Chapter 4

Once I was home, I started going through the things Lucien had given me over the years.

The first was the moon-sigil collar chain from my eighteenth birthday—silvered bone and alloy, etched with a small resonance rune meant to respond only to my scent.

It wasn’t a mating mark, but everyone knew what it implied.

I had worn it to the academy once.

Not long after, I saw the same design resting against Olivia Miller’s throat.

She noticed me looking and smiled, shy and apologetic.

“Lucien said,” she explained softly, “that if someone important to him has something, I should have it too.”

Under the bed lay the ceremonial boots he’d chosen for my first full-moon rite, untouched.

The night-bloom incense from neutral territory—rare, expensive, meant to steady a wolf’s emotions—was already half gone.

I remembered Olivia mentioning how well she’d been sleeping lately.

Everything I had once believed was chosen—deliberate, singular—had already been duplicated and handed out at Lucien’s convenience.

Not even evenly.

A faint, crooked smile pulled at my lips as I thought of how instinctively he shielded Olivia now, how his voice softened for her, how his attention curved around her without effort.

So this was what protection looked like.

I booked a flight for the following morning.

At two a.m., my phone rang.

Half-asleep, I answered. The line was silent long enough for my heart to lift despite itself, for an old, foolish reflex to stir.

Just before I hung up, Lucien spoke.

“Vivienne… I’m sorry.”

I was fully awake in an instant.

Then he continued, his voice heavy.

“Olivia hurt herself. I can’t leave her alone. The transfer paperwork will have to wait—I’ll handle it later.”

Just like that, the hope collapsed.

I found myself wondering what my endurance had been worth—the days I stood beside him while he pretended to be unawakened, absorbing the whispers, the challenges, the contempt meant for a wolf without fangs…

Without hesitation, Lucien went on, his voice steady. “You need to make this right.”

I stopped. “…Excuse me?”

He answered calmly, as if the conclusion were already settled. “You should apologize to Olivia. She wouldn’t have hurt herself if you hadn’t pushed her.”

I said nothing. And in that silence, the truth settled in. As long as Olivia Miller stood between us, every reaction I had would be a mistake—quiet meant indifference, explanation meant Vivienne.

Lucien’s tone dropped, edged with quiet displeasure. “I’m disappointed in you. I thought you’d be more mature than this.”

Then he softened, almost indulgent. “Say you’re sorry, and we can move past it. I won’t hold it against you. I’ll even go with you to the new academy in two months. Do you really want to undo everything we’ve built over something this small?”

It was said like an ultimatum.

I ended the call, blocked his number, and erased it.

The next morning, I arrived in a new city.

The moment I stepped out of the terminal, a familiar voice called my name.

“Vivienne Everhart.”He smiled faintly, composed and unhurried.“It’s been a long time.”

Northwind.

The most powerful werewolf dominion in the north—ruling over more than a dozen subordinate packs, its Alpha bloodline older and purer than many of the seats on the Council itself.

I said evenly. “Long time no see, Adrian Northwind.”

Before either of us could continue, my phone rang.

Lucien’s friends.

I answered out of mild curiosity.

His voice came through immediately—tight, impatient, edged with something close to panic.

“Vivienne,” he demanded, skipping all pretense, “which class did you transfer into at Western Preparatory?”

“I’ve asked around. No one here has seen you. Not the faculty. Not the registrar. Where are you?”

I lifted my eyes.

Ahead of me rose the iron gates of Aethelred Lycan Institute, its crest carved deep into black stone, ancient runes pulsing faintly beneath the sigil—an academy that accepted only future Alphas and Betas, heirs with uncontested bloodlines, wolves already awakened and acknowledged.