t.
I pass a window and pause.
There she is.
Dillion.
In the dark hallway, alone, holding something in her hands—a piece of paper or maybe a letter.
She looks haunted.
Not guilty. Not smug.
Just… haunted.
I watch her from the shadows. Not moving. Not breathing.
She leans against the wall, presses her hand to her chest like she’s trying to hold herself together.
I don’t understand it.
I don’t want to.
The next morning, I find her in the library before first period.
She doesn’t see me.
She’s scanning one of the old archives, her fingers gliding across the pages with focus, not fear.
I wonder what she’s looking for.
I wonder if it’s proof of something.
Or someone.
At lunch, my packmates gather around me like always. Alpha sons and daughters, all sharp teeth and confidence. They talk about training, rankings, who beat who in sparring class.
But I’m distracted.
Dillion sits alone at a far table. No one dares to sit beside her, not even the younger Betas who used to worship her sister.
She eats slowly, eyes down, like she’s used to pretending the stares don’t bother her.
But they would.
They have to.
No one survives exile and comes back whole.
That night, I dream of the Luna again.
My mother.
She’s standing in the forest, her white dress soaked in moonlight.
She smiles.
Then her face twists in pain and she collapses.
In the dream, I run to her.
But she looks up at me, eyes wide.
“She warned me,” my mother says. “She tried to stop it.”
I jolt awake, heart pounding.
What?
Who is she?
Is my mind playing tricks on me?
Is this some sick way of my guilt clawing back up to the surface?
I don’t know.
But I do know one thing.
Dillion Everhart didn’t deny the accusation.
Not then.
Not now.
And yet…
Something isn’t right.
Something feels off.
And for the first time in three and a half years, I wonder if I’ve been looking at the wrong person all along.
- Writer
