Hidden Wings

Chapter 2: The Weight of Your Warmth

"Hi, I'm Ashton," he whispered, leaning over slightly. His voice was smooth, like dark silk, entirely too intimate for a crowded English classroom.

I just nodded in response, keeping my eyes glued to my textbook, and aggressively turned the page.

"What's your name?"

When I didn't answer, he didn't get angry or retreat like most guys would. He just tilted his head, a faint, patient smile resting on his lips. I could feel the daggers from the other girls in class slicing right through my back. Sure, he was handsome—almost unrealistically so, with sharp cheekbones, dark hair, and a presence that seemed to warp the air around him—but him talking to me shouldn't make me a target. I didn't even know him. Not in the waking world, anyway.

I glanced quickly around the room and met Heather's eyes for a brief moment. She gave me an unnerving smile that sent a different kind of shiver down my spine, then looked away as if she’d just claimed some sort of victory. I focused on anything but the new kid, wishing he’d just leave me alone.

Ever since I can remember, people had acted strange around me. Girls hated me instantly, and guys looked at me with this blank, obsessed hunger that made my skin crawl. I’d always felt like an outsider looking through a foggy window, trying to understand why my presence pushed and pulls people like the tide. I just wanted to be invisible.

"Is that the book for class?” he asked. Clearly, God wasn’t answering my plea to keep this kid away from me. Sighing inwardly, I focused on a scratch on my desk and nodded.

"May I share with you?” Ashton asked softly. He didn't just grab it; he waited, his manners impeccably formal, almost old-world.

“I’ll have my own copy tomorrow. But today, I would be honored to read alongside someone with such... vibrant taste.”

The compliment felt heavy, weighted with a meaning I couldn't grasp. I nodded quickly, sliding the book to the middle of the table. From the corner of my eye, I saw him shift closer. Mr. Simon handed him a syllabus and walked back to the front to continue his lecture.

“Do you know what we’re doing?” Ashton whispered, leaning over to glance at my sheet. He’s so close I could smell winter air, ozone, and something ancient. My space was a bit cluttered with this morning’s five-minute writing exercise, a dictionary, a thesaurus, and three different highlighters. On top of it all lay the worksheet for the novel we were reading.

“Reading and notes,” I mumbled, my voice barely audible. I had bought my own copy of the book so I could write in it, the pages already filled with colored ink and frantic thoughts from a weekend spent devouring it.

Ashton glanced from the worksheet to my heavily annotated book. His eyes tracked the ink, and then, very gently, his long fingers traced the edge of my desk, stopping just millimeters from my hand.

“Fascinating,” he murmured, his voice a low purr meant for my ears alone. “You try so hard to blend in, don't you? To write yourself into a mundane little story where you clearly don't belong. Tell me, does the Glamour never tire you out? Keeping up appearances must be exhausting when your internal light burns so fiercely.”

My heart stopped. Glamour? Light? What is he talking about?

I stole a quick look at him, not quite meeting his eyes, yet my chest tightened violently. If I’d been standing, my knees would have given out. He looked exactly like the man from my nightmares—sending a chill through me so sharp it felt like my heart was breaking for the hundredth time. But beneath his perfect, gentlemanly posture, he looked... trapped. Like a dangerous predator bound by heavy, invisible chains. Tears pricked my eyes, forcing me to look away.

Outside, to my surprise, the sky turned a sudden, bruised gray as heavy storm clouds rolled in out of nowhere. I looked upward, then across the central courtyard. Deep inside the classroom of the opposite building, something caught my eye. Movement.

I looked closer, and that’s when I saw them—blue, icy eyes staring straight through the glass, straight at me. They were beautiful and horrifying, eyes that looked like they could steal a soul and leave a corpse behind. A cold, violent rush of adrenaline flooded my veins.

"The King always keeps eyes on his most valuable investments," Ashton said softly, his voice dropping to a dangerous, chilling register as he noticed where I was looking. "Even a solitary wolf has to obey when an unsealed decree is issued. He wants to see what all the fuss is about. You should really be more careful with how much energy you radiate, little bird."

I quickly looked down at my paper, terror gripping my throat. What king? What energy? Is he insane? "You don't talk much, do you?" Ashton said, his voice instantly flipping back to that smooth, charming cadence, mockingly innocent. "That's alright. A lady shouldn't have to carry the conversation."

I shrugged one shoulder, my hand shaking so badly I could barely scribble a random note on the margins. He stopped trying to talk, but I could feel his gaze heavy on me the entire time. It wasn't the blank, mindless stare the human boys gave me. His gaze was sharp, calculating, tracking the frantic pulse in my throat like a hawk watching a mouse. I wanted to yell at him, to demand to know what kind of game he was playing, but my voice was completely trapped.

The moment the bell rang, I practically jumped out of my skin and sprinted out the door. The farther I got from him, the better I felt, like my stomach was slowly untwisting the knots it had formed. I practically ran up the stairs to the second floor, trying to escape the lingering, magnetic tug that still pulled at my chest.

Moments later, Heather and Olivia strutted into the classroom and cornered my desk.

“I just talked to the new guy. His name is Ashton," Heather hisses, leaning over my desk. "He’s totally my type, so you better not go near him. Girls like you don't end up with guys like him.”

I felt the familiar, exhausting drain of her unexplained hatred. I glanced up at her, forcing a mask of utter indifference. “You know, I was thinking the same thing. In fact, I think you should go to him right now. He's all yours.” I made my dismissal obvious by pulling out my workbook and flipping the page, leaving her standing there stunned and furious.

By the end of the hour, the substitute teacher dismissed us. "Remember to turn in your homework on the way out."

I’m the first to hand mine in, desperate to get home. But the moment I stepped out into the crowded hallway, that heavy, physical pull slammed into my chest like a tidal wave.

I turned the corner and ran straight into a solid wall of muscle.

Smacking into his chest so hard I nearly lost my footing, I gasped as two strong hands locked firmly around my waist, steadying me. I looked up, my breath catching in my throat. Suddenly, my entire body was burning. It’s not a normal heat—it felt like a roaring, white-hot fire was igniting beneath my skin, expanding outward. The sensation was so overwhelming, so dizzying, that my hands instinctively flew up, my fingers tightening around his forearms just to stay upright. I felt a bizarre sensation, like something inside me was trying to pour out of my chest and into him.

“Are you okay? Do you need to go to the infirmary?” Ashton asked. His voice was laced with genuine concern, the perfect gentleman, but his eyes were dark, intense, searching my face for cracks. “You look flush. And your warmth... it's incredible. You really have no idea what your family has been hiding from you, do you? No idea what you are.”

Suddenly, a horrific image flashed violently through my mind—a dead body, drenched in brilliant, shocking red, cold and lifeless.

Panicking, I pushed away from him with all my might. I lost my balance, but he caught my hand just in time to keep me from cracking my head on the tile floor. The moment our bare skin met, a shock of pure electricity shot up my arm. Everywhere his fingers touched felt like it’s catching fire, a searing, beautiful agony.

"Let me go!" I choked out, ripping my hand from his grip.

He let go instantly, raising his hands in a polite, non-threatening gesture, though his eyes remained locked on mine, filled with a terrifying, knowing pity. “As you wish, my lady.”

"Freak," Heather muttered as she passed by, shoving my shoulder.

I didn't care. I rushed into the girls’ restroom, slamming the door behind me. I turned the faucet on high and splashed freezing water onto my face, staring at my reflection. My eyes looked wider, brighter, almost glowing. My chest ached, hollowed out, as if Ashton had just reached inside and taken a piece of my very soul. Why do people look at me like I'm a prize? Why does he look at me like he knows a secret that could destroy me?

By the middle of the third hour, the intense burning finally subsided to a dull, throbbing ache, and I dragged myself to my next class.

When I walked in, the entire room went silent, everyone staring at me with that same, vacant, drawn-in look I've endured my whole life. I handed my Spanish teacher the nurse's note and took my seat in the back.

I pressed my lips together, pulling out my workbook, trying desperately to ignore the strange, magnetic compass spinning in my chest. Ashton wasn't even in this room—he was in the next hall over—but I could feel exactly where he was. He was a dark sun, and I was trapped in his orbit. He was the only one who didn't succumb to whatever weird spell I cast on people, and the most terrifying truth of all was that he might be the only person alive who actually knew what I am.