Claimed by The Lost Alpha

Chapter 4: Draven Is A Monster?

The morning sun carried no warmth on campus that day. The corridors whispered, rumors rippling from mouth to mouth, far beyond idle gossip.

“Did you hear about Toby?”

“He said Draven is… a monster!”

Eyes darted toward Draven as if he were some mythical creature dropped into their midst.

Lareina walked through the hallway, trying to shut the whispers out. But her ears burned. Her name and Draven’s kept colliding in hushed tones, mingled with strange words like “claws,” “red eyes,” and “the warehouse.” Every word felt like a dagger aimed at Draven, the one who had saved her, even though she remembered nothing of that night. The only thing she knew was that Draven had carried her, and she had woken safely in her own bed.

Fury rose in her chest. Her eyes burned—not with magic, but with resolve. With quick steps, she veered toward the arts building where Toby’s class was held. She found him there, laughing too loudly in the middle of a small crowd, basking as if he were some hero who had escaped danger.

Lareina shoved the classroom door open with a crash, the sound slicing through the chatter. Every gaze snapped toward her.

“Toby!” she barked, her voice sharp as broken glass.

Toby flinched, his grin vanishing. “Oh, Lareina… you came. What is it? Here to remind me about our little date?” His smirk returned, cruel and mocking. “I’m afraid I can’t keep that promise anymore. Your friend—whatever he is—interrupted me.”

“You know damn well who Draven is!” Lareina’s voice shook, not with fear but with rage. “He’s not a monster. You’re the bastard here!”

Toby burst out laughing, louder this time, feeding on the crowd. “Hear that, everyone? She doesn’t even remember what happened! She was drunk out of her mind—and now she’s just as crazy as her brother.”

Lareina clenched her fists, forcing back tears. And then her gaze caught another figure in the crowd. A girl with shoulder-length hair, her expression twisted with confusion and anger. Cynthia. Toby’s supposed girlfriend.

“Cynthia!” Lareina called, pointing straight at her. “You’re Toby’s girlfriend, aren’t you? Then answer me this—did he tell you he’d broken up with you?”

The words struck like a hammer. Toby froze, his face draining of color. All eyes turned to him, Cynthia’s most of all.

“Last night,” Lareina continued, her voice rising, “he told me you two were over. That’s why he asked me out. And when I got drunk, he tried to take me somewhere that wasn’t the dorm.”

Cynthia’s face shifted from shock, to fury, to raw betrayal. “Toby? Is that true?”

Lareina didn’t wait for his answer. She had said enough. She turned and strode out, leaving Toby to choke on his own shame as the weight of every gaze bore down on him.

Outside, Giselle was waiting, her eyes wide with admiration.

“Oh my god, Rei!” she squealed, clapping her hands. “That was insane! But so brave—I’m seriously in awe of you!”

Lareina exhaled, suddenly weak. “I just couldn’t let him slander Draven like that.”

“He doesn’t deserve any kindness,” Giselle agreed. Then her smile softened into something more knowing. “You must really love him, huh? To go that far for him.”

The word struck Lareina like a slap. “Love? Don’t be ridiculous, Giselle. Draven’s like my brother. I only care about him, that’s all.”

Giselle stopped walking. Her face grew serious, her tone careful. “Lareina… have you ever asked your parents why you grew up together? You two aren’t siblings. There’s no blood relation at all.”

Lareina froze. She had never questioned it before. Draven had always been her family, as natural as breathing. She had always assumed it was fate. But Giselle’s words shattered that certainty.

“No… that can’t be true,” she whispered. “We were raised together since we were babies. They told us we were like siblings.”

“Like siblings,” Giselle corrected softly. “But never that you are siblings. Maybe they said that so you wouldn’t feel strange… or conflicted.”

Something cracked inside Lareina. She shook her head, denying it, quickening her pace. She couldn’t hear this. She wouldn’t.

“Rei, wait!” Giselle called, but Lareina was already fleeing, faster and faster, as though running could erase the truth pressing in on her.

**

Far from the noisy swirl of rumors in the hallways, Draven sat in the quiet sanctuary of the art studio, where the air was thick with the scent of paint and turpentine. Before him, a canvas bloomed with color—the portrait of Lareina. Not merely her face, but her truest smile, the light in her blue eyes, the radiance that words could never capture.

Draven wasn’t an art student. His major was business management. Yet Edward, his closest friend, who slipped into the studio just then, knew that Draven seemed capable of excelling in anything he touched.

“Hey, Draven! Still hiding out here? We’ve got a quiz coming up,” Edward teased, peering over Draven’s shoulder. His eyes went wide. “Holy hell… That’s incredible. You’re supposed to be a management kid, and you’re painting like this? I had no idea.”

Draven only gave a faint smile, his brush gliding with quiet precision. “Just a hobby.”

Edward wandered through the studio, scanning the canvases propped along the walls. “Some hobby. You’re good at music, poetry… and this? Damn.” He stopped suddenly, counting aloud as his jaw dropped. “One, two, three… Thirteen portraits? You’ve painted thirteen of her?”

He turned back, incredulous. “Draven, come on. This isn’t just brotherly concern. Admit it. You’re in love with her.”

Draven pressed the brush harder, thickening the stroke across the canvas. “She’s my sister. I protect her the way a brother should.”

Edward laughed softly, shaking his head. “What brother paints thirteen portraits of his sister? Look at these. Look at yourself when you paint her. Your eyes light up, man. You’re not fooling anyone.”

Draven said nothing. He kept painting, hiding behind the deliberate strokes of his brush, unwilling to meet Edward’s gaze. Because deep down, he knew Edward was right. What he felt wasn’t simple. It wasn’t safe. It wasn’t something he could ever speak aloud.

Minutes stretched in silence before Draven finally set the brush aside. He stared at the portrait—Lareina immortalized in joy—and the faintest smile curved his lips.

“She really is beautiful,” he murmured, more to himself than to Edward.

“Then tell her,” Edward urged gently. “You can’t keep burying this. Be honest with her, or you’ll drown in it.”

Draven’s smile faded. His gaze lingered on the painted version of her, vibrant and alive, as if the canvas itself breathed. “I can’t. She sees me as her brother. If I confessed and she turned away… I couldn’t survive losing her. Not like that.”

Before Edward could answer, his phone buzzed with a notification. He glanced down, then froze. His face paled. “Oh, s**t. Draven, there’s a rumor going around about you. Toby’s spreading it—he’s telling people you’re… a monster.”

At the sound of Toby’s name, Draven’s softened expression hardened into steel. He remembered the warehouse, Toby’s trembling fear, and the slip of his own claws under the moonlight.

“I’ll deal with it.” Draven stripped off his paint-stained apron, no longer caring about the wet canvas behind him.

Edward frowned. “Wait… where are you going?”

“To find Toby,” Draven said, his voice low, steady, dangerous. Then he walked out of the studio, leaving Edward staring after him, bewildered.

Draven would not allow anyone, least of all Toby, to threaten Lareina’s happiness. Even if it meant revealing the darkness he had tried so hard to keep hidden.