Chapter 5: The Whispers of Redpaveley
The walk to the Academy that morning felt different. Usually, I tried to blend into the shadows of the stone buildings, hoping the gray mist of Redpaveley would swallow me whole. But today, I wasn't alone.
Wolfie walked beside me, her shoulder occasionally brushing mine. She looked tired—the dark circles under her eyes were a testament to the brutal transformation she had endured only hours ago—but there was a new light in her expression. She was wearing her Academy blazer, but she had my scarf wrapped loosely around her neck. It was a silent statement, a piece of the "City Boy" she was carrying into her world.
"You're remarkably quiet today," Wolfie teased, though her voice lacked its usual sharp edge. "Is the sun too bright for your vampire sensibilities, or are you just worried about what people will say?"
"I don't care what people say," I lied, though my heart—usually so cold and still—thumped rhythmically against my ribs.
"Liar," she chirped. She reached out and hooked her pinky finger with mine. It was a small gesture, but in the middle of the main street of Redpaveley, it felt like a shout.
As we approached the iron gates of the Academy, the atmosphere shifted. The usual morning chatter of students—the clinking of alchemy bottles, the practice sparks of young warlocks, and the boisterous laughter of the were-kin—suddenly died down as we passed.
I felt the weight of a hundred eyes.
"Is that... the new guy?" a voice whispered from a group of vampires standing near the fountain. They were dressed in the finest black silks, their pale faces twisted in confusion. "With her? The Alpha's daughter?"
"I heard the rumors," another hissed, not even bothering to hide her stare. "My father said a contract was signed. An old-world alliance. The city-vampire and the silver wolf."
I kept my head up, imitating the cold dignity my father, Drac, always carried. But inside, I was hyper-aware of every murmur. In Redpaveley, news traveled faster than a shifting werewolf. By the time we reached the heavy oak doors of the main hall, the "rumor" had clearly become "fact."
We stepped into the corridor, and a tall, athletic-looking guy with a shock of blonde hair and a leather jacket stepped into our path. His scent was aggressive—pure werewolf, thick with the smell of pine and adrenaline. He looked at Wolfie, then sneered at me.
"So it's true then, Wolfie?" he asked, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Your father actually went through with it? You're marrying a Stray from the city? A blood-drinker who probably doesn't even know how to run with a pack?"
Wolfie's grip on my finger tightened, her warmth turning into a sudden, protective heat. She stepped forward, her honey-amber eyes flashing with a hint of the fire I'd seen under the full moon.
"His name is Drayan, Marcus," she said, her voice dropping into a dangerous, low register. "And he's more of a man than you'll ever be, even without a full moon to hide behind. If my father made an alliance, it's because he saw something you're too blind to notice."
Marcus scoffed, looking me up and down with pure disgust. "He looks like he'd break in a light breeze. Does he even have a name for his House? Or are we just letting anyone into the village now?"
I stepped forward, moving past Wolfie's shoulder. I didn't have his muscles or his loud voice, but I had the stillness of the dead. I looked Marcus dead in the eye, my vampire instincts sharpening my vision until I could see the pulse jumping in his neck.
"My House is my own," I said, my voice cold and smooth like river stone. "And if you want to test how 'fragile' I am, I'm happy to show you. But maybe wait until the sun goes down. I wouldn't want you to have an excuse for losing."
A few students in the hallway "oohed," and Marcus's face turned a deep, angry red. He looked ready to shift right there in the hallway, his claws itching to emerge. But before he could move, a teacher—an older warlock with a staff that hummed with blue energy—cleared his throat from the classroom door.
"Class is starting," the teacher barked. "Save your posturing for the dueling pits."
Marcus gave me one last hateful look before stomping away. Wolfie let out a long breath, the tension leaving her shoulders as she turned back to me.
"Sorry about him," she whispered. "He's been trying to get my father's attention for years. He thinks he's the only one 'worthy' of the pack's line."
"I don't care about him," I said, and for the first time, I meant it. I looked at the students still whispering in the corners, then back at her. "Let them talk. Let them think whatever they want. As long as they know one thing."
"What's that?" Wolfie asked, a curious smile returning to her face.
"That I'm not going anywhere."