The dining hall of Crescent Blood Pack shimmered under the dim glow of candlelight. Shadows flickered across the long oak table, where Leo, Lucas, and Oliver lounged with smug grins, observing the scene unravel before them. Isabella, caught between silence and suspicion, sat beside Theodore, while Lucian, ever bold, had claimed the seat between them—an audacity that even the chandeliers seemed to tremble at.
Lucian's eyes gleamed with mischief as his voice curled into Theodore's mind.
Lucian (telepathy, slyly): Don't you feel anything about it, brother?
Theodore didn't even glance at him; his jaw flexed, a slow predatory smile tugging at his lips as his reply hissed back, sharp as a blade:
Theodore (telepathy): You little rascal—what do you think? That you can simply steal her? First grow into an age where you can even sniff out your own mate, then talk of taking mine. Until then, shut your pup's mouth.
The bite of sarcasm in his tone made Lucian's cheeks flush crimson, though he puffed up his chest in defiance.
At the far end of the table, Leo, Lucas, and Oliver broke into restrained laughter. They could taste the invisible war crackling between the two brothers. Their laughter rolled like thunder—mocking, knowing.
Isabella blinked at them, utterly perplexed.
Isabella: "What on earth is so amusing?"
None of them answered, their smirks only deepening.
Then, as if playing his final card, Lucian reached across the table and brushed Isabella's hand. His voice dripped with honey and false innocence.
Lucian (dramatic, exaggerated): "Feed me, Isabella. You're such a kind soul… so radiant, so unlike anyone in this bleak world. I have never laid eyes upon such grace."
The entire hall froze for half a heartbeat. Theodore's jaw tightened, his hand moving slowly to wipe his lips with a cloth—so precise, so calm, it was terrifying. He gave no reaction, not a word, not a glare. Only silence.
That silence was more dangerous than fire.
Night fell. The others drifted to their homes, while Isabella retired with Theodore to their chamber. But Lucian, persistent as a thorn, followed.
At the threshold, he looked up at Isabella with wide eyes.
Lucian: "May I come inside your room, Isabella?"
Her heart softened at his boyish charm.
Isabella (smiling): "Yes, of course, my darling. You're such a cute little pumpkin—how could I possibly refuse you?"
Lucian grinned triumphantly and leapt onto the bed. Or rather—he tried.
Before his body could even touch the mattress, a shadow loomed behind him. Theodore, towering like a monster sculpted from rage and moonlight, seized him by the collar with one hand. With effortless strength, he yanked Lucian backwards as though he were nothing more than a ragdoll and hurled him out through the open door. Lucian skidded across the floorboards, the sound echoing down the corridor, before Theodore slammed the door shut.
Isabella gasped, clutching her chest.
Isabella: "Are you insane? What on earth has gotten into you? He's just a child! What if you break his bones?"
Theodore turned to her, his eyes glowing faintly in the half-dark, his voice low, sarcastic, but thunderous with certainty:
Theodore: "Fragile shadow… do not waste your concern on him. He's no porcelain doll. He's an alpha, the brother of an alpha. Do you truly think the wolves of the Crescent Blood Pack are brittle-boned creatures? No. Their bones are steel, their flesh forged in war. Worry not—your little pumpkin will live."
The way he said "pumpkin" dripped with mockery, and for a fleeting moment, the room seemed to tremble with the clash of humor and darkness.
And somewhere beyond the door, Lucian groaned, muttering curses, already plotting how to steal back the attention of the girl who unknowingly stood at the center of a storm.