Chapter 6:
Night Lessons
The knock on my door came at exactly 9:45 PM.
Sophie was already asleep—she had an almost supernatural ability to fall unconscious the moment her head hit the pillow. I'd been sitting on my bed, fully dressed, debating whether to actually go to Zephyr's room or risk whatever consequences would come from refusing.
The knock decided for me.
I opened the door to find a werewolf girl I didn't recognize. She was beautiful in that casual way all werewolves seemed to be, with auburn hair and amber eyes that glowed in the dim hallway light.
"Zephyr sent me," she said, sounding bored. "Follow me."
"I didn't agree to—"
"Follow me, or I drag you. Your choice."
I followed.
She led me through corridors I hadn't seen before, up stairs that seemed to spiral forever, past paintings whose eyes definitely moved. The boys' wing was different from ours—darker, more oppressive, with an underlying scent of danger that made my instincts scream.
"Word of advice," the girl said as we walked. "Don't trust him. Don't trust any of them. The princes collect pretty things, play with them until they break, then discard them."
"Why are you telling me this?"
She stopped at an ornate door marked with a golden 'S'. "Because I was last year's toy. And despite everything, I wouldn't wish that fate on anyone."
She knocked once, then left without waiting for an answer.
"Come in," Zephyr's voice called.
I pushed open the door and immediately understood why the regular dorm rooms felt so small. This wasn't a room—it was a suite. A living area with leather furniture and a fireplace, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the grounds, bookshelves lining one wall, and doorways leading to what I assumed were a bedroom and bathroom.
Zephyr stood by the windows, wearing black pants and a white shirt with the sleeves rolled up. Casual. Dangerous. Beautiful.
"You came," he said without turning around.
"Did I have a choice?"
"There's always a choice. The consequences just vary." He finally faced me, holding two glasses of something amber. "Drink?"
"I'm seventeen."
"And I'm ninety-three." At my shocked expression, he laughed. "Werewolves age differently. I've been physically twenty for the last seventy years."
"That's..."
"Disturbing? Unfair? Another reason why integration is a joke?" He pressed a glass into my hand. "It's just apple cider. I'm not trying to get you drunk, Aria. That would be counterproductive."
"To what?"
"To having an honest conversation."
I set the glass down untouched. "About our project?"
"Among other things." He moved to the couch, patting the spot beside him. When I remained standing, he sighed. "I could make you sit. We both know that. But I'd rather you choose to."
"Why?"
"Because consent matters, even here. Especially here." His honey-gold eyes were serious now. "Despite what you've been told, we're not monsters. We're predators, yes, but not monsters."
"What's the difference?"
"Monsters act without reason. Predators have purpose."
I sat, but on the chair across from him, not beside him. He smiled like I'd passed some kind of test.
"Tell me about your family," he said.
"Why?"
"Because I'm curious. Because it's part of our project. Because I asked nicely."
"My parents are dead. I live with my grandmother."
"Lived," he corrected. "Past tense. This is your home now."
The words sent a chill through me. "For a year."
"Perhaps." He tilted his head, studying me. "Your parents—how did they die?"
"Car accident."
"You're lying."
It wasn't a question. My heart rate spiked, but I forced it down. "That's what I was told."
"Ah. Different answer. More honest." He leaned back, getting comfortable. "My parents were murdered when I was twelve. Well, twelve in human years. A rival pack thought eliminating the Southwind heir would weaken our territory." His smile was sharp. "They thought wrong."
"You killed them?"
"Every last one." He said it casually, like discussing the weather. "That's when I met Kaine, actually. His family took me in, trained me, made me what I am today."
"A prince?"
"A survivor." He stood abruptly, moving to the bookshelf. "The thing about this academy, Aria, is that everyone here is either predator or prey. The trick is knowing which you are."
"I'm human. That makes me prey by default."
"Does it?" He pulled a book from the shelf, flipping through it. "Humans started the Great War. Humans created the virus that nearly wiped us out. Humans built weapons that could level cities. Tell me, who's really the predator in that scenario?"
He had a point, but I wasn't about to admit it.
"Tomorrow's Hunt," he said, changing subjects with whiplash speed. "You're going to participate."
"I haven't decided—"
"Yes, you have. You're too proud to be seen as weak, too curious to sit out, and too smart not to recognize the opportunity."
"What opportunity?"
He closed the book, fixing me with that intense gaze. "To show everyone, including yourself, what you really are."
"I know what I am."
"Do you?" He moved closer, and I had to fight not to retreat. "Then why does your scent confuse me? Why do you move like prey but think like a predator? Why do your eyes flash silver when you're angry?"
My blood froze. "They don't—"
"They do." He was in front of me now, leaning down, caging me in the chair with his arms. "Just for a second, just barely visible, but they do. Want to know a secret?"
I couldn't speak, couldn't breathe.
"The only beings with silver eyes are Moonsingers. And they're all supposed to be dead."
The world tilted. He knew. Somehow, he knew.
"But that's impossible," he continued, still so close I could feel his breath on my face. "Because if you were a Moonsinger, we'd smell it. Unless..."
"Unless what?" The words came out as a whisper.
"Unless someone was very clever about hiding it. Unless someone bound your true nature so thoroughly that even you don't know what you are." He pulled back slightly, studying my face. "Tell me, Aria, do you ever dream of running? Of hunting? Of being something more than human?"
"Everyone has dreams."
"Not like yours." His thumb traced my jawline, the touch sending electricity through my entire body. "I can help you, you know. Help you understand what you are. Help you control it."
"Why would you do that?"
"Because I'm curious. Because you're interesting. Because maybe, just maybe, you're the key to something we've been searching for."
"What?"
He smiled, stepping back completely. "Balance. The world is tilting, Aria. The old peace is failing. Wars are coming—between packs, between species. We need something to tip the scales."
"And you think I'm that something?"
"I think you're more than you know." He handed me a different book—leather-bound, ancient-looking. "Read this. Tonight. Before the Hunt."
I looked at the cover. It was blank.
"What is it?"
"Insurance." He moved to the door, opening it. "Our meeting is over. Wouldn't want to violate curfew too badly."
I stood, clutching the book. "Zephyr—"
"Trust me or don't," he interrupted. "But read the book. And tomorrow, when the moon rises and the Hunt begins, remember—you're not as helpless as they want you to believe."
I left, my mind reeling. The walk back to my room was a blur. The girl who'd escorted me was nowhere to be seen, but I found my way anyway. The corridors seemed to part for me, as if the academy itself was guiding me.
Sophie was still asleep when I slipped back in. I sat on my bed, staring at the blank leather cover. Part of me wanted to throw it away, pretend this conversation never happened. But curiosity won.
I opened it.
The pages were filled with handwritten text, but not in English. The symbols were similar to what Nana had shown me—the ones that rearranged themselves into meaning. As I stared, they shifted:
*A History of the Forgotten Ones*
*The Moonsingers were not werewolves, though they could take wolf form. They were not human, though they walked among them. They were the bridge, the balance, the guardians of the veil between worlds.*
*Created by the Moon Goddess herself, they were gifted with abilities beyond either race: transformation at will, immunity to silver, the power to command both human and wolf, and the Sight—the ability to see truth through any deception.*
*For centuries, they maintained peace. Until fear destroyed them.*
*Or so the world believes.*
I kept reading, my hands shaking. The book told of secret survivors, hidden bloodlines, children born with diluted power who might one day reclaim their heritage. It spoke of prophecies and signs, of a silver-eyed child who would either unite the races or destroy them both.
It spoke of me.
The final page had only one line:
*The Hunt will awaken what sleeps within. Be ready.*
I closed the book, my heart pounding. Tomorrow night, everything would change. I could feel it in my bones, in my blood, in the part of me that had been sleeping for seventeen years.
The princes knew what I was. The question was: what did they plan to do about it?
And more importantly: what was I going to do about them?
The moon hung low and red outside my window, like a crimson eye watching, waiting.
Tomorrow, the Hunt would begin.
And with it, my awakening.
—