Gideon's hand brushed mine, his voice silk and venom.
Elara was used to walking the Academy's halls with whispers trailing behind her like smoke, a constant reminder of her precarious position in the supernatural hierarchy. But now, whenever the murmurs grew too loud or the stares too hostile, Gideon Wicke appeared as if summoned by her distress.
It started with something deceptively small. A leather-bound tome on Pack Dynamics slipped from her overloaded arms in the main corridor, its ancient binding threatening to crack against the polished marble floor. Before she could stoop to retrieve it, before embarrassment could flood her cheeks with heat, Gideon was there.
He caught the book mid-fall with supernatural reflexes, his movement so fluid it looked choreographed. The smirk that curved his lips as he straightened held just enough charm to be disarming, just enough edge to be dangerous.
"Careful." His thumb brushed across the worn leather spine with deliberate slowness before extending the tome toward her. "You'd think they'd teach balance here along with combat techniques."
The Academy's corridors bustled around them with the controlled chaos of students changing classes. Conversations echoed off stone walls carved with centuries of pack achievements, while the scent of so many wolves in close proximity created an atmosphere thick with territorial tensions and supernatural energy.
Her lips pressed into a hard line. "I can manage perfectly fine on my own."
"Of course you can." His voice carried the smooth confidence of someone who'd never doubted his place in the world. His dark eyes read the tension in her jaw, the way her shoulders set defensively, cataloging every micro-expression with predatory interest. "But why should you have to manage alone when you don't have to?"
The question hung between them like a challenge, weighted with implications she wasn't ready to examine. Around them, students flowed past in streams organized by invisible pack hierarchies-Alphas commanding the center of the hallways, Betas forming supportive clusters, Omegas and lesser-ranked wolves hugging the walls to avoid notice.
Then there were the afternoons in the Academy's central quad, where ancient oak trees provided scattered shade across manicured lawns. The outdoor space served as neutral territory where different packs mingled under the watchful eyes of faculty, though neutrality didn't extend to protecting the vulnerable from casual cruelty.
When insults carried louder than they should have-"Rogue-blood," "Broken wolf," "Charity case"-Gideon would materialize at her side like a shadow gaining substance. His arm would brush hers with carefully calculated casualness, his presence alone enough to silence the whispers.
He never spoke directly against the cruel comments, never lowered himself to acknowledge the gossip of lesser wolves. But his smirk seemed to promise violence to anyone foolish enough to continue their taunts within his hearing. The message was clear: Try it again, I dare you.
His reputation preceded him through the Academy's social networks. Gideon Wicke, heir to a bloodline old enough to command respect and dangerous enough to inspire fear. Students who might have felt bold enough to torment a seemingly friendless nobody thought twice when that nobody walked beside one of the most feared young Alphas in the territories.
Part of Elara bristled at the implication that she needed protection, that she couldn't navigate the Academy's treacherous social waters without a guardian. Protection always came at a price, and she'd sworn after the Silverfang Massacre that she would never be indebted to anyone again. Never allow herself to become dependent on someone else's goodwill when that goodwill could be withdrawn without warning.
But another part of her-the wolf that paced restlessly beneath her skin, aching from Darius's continued rejection-soaked in Gideon's attention like flowers turning toward sunlight. Her wolf had been starving for positive attention, for someone to treat her as worthy of consideration rather than an embarrassment to be endured.
She hated that she didn't hate his sudden interest in her welfare.
"You're using me." The accusation slipped out one afternoon as they crossed the courtyard together, her textbooks somehow ending up stacked with his in his arms despite her protests. The gesture looked protective to observers, though she suspected it was more about public perception than genuine chivalry.
"Am I?" He tilted his head with predatory curiosity, dark hair catching the afternoon light as his lips curved in that maddening smile. "Or am I the only one with enough backbone to stand beside you while everyone else tears you down like a pack of cowards?"
His words slid under her carefully maintained defenses, dangerous in how much sense they made. Because when she looked around the Academy's social landscape, when she catalogued the faces that turned away rather than acknowledge her existence, he was right. Celeste offered quiet friendship, Caleb provided gentle support, but Gideon was the only one willing to make himself a target by publicly associating with her.
The mate bond with Darius remained a constant ache in her chest, a golden thread pulled taut between them that carried nothing but pain. Her destined mate watched her from across rooms with burning intensity but made no move to claim her, to protect her, to acknowledge their connection beyond those heated stares that set her nerves ablaze.
But fate, as always, had its own way of twisting knives deeper into wounds that refused to heal.
Because as if summoned by her thoughts, Darius Fenrir stood across the courtyard with his usual pack of Alpha heirs. The group commanded attention without effort-tall, confident young wolves whose very presence shifted the energy of any space they occupied. They discussed pack politics and territorial disputes with the casual authority of those born to rule.
His expression remained carved from granite, revealing nothing of his thoughts to casual observation. But his eyes-those storm-gray eyes that haunted her dreams and tortured her waking hours-blazed like wildfire when they locked onto the sight of Gideon and Elara walking side by side.
The mate bond ripped at her chest with vicious intensity, sharp and merciless as a blade between her ribs. Her wolf howled in confusion and desperate longing, torn between the instinct to run to their mate and the bitter knowledge of his public rejection. But Elara bit down hard on her lower lip, tasting copper, refusing to let the agony show on her face.
Darius started forward with movements that carried the deadly grace of an apex predator. His steps ate up the distance between them, each footfall heavy with barely contained violence. His jaw was set tight enough to crack stone, and his hands clenched into fists at his sides as waves of Alpha dominance rolled off him like heat from a forge.
The energy he projected was enough to send shivers of instinctive submission down the spines of weaker wolves in the immediate area. Students froze mid-conversation, their enhanced senses screaming danger as they registered the approach of an Alpha on the edge of losing control.
"Fenrir." Gideon's voice carried lazy amusement, his smirk deepening as he noticed Darius's aggressive approach. The contrast between them was stark-where Darius radiated barely leashed fury, Gideon appeared utterly relaxed, as if this confrontation was exactly what he'd been hoping for. "Here to join our pleasant afternoon stroll?"
Darius didn't answer immediately. He closed the remaining distance in heartbeats, his supernatural speed making the movement seem effortless. His dominance flooded the space between them until the very air felt too thick to breathe, pressing down on everyone within range like an invisible weight.
Students throughout the courtyard turned to watch with the morbid fascination of those witnessing a potential bloodbath. Phones appeared in hands, ready to record whatever violence was about to erupt. The Academy's gossip network would feast on this for weeks.
Elara's breath hitched as the mate bond yanked tight, responding to Darius's proximity with painful intensity. Every instinct screamed at her to step closer to him, to soothe the rage that made his whole frame vibrate with tension. But pride and bitter experience kept her rooted in place beside Gideon.
When Darius finally spoke, his voice came out low and venomous as a snake's hiss. "Stay away from her."
The command carried the full weight of his Alpha authority, a decree that would have sent lesser wolves scrambling to obey without question. But Gideon wasn't a lesser wolf, and his answering chuckle held genuine amusement rather than fear.
"Funny. That's exactly what you told Caleb yesterday." His smile stretched wider, revealing teeth that seemed just a fraction too sharp. "Seems you're running out of competition. Pretty soon there won't be anyone left for poor Elara to talk to."
The casual cruelty in his words, the way he painted Darius as a possessive tyrant while positioning himself as her only remaining ally, was masterfully done. A few students nodded in agreement, murmuring about Alpha arrogance and unfair treatment.
Something in Gideon's tone snapped the last thread of Darius's control. He lunged forward with a snarl that was more wolf than human, his eyes flashing gold as his beast pressed against the surface of his consciousness. Claws began extending from his fingertips, and the scent of dominance and aggression flooded the courtyard with overwhelming intensity.
Gasps erupted throughout the watching crowd as students stumbled backward, panic sparking through the assembled wolves like wildfire. For one terrifying moment that stretched like eternity, Elara thought blood would spill across the Academy's manicured lawns for the second time in as many weeks.
But Caleb appeared as if from thin air, his Beta instincts driving him to intervene before violence could erupt. His hand closed around Darius's tensed forearm with surprising strength, his grip tight enough to leave bruises on human skin.
"Enough." The word cracked like a whip, Beta authority sharp and uncompromising in his tone. "Not here. Not in front of half the Academy."
The restraint worked, but only barely. Darius's chest heaved with the effort of controlling his wolf, his glare still locked on Gideon with homicidal intensity. The air around them shimmered with barely contained violence, and several students at the courtyard's edge began backing toward the buildings in case the situation deteriorated further.
Gideon, of course, looked absolutely delighted by the chaos he'd orchestrated. His smile stretched smug and victorious, as if this explosive confrontation was exactly what he'd been maneuvering toward since the moment he'd first approached her. He shifted his stack of books easily to one arm, then offered the other to Elara with theatrical gallantry.
"Well." His drawl carried the satisfaction of a predator who'd successfully cornered his prey. "Shall we continue our walk?"
Elara's pulse thundered in her ears as the weight of dozens of stares pressed down on her. She should walk away from this powder keg of supernatural politics. She should refuse to be used as a weapon in whatever game Gideon was playing with Darius. Every rational instinct screamed at her to extract herself from this situation before it exploded beyond anyone's control.
But all around them, eyes were watching and waiting and judging. The Academy's social hierarchy operated on displays of strength and weakness, on who backed down and who stood firm when challenged. If she retreated now, if she let fear override pride, she'd feed the whispers that she was too weak to deserve her place here.
The mate bond pulled at her with desperate intensity, carrying waves of Darius's anguish and fury that made her wolf whine with empathy. But he'd made his choice when he rejected her publicly. He'd forfeited any right to dictate her associations when he'd declared her unworthy of his notice.
So she took a deliberate step closer to Gideon, her chin raised in defiant challenge.
The victory in his dark eyes gleamed like polished obsidian. His voice dropped to an intimate whisper that only her enhanced hearing could catch, each word carefully chosen for maximum impact.
"Join me, Elara." The words carried promises and threats in equal measure, silk wrapped around steel. "Together, we'll destroy him."