Miracle's POV
Hardy came close. Instead of just offering a hand, he knelt down, his eyes searching mine for a moment before he gently pulled me up from the ground. It might have been the adrenaline or the relief of not getting beaten up, but the heavy weight on my chest lifted just enough for me to breathe again.
"Thanks," I murmured, my hand lingering in his for a second too long. His grip was warm and steady. "You didn't have to do that. It was... brave."
He smiled, a slow, easy thing that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. "Oh, yeah. Real heroic, right?" he said, his tone playful. "Charging in against five assholes for a pretty girl. Sounds like the start of a ballad."
Normally, I might have laughed. But not now. I wasn't in the mood for jokes.
He didn't seem offended by my silence. Instead, he presented the plate of meat to me. "You never told me your name. But that's fine. You need to eat. I saved this for you."
"I can't take your food. I'll be alright," I said, not looking at him. I just wished he'd leave so I could enjoy this moment of quiet relief alone.
"I've already eaten. This is for you," he insisted, placing the warm plate firmly in my hands. His fingers brushed against mine, sending a tiny, unexpected shiver up my arm. "I'll leave you be. You look like you want to be alone. But a word of advice? Stay away from Ramsey. He might seem all bark, but even dogs bite sometimes."
He turned to leave, one hand in his pocket, the other adjusting the strap of his bag. He had a way of moving that was both relaxed and completely sure of itself. I wished I had that.
"Wait!" I called out before I could stop myself.
He stopped and turned back, one eyebrow raised in a silent question.
"My name," I said, my voice a little stronger. "It's Miracle."
He bit down on his lip, but a smile broke through anyway. It was a real, genuine smile that reached his eyes. "I knew it would be something beautiful. Later, Miracle."
With that, he walked away, leaving me holding a warm plate and feeling more confused than ever.
---
Hardy's POV
I knew I was being followed. They were good at hiding their scent, but they couldn't hide the frantic beat of their hearts from me.
I needed to lead them away, somewhere isolated. I had to put more distance between them and her.
Miracle.
Her name felt right in my mind. Like it belonged there. Finding her photograph and watching that idiot Steve treat it like trash... it lit a fire in me I didn't understand. I wanted to find him and teach him a very permanent lesson about how to treat something precious.
Why it bothered me so much was a mystery. I'm not a hero. I'm usually the problem. Except now, I break up fights for her and give up dinner for her.
I stopped running and waited for them to catch up. They did.
Five wolves emerged from the shadows. Deadly creatures in expensive suits, all looking at me like I was their next target.
I raised my hands in mock surrender. "Oops. You caught me."
I watched their postures stiffen. Oh, good. They knew who I was.
"By order of King Leopold De Vil, you are to return to Oswald," said Luther, the King's Beta. "Come willingly, Your Highness. Your grandfather has ordered your safe return to Raka."
I lowered my hands and laughed. Leopold De Vil. The Apex Predator. The big bad wolf himself.
"I'm going to have to decline that generous offer," I said.
"It is not a request," Luther said, his voice dangerously calm. "It is an order from your Alpha King. You are oath-bound to follow. We all are."
"That's just it...I don't give a damn about the King! Grandpapi can shove his orders somewhere painful."
"Take him!" a younger wolf—Luther's son, probably—shouted.
He lunged at me with two others. My transformation was a blur of pain and power.
I snarled, my new form towering over them. The first wolf lunged; I met him with a swipe of my claws, tearing into his shoulder. The second came snapping at my flank; I ducked and sank my teeth into his neck. My venom was a blessing and a curse—he was dead before he hit the ground. The third, the largest, charged with a roar. We collided, a whirlwind of fur and fury. I pinned him, my claws in his chest, and ended it.
It was over in seconds. Two lay still. The young one who gave the order was groaning, missing a hand. I stood panting, blood matting my fur. The message was clear: taking me home wouldn't be easy or clean.
I shifted back, spitting out blood. Luther watched with the bored interest of a man who'd seen it all, his hand resting on the Rod of Raka (The symbol of power on behalf of the king) at his hip.
"That was my son," he stated.
"I know," I said. "That's why he's the only one still breathing. Missing a hand, but breathing."
It happened fast. Luther pulled a gun and a shot rang out. His son stopped moving.
"Death by your own father," I commented. "That's got to suck."
"First rule of the wild: never challenge a royal without God on your side. Junior should have paid attention." He put the gun away. "Prince Abaddon—"
"It's Hardy," I insisted.
"Of course. Hardy," he said, dipping his head a fraction. "Is there anything I can say to convince you to come home?"
"You're a Roanoke Beta. Aren't you going to try to kill me? You're certainly capable."
"I am," he admitted. "But the King's order is absolute. He wants you returned safely. But that's not going to happen, is it?"
"No."
"Hardy, your grandfather cares for you."
I chuckled. It was a hollow sound. "No. He doesn't."
I started to walk away. I needed to find a river to wash off the blood and get back to the bus before it left.
"He knows, Your Highness," Luther said.
I froze. My whole body went still. "Knows what?" I asked, though I dreaded the answer.
"Before he named you his heir. Before you even arrived in Oswald. He knows you killed a royal. Your own blood. He chose you because of it, not in spite of it. You remind him of himself."
A cold wave washed over me. He knew. He knew everything.
"Yay for me," I said, the sarcasm dripping from my voice like poison. I walked away and didn't look back.
After washing up, I got back to find everyone ordered to shelter in the cafeteria from a coming storm.
The moment I stepped inside, I smelled her. My eyes found Miracle instantly, curled in a corner, picking at the food I'd given her.
I couldn't help but notice everything about her. The way her hair fell across her face, the small frown line between her brows, the cut on her lip from earlier. It was infuriating. My brain seemed hardwired to notice her, even when I had my own mountain of problems.
I don't want to be drawn to her. I don't want to care. But my body reacts on its own—a rush of heat, a heartbeat that kicks up a notch. I try to tell myself it's just attraction, but it feels deeper than that. I'm drawn to her spirit, her fire, the sadness she tries so hard to hide.
And that scared me more than any Beta. The fact that this girl with eyes like a storm could make me feel anything at all.
I found a distant corner and tried to sketch, to focus on anything else. But in the quiet, I heard it. A whimper.
I dropped my pencil and listened. It was her. She was trapped in a nightmare, her breathing quick and panicked.
I tried to ignore it. I told myself it wasn't my problem.
I couldn't.
I stood and walked over to her corner. She was curled tightly into a ball, shivering. I didn't hesitate. I sat down and gently pulled her into my arms. She felt small against my chest. I brushed her hair back from her damp forehead.
"Shhh," I murmured, my voice softer than I knew it could be. "It's alright, darlin'. I've got you. You're safe."
She stirred, and for a terrifying second, I thought she'd push me away. Instead, she sighed, a deep, shuddering breath, and burrowed deeper into my embrace, her head finding a place on my shoulder.
For the rest of the night, she slept peacefully. And I held her, watching the storm rage outside, realizing my own storm had just begun. And her name was Miracle.