Chapter 3: Silver Eyes
1138 Words
Aria Vale
Lucian's silver eyes pin me in place like a butterfly mounted on a board. There's something about his gaze that makes it impossible to look away, even when every instinct screams at me to run.
"I heard Vivienne had words with you at lunch," he says. His tone is casual, almost bored, but there's something underneath it I can't quite identify.
I don't respond. What am I supposed to say?
"She was out of line," Damien offers, and I risk a glance at him. Unlike Lucian, Damien's eyes are warm, brown, and sympathetic. "You shouldn't have to deal with that."
Lucian shoots him a look that could freeze fire. "I wasn't talking to you."
Damien falls silent, but I catch the tightness around his mouth. Even Lucian's best friend isn't immune to that cutting tone.
"I don't need you fighting my battles, Vale," Lucian continues, turning back to me. "If Vivienne has a problem with you being near me, maybe you should take the hint and stay away."
Something sharp twists in my chest. "I wasn't trying to be near you. You tripped me this morning, remember?"
The words are out before I can stop them. Sierra would call it my self destructive streak, this inability to keep my mouth shut when I should.
Lucian's eyes narrow. "Are you talking back to me?"
"I'm stating facts."
"Aria," Damien says quietly, a warning.
But I'm tired. Tired of being pushed around, tired of being humiliated, tired of pretending that everything is fine when nothing is fine. Something hot and reckless is building in my chest, and I can't seem to swallow it down.
"You tripped me," I repeat, meeting Lucian's stare. "You made me spill my breakfast. You humiliated me in front of everyone. And now you're telling me to stay away from you? I would love nothing more than to never see you again, but you won't let me be invisible. You won't leave me alone."
The hallway has gone quiet. Students who were passing by have stopped, sensing drama. I can feel their eyes on us, hungry for entertainment.
Lucian takes a step closer. Then another. He's so close now I can smell his scent, pine and something darker, something that makes my wolf stir restlessly beneath my skin.
"You think you have the right to speak to me like that?" His voice is low, dangerous. "You think because you've survived here for three years that you've earned some kind of respect?"
My heart pounds against my ribs, but I hold my ground. "I think I have the right to exist without being your personal punching bag."
His hand shoots out, gripping my chin. Not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to keep me from turning away. "You exist here because I allow it. Don't forget that."
"Let her go, Lucian." Damien's voice cuts through the tension. "This isn't necessary."
For a moment, I think Lucian might refuse. His fingers tighten slightly on my chin, his eyes searching my face for something I don't understand. Then, abruptly, he releases me and steps back.
"Get to class, Vale." He turns away, dismissing me like I'm nothing. Like I never was anything.
Damien gives me an apologetic look before following Lucian down the hall.
I stand there, shaking, as the crowd disperses. The show is over. Nothing to see here. Just another day of Aria Vale getting put in her place.
Sierra appears at my elbow. "That was either really brave or really stupid."
"Probably stupid," I admit, my voice unsteady.
"Definitely stupid," she agrees. "But also kind of amazing. I've never seen anyone talk back to him like that."
"Yeah, well, I'll probably pay for it later."
"Probably." She links her arm through mine. "Come on. Let's get to class before Professor Thornberg marks us late."
We slip into the classroom just as the bell rings. Professor Thornberg, a grizzled older wolf with scars crossing his face, looks up from his desk and nods at us. He doesn't comment on our timing, which I appreciate.
I sink into my seat near the back, trying to calm my racing heart. My chin still tingles where Lucian touched it, and I hate that I noticed. Hate that some traitorous part of me responded to his proximity.
He's your bully, I remind myself firmly. Your tormentor. The person who has made your life hell for three years.
But my wolf doesn't seem to care about logic. She's pacing restlessly, agitated by the confrontation.
Professor Thornberg begins the lesson, something about wolf bloodlines and genetic traits. I try to focus, taking notes mechanically, but my mind keeps wandering back to that moment in the hallway.
The way Lucian looked at me.
Like he was trying to solve a puzzle.
"Miss Vale."
I jerk my attention back to the professor. "Yes, sir?"
"I asked you a question." He doesn't sound annoyed, just patient. "Can you tell me what determines the strength of a wolf's bloodline?"
I scramble through my memory. "The purity of the line? And the, um, the dominance of the Alpha genes?"
"Partially correct." He walks to the board, writing as he speaks. "Those factors matter, but they're not the whole story. There are recessive traits that can skip generations. Dormant genes that activate under certain conditions. A wolf from a supposedly weak bloodline might manifest incredible power if the right genetic switches are flipped."
Sierra sits up straighter beside me, her interest clearly piqued.
"In the old days," Professor Thornberg continues, "before the Great Purge, there were bloodlines that could challenge even the strongest Alphas. These lines carried different traits. Some could compel obedience without the usual Alpha dominance. Others had heightened senses or accelerated healing. A few could even mask their true nature, appearing weak when they were actually quite powerful."
"What happened to them?" someone asks from the front row.
Professor Thornberg's expression darkens. "They were systematically eliminated. The Alphas of that era saw them as threats to the established order. It took decades, but eventually, those bloodlines were erased from existence. Or so we believe."
"So they might still be out there?" Sierra asks. "Hidden?"
"It's possible," the professor allows. "Though unlikely. The purge was thorough, and any survivors would have had to hide their true nature completely. To live as something they're not for generations."
A chill runs down my spine.
"But enough ancient history," Professor Thornberg says. "Let's discuss the modern hierarchy and how bloodlines factor into current pack politics."
The rest of class passes in a fog. I can't stop thinking about what he said. About hidden bloodlines and dormant genes. About wolves who appear weak but aren't.
It's just a coincidence, I tell myself. Just an interesting historical footnote.
But something deep inside me whispers that it's more than that.
- Writer
