Mrs. Blackwood's POV
I studied the young girl as she closed her notebook and neatly tucked it into her bag. Her focus during the project had been impressive—calm, meticulous, though her eyes occasionally betrayed nervousness. Adrian, on the other hand, had been oddly restless, as though every sound Irene made tugged on some invisible string inside him.
I clasped my hands together and softened my voice.
"You must be… Irene?" My lips curved into a polite smile, though my mind ran with questions. Adrian had never mentioned her. Not once.
When she nodded shyly, I rose from the armchair.
"Well then, since you've already worked so hard today, why don't you join us for dinner? It's not often Adrian brings someone home to study."
Her hesitation flickered only briefly before she agreed. Good. I would finally get a closer look.
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Irene's POV
The first thing that struck me as we were ushered into the dining hall was the smell—rich, earthy, and layered, like freshly baked bread mingling with roasted herbs and something meaty that made my stomach growl involuntarily. The chandeliers above glinted like frozen stars, throwing tiny golden prisms across the polished mahogany table. Each plate was immaculately arranged: a perfectly seared fillet of fish on a bed of green vegetables, garnished with slices of lemon and sprigs of thyme; beside it, a small dish of roasted potatoes, golden and crisp; and a delicate salad that smelled faintly of basil and citrus.
I felt my hands tremble slightly as I reached for my napkin. It all seemed so… formal, so far removed from my usual breakfasts of pancakes and toast at home. The silverware gleamed as if it had never touched human hands. Even the glasses of water reflected the chandelier light, making them sparkle like tiny prisms.
Adrian's presence across from me only heightened my awareness. He was quiet, observant, almost unreadable, and yet I couldn't stop my eyes from flicking toward him. He held himself differently here than at school or in the garage—less guarded, but still carefully measured. Every movement was precise, deliberate.
I took a careful bite of the fish, letting the flavors settle on my tongue. The seasoning was subtle but perfect, the texture soft yet firm. I couldn't help but let a small hum of appreciation escape, hoping Adrian hadn't noticed. He didn't react, didn't look up. Instead, he was focused on his plate, knife and fork moving rhythmically, silently, like a conductor of a delicate symphony.
Despite the formal surroundings, I felt a strange comfort in the quiet. It was almost intimate, sharing a meal with him here, in his world, watching the faint light from the chandeliers flick across his sharp features. I noticed the small details: the way his sleeve brushed the table just so, the careful way he cut each bite of food, the almost imperceptible tension in his shoulders, like he was fighting an invisible weight.
I tried to keep the conversation polite but brief, asking about school, the project, and innocuous topics that wouldn't tip him off to how aware I was of him, of us. Yet even in the silence between words, something unspoken hummed—a pull, a curiosity, a connection that neither of us dared name.
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Adrian's POV
I watched her quietly, aware that every small gesture, every careful bite, told me more than words ever could. She observed everything—the way the table was set, the gleam of silverware, the subtle arrangement of her meal—yet she tried to appear casual. Her fingers brushed the edge of the plate just so, her napkin folded neatly on her lap.
My wolf stirred inside me, curious, restless, urging me closer, craving some form of recognition, of trust. She's cautious… but she smells curiosity. And curiosity is like a beacon. We must see this clearly.
I forced myself to remain silent, to not give anything away. Even here, in the warmth of the dining hall, with my mother occasionally glancing at us, the last thing I needed was to appear too… vulnerable. Or too drawn to her.
Yet I couldn't help the way my eyes followed her movements, how I noticed the subtle flinch when a chandelier prism reflected in her glass, the almost imperceptible relaxation in her shoulders when she realized I wasn't judging her. She was genuine, unlike the usual people who came into this house—people who were intimidated, awed, or trying too hard to impress. She was just… her.
I caught a faint scent of curiosity mixed with caution, and it made my wolf stir. She's sensing something… even if she doesn't know what.
Every now and then, my gaze softened involuntarily. I wanted to speak, to break the careful rhythm of silence, to see if she would notice. But I held back, letting the quiet stretch between us, letting her make the first move. And inside, a small, insistent part of me hoped she would.
The meal continued with minimal words. My parents spoke politely, keeping the conversation light and measured. I focused on my plate, letting the subtle flavors of rosemary and roasted garlic ground me, though my attention was always half on Irene. Her way of observing the world, the care with which she studied her surroundings, it intrigued me, and my wolf agreed—this was someone worth letting in, though not fully.
I didn't speak much. That wasn't my style here. But I noted every little thing—the faint curve of her lips when she tasted the fish, the way she adjusted her posture slightly when our eyes met, the tiny tremor in her hand as she lifted her glass. I wanted to reach out, to close the distance without words, but restraint was necessary. For now, silence spoke louder than any conversation.
She is different. And I need to know why… before anyone else does.
Mr. Blackwood's POV
This girl. She was ordinary enough in appearance, but there was something about her… something that unsettled me. The way Adrian's shoulders tightened, the way his eyes lingered on her—it was too much for a mere classmate.
I cut my steak slowly, deliberately.
"And where are you from, Irene?" I asked, my tone light but laced with intent.
She stumbled slightly over her words, speaking of her school and her guardian. I caught the faint tremor in her hands as she lifted her glass. She was nervous. Good. Nervous people slipped up.
But even as I studied her, a part of me gnawed at the memory of old secrets. Witches. Rival packs. Unfinished business. I would not allow threats to return under my own roof.
Mrs. Blackwood's POV
I let the conversation drift into safer topics before ending it with a decisive smile.
"It was lovely having you here tonight, Irene. You must visit us more often. Adrian will need all the help he can get if he's going to keep his grades up."
Her blush was faint but telling. Adrian bristled, but he said nothing.
As the servants cleared the plates, I leaned back, eyes flicking between my son and the girl. There was something unspoken between them already, something I could not yet name.
And I intended to find out exactly what it was.