Chapter 6: The Glass Mask
The Great Hall of the Redpaveley Council was transformed into a vision of silver and gold. Ivy dangled from the rafters, enchanted to glow with a soft, pulsing light that mimicked the heartbeat of the village. For most, this was a night of celebration—the formalizing of the "Blood and Fur" alliance. For me, it felt like walking into a trap.
My father, Drac, had outdone himself. He stood by the entrance in a suit of deep midnight blue, looking every bit the vampire lord he had once been. He patted my shoulder as I walked in, his eyes gleaming with pride. "You look like a man who has finally found his place, Drayan. Don't let the shadows take it back tonight."
I smoothed out the lapels of my black tuxedo, feeling the stiff fabric against my skin. I wasn't looking for the shadows; I was looking for her.
When Wolfie arrived, the room actually went silent. She wasn't wearing her scuffed boots or her Academy blazer. She was in a gown of shimmering silver that looked like moonlit water, her short hair styled back to reveal the delicate silver earrings I'd seen her mother wearing at the dinner. She looked powerful, beautiful, and entirely out of my league.she was breathtakingly beautiful ughh I want to kiss her so badly 'huh' what am I thinking, my heart is beating so fast , "huh Drayan snap out of it, wolfie is coming towards you " I took a deep breath and made myself ready to face her even though I was so nervous.
"You're staring again, Drayan," she whispered as she reached me, a playful blush creeping up her neck.
"It's hard not to," I admitted, taking her hand. Her skin was warm, a constant reminder of the fire she carried inside.
But the peace didn't last. The music began—a haunting melody played by a group of wood-nymphs—and the "political" part of the night took over. My father pulled me away to meet with the Council elders, and Wolfie was swept up by her father, Silas, to greet the pack leaders.
That was when Seraphina made her move.
She didn't come to me with anger. She came with a smile that was as bright as a halo. She was wearing a gown of pure white silk that seemed to emit its own light, her wings tucked elegantly behind her like a royal cape.
"Drayan," she purred, sliding into the space beside me as my father stepped away to talk to Silas. "I see you survived the first week. Though you look a bit... overwhelmed. The smell of the pack can be quite strong in such a crowded room, can't it?"
"I'm fine, Seraphina," I said, my voice cold. I kept my eyes on Wolfie, who was across the room.
Seraphina followed my gaze. "She's a lovely girl, in a wild sort of way. But let's be honest, Drayan. You're a city-vampire. You grew up with art, with silence, with the refined beauty of the night. Do you really think you can spend the rest of your life in a 'den'? Don't you miss the light? Don't you miss someone who speaks your language?"
She leaned in, her golden hair brushing against my shoulder. From across the room, it must have looked like we were sharing a secret, intimate moment. Seraphina knew exactly where Wolfie was standing. She knew exactly what it looked like.
"I have a gift for you," Seraphina whispered, pulling a small, glowing vial of "Sun-Dew" from her clutch—a rare vampire delicacy that allowed our kind to feel the warmth of the sun without burning. "A taste of the world you actually belong in. Think of it as an apology for my behavior at lunch."
I looked down at the vial, and for a second, I was curious. But then I saw Wolfie.
She was standing by the punch bowl, her hand frozen mid-air. She was watching us. She saw the way Seraphina was leaning into me. She saw the "Angel" of the school—the girl who was perfect, popular, and "holy"—whispering in my ear.
I saw the light go out of Wolfie's eyes. She didn't stay to watch me reject the gift. She turned and hurried toward the balcony, her silver dress disappearing into the dark.
"Wolfie!" I called out, pushing past Seraphina, knocking the vial from her hand. It shattered on the marble floor, the golden liquid spilling like wasted sunlight.
"Drayan, wait!" Seraphina called out, her voice mock-concerned, but I didn't stop.
I ran out onto the balcony. The winter air was biting, a sharp contrast to the heated ballroom. Wolfie was standing at the edge, her hands gripping the stone railing so hard I heard the rock groan.
"Wolfie, it's not what you think," I said, my breath hitching.
"Isn't it?" she asked, not turning around. Her voice was thick with tears she refused to let fall. "She's an Angel, Drayan. She's everything this village thinks is perfect. She's beautiful, she's clean, and she doesn't turn into a monster once a month. I saw the way you looked at her. I saw the way she looked at you."
"You saw what she wanted you to see!" I stepped closer, but she flinched away.
"Maybe I just realized that I'm the cage," she whispered, finally looking at me. Her eyes were red-rimmed. "You're a vampire of the city. You deserve a palace and a queen, not a girl who smells like wet fur and lives in the mud. You're only with me because our fathers signed a paper."
"Do you really think I'm that weak?" I asked, my voice dropping into a low, dangerous growl. "Do you think I'd let a piece of paper tell me who to love?"
I walked right into her personal space, ignoring the heat radiating from her. I grabbed her hands, forcing her to look at me. "I don't want an Angel, Wolfie. I don't want a girl who looks like a statue and acts like a snake. I want the girl who saved my locket from the slush. I want the girl who laughed at me for being a 'City Boy.' I want the girl who trusted me to hold her while her bones were breaking."
Wolfie's breath hitched. "But... she's so perfect."
"She's a doll," I said, leaning in until our foreheads touched. "And you're a fire. I've been cold my whole life, Wolfie. Why would I ever want to go back to the ice?"
The tension in her shoulders snapped. She let out a sob, half-laugh and half-cry, and buried her face in my chest. I wrapped my arms around her, the silver fabric of her dress cool against my palms, but her heart—fast and wild—beating hard against mine.
"You're a moron, Drayan," she whispered into my tuxedo.
"Maybe," I said, kissing the top of her head. "But I'm your moron."
We stayed there for a long time, the sounds of the ball fading into the background. I didn't care about the alliance, the debt, or the popular girls. I only cared about the girl in my arms.