2 | Vanilla and Fear
945 Words
Darcy
Time stops.
Literally.
The chatter in the Great Hall, the shuffling of feet, the sound of the Headmaster tapping the microphone—it all vanishes.
The only thing I can hear is the deafening thud of my own heart. Ba-bump. Ba-bump.
And the sound of four chairs scraping against the floorboards as they stand up.
I should run. Every survival instinct I’ve honed over four years at Blackwood Academy screams at me to turn around and sprint until my lungs burn. But I can't.
The heat in my belly isn't just a fever anymore. It’s a magnetic pull, an invisible chain wrapped around my waist, dragging me toward the center of the room. Toward them.
The scent explodes from my skin.
It’s humiliating. My Omega essence, usually so faint and hidden, is suddenly flooding the air. Sweet vanilla. Fresh lavender. It rolls off me in waves, thick and intoxicating.
I see students near the door wrinkling their noses, confused. Then, their eyes widen. They smell it too.
"Is that... Allen?" someone whispers.
But the heirs don't whisper.
They move.
It’s like watching a pack of wolves on a hunt. They don't walk; they prowl. They glide through the crowd, shoving students out of their way without even looking at them. The sea of students parts instantly, terrified of the aggression radiating from the four kings of the school.
Damon is the first to break formation. He vaults over a table, his movements feral. His blue eyes are almost glowing, locked onto me with a mix of confusion and pure, unadulterated hunger.
"No," I whimper, stepping back until my back hits the cold wood of the double doors.
I fumble for the handle behind me. Locked.
Panic. Cold, sharp panic.
"Where do you think you're going, pet?" Damon’s voice is a low growl that vibrates in my chest.
He stops three feet away from me. He inhales deeply, his nostrils flaring. A shudder rips through his body, and I see his hands clench into fists, fighting the urge to grab me.
"Vanilla," he murmurs, sounding almost drugged. "Why does she smell like that?"
Alastair appears silently at his side. He isn't looking at me with hunger. He’s looking at me like I’m a math problem he can’t solve. His jaw is tight, a muscle ticking in his cheek.
"It’s a trick," Alastair hisses, though his voice is strained. He pushes his glasses up his nose, but his hand is trembling. "Some kind of pheromone spray. It has to be."
"It's not a spray, Lockwood," a deep, rumbled voice comes from the left.
Amos.
The giant stands there, looking like he’s in physical pain. He grips his own chest, right over his heart, staring at me with those dark, tortured eyes.
"It’s the bond," Amos chokes out.
The word hangs in the air like a guillotine blade. The bond.
My knees give way. I slide down the door, landing on the floor in a heap of oversized wool and terror.
No. Not them. Anyone but them.
Fate can be cruel, but this? This is sadistic. The Moon Goddess must hate me.
I look up, tears blurring my vision. "Please," I whisper, my voice cracking. "Just let me leave."
The crowd is watching in stunned silence. The outcast. The punching bag. The nobody.
Then, the crowd separates one last time.
Ronan walks through the gap.
He looks calm. Terrifyingly calm. But his eyes... his eyes are burning gold, the pupils blown wide, swallowing the iris. The Alpha Prime energy rolling off him is so heavy it makes it hard to breathe.
He stops right in front of me, towering over my cowering form. He blocks out the light. He blocks out the world.
He looks down at me, his expression twisting into a sneer of absolute disgust. But beneath the disgust, there is a fire that could burn the world down.
"Get up," he commands. His voice uses the Alpha tone. It’s not a request.
My body betrays me. Against my will, my legs straighten. I stand up, trembling so hard my teeth chatter.
Ronan steps closer. He invades my personal space, so close that the buttons of his suit jacket brush against my chest. He smells like winter and power. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever smelled, and I hate myself for thinking it.
He leans down, his face inches from mine. I can feel his hot breath on my skin.
"Tell me this is a joke, Allen," he whispers darkly.
I can’t speak. I just shake my head.
Ronan lifts a hand. I flinch, expecting a blow.
He doesn't hit me. His fingers, calloused and warm, graze my jawline. A spark of electricity—hot, painful, and pleasurable—zaps us both.
We both gasp.
There is no denying it now. The touch confirmed it. The spark only happens between fated mates.
Ronan freezes. His hand lingers on my cheek, his thumb brushing my bottom lip. For a second, he looks ready to kiss me. Ready to devour me right there in front of the whole school.
Then, his eyes darken. The lust battles with the pride. And the pride wins.
He grips my chin hard, forcing me to look into his golden eyes.
"Lock the doors," Ronan roars to the others, never breaking eye contact with me.
The heavy locks of the Great Hall click shut.
"You aren't going anywhere," Ronan says, his voice dropping to a possessive, dangerous whisper that makes my blood run cold.
He leans into my ear, his lips brushing the sensitive skin of my neck, and delivers the sentence that seals my fate.
"You belong to us now."
- Writer
