Power and Protection

Rhett:

The second she steps into the hall, my entire world contracts. I catch her scent first—sweet and sharp, honeyed and feral—and then the heat behind it, the living, breathing thrum of her. She’s moving toward her next class, purposeful, but I can see the weight in her step, the tight coil of exhaustion. She shouldn’t be carrying this much. Not alone.

I move instinctively, the wolf inside me flaring, claws of instinct scraping the edge of my control. I don’t even think about it; I just surge toward the others.

Silas is already there, all shadow and patience, his fingers brushing through the dark air like he’s knitting the edges of the world to keep it from tearing. Kai’s eyes are sharp, darting, calculating—he’s already piecing together the puzzle we don’t yet understand. And Lucian… Lucian leans against the stone wall, grin curled just enough to be dangerous, heat coiled beneath that deceptively calm exterior. They all feel it too. The tension is crawling along our nerves like cold fingers.

I stop a pace behind Isadora, voice sharp, too low for her to hear. “Wait.”

She doesn’t. Her gaze is forward, calm, unwavering—but I see the small tremble in her fingers, the flush of fatigue on her cheeks. My chest tightens. I can’t. I won’t let her go unguarded.

Kai snaps his mouth open, voice clipped. “Rhett, she’s fine. She’s not a child.”

I glare at him. “She’s not fine. And that’s exactly why we’re here. You feel it too, don’t you?” My tone hardens. “Every shadow twitching along the walls, every whisper she can’t make out but we can—someone is testing the wards. Someone is pushing.”

Silas sighs, low and almost mournful. “It’s not just the wards. She’s attracting things, Rhett. Not all of them… human. And the more we try to shield her, the less she learns to trust herself.”

“Trust herself?” I bark. “She can barely breathe in this place without them all circling, sniffing, measuring her, testing her limits! How is that supposed to teach her anything but fear?”

Kai leans closer, eyes glinting. “Sometimes, the only way to make her stronger is to let her face it, Rhett. Let her grow. If we wrap her in our protection like some… trophy, she’ll never be ready.”

I step toward him, low growl rumbling from deep in my chest. “Ready for what, Kai? Ready to die in a dream? Ready to wake with marks scorched into her skin? Ready to realize the boys who are supposed to protect her can’t keep everyone away?”

Lucian exhales a sound like silk tearing. “And there it is. The delicate little wolf—always overprotected, always smothered.” His eyes, dark and cruel, flicker to mine. “Maybe if you all stopped hovering, she’d discover just how strong she really is. Or maybe you’d all crumble with her leaning on you.”

My jaw tightens. The wolf snarls beneath my skin, but there’s more than that, more than raw fury. My fingers ache to grip, to claim, to drag her back into the space that is ours to keep her safe. But it isn’t just about strength—it’s about control. Every shadow flickering against her, every subtle tremor in the air, I feel it like a pulse in my bones.

Silas steps closer, his shadow stretching toward me like a living barrier. “You’re letting anger dictate your protection. She doesn’t need a cage, Rhett. She needs guidance. And she needs us to trust her.” His voice is soft, but firm, the kind that presses against the heat coiling through my chest.

I snarl, turning to him, the words almost falling from my mouth before I catch them. “Trust her? She’s carrying fire in her chest and everyone around her wants a piece. How am I supposed to… I—how can anyone trust her to survive in this hell?”

Kai steps in again, biting back a grin. “Maybe that’s the point. She isn’t supposed to survive like a lamb. She’s meant to bend, to test, to take what comes and grow stronger. We can’t stop it, Rhett. We can’t stop her… only help her survive it.”

I spin toward Kai, chest tight. “Help her survive it? That’s all anyone thinks they can do. Help her survive. But what if it isn’t enough? What if by letting her face it, we’re walking her straight into a trap we can’t see until it’s too late?”

Lucian’s eyes glitter dangerously, stepping forward. “Then maybe it’s time you realize the world doesn’t hand out guarantees, wolf-boy. She’s not yours to cage, and she's not yours to protect. Not fully.”

I hate him in that moment. Hate the way his voice slides across my skin, low and full of heat, taunting the part of me that’s desperate to protect her at any cost. But I can’t hate him fully—not while my chest is on fire with the need to do exactly that.

Silas steps between us, a wall of shadow, cool and grounding. “Enough. This isn’t about ownership. This is about preparation. Letting her grow, yes—but safely. She can’t learn everything at once. And if we bicker like children, she’ll suffer twice as much.”

I feel the heat ebb a fraction, the wolf recoiling, replaced with a tight, rigid tension. She’s always in the middle, always the spark that ignites everything. And that’s what makes me lose control. My fingers clench into fists at my sides. I’m furious, and yet I know Silas is right. She’s the one with the fire—our job is to channel it, not smother it.

Kai smirks, a glimmer of mischief and something darker. “We don’t exactly get to sit back and watch, either. She draws power like she’s meant for this world, not trapped by it. We either teach her to command it, or we watch it consume her.”

I inhale sharply. The words hit, jagged and raw. We all know it’s true. The boy, the shadow, the trickster, the predator—none of us can protect her completely. Not from the outside. Not from herself.

Lucian tilts his head, voice lower, silk and steel. “So… we all just… hover and hope? Or we push her into fire and see if she burns or flies?”

“Neither.” Silas says quietly, almost mournfully. “We guide. And we stand ready. That’s all any of us can do.”

I glance down the hall. She’s halfway to her next class, and already the distance gnaws at me. Every step she takes is a battle, a decision I’m not allowed to make for her—but want to. My chest aches with it, raw, desperate.

“She’s… mine to protect,” I murmur under my breath, though the words feel empty against the reality of their truth. She isn’t mine. Not really. She belongs to no one but herself—and that’s what terrifies me most.

Lucian’s laugh is soft, almost pitying. “Mine? How quaint. You think anyone has that luxury? No one, Rhett. Not even her.”

Kai huffs, shoving hands in his pockets, frustration and desire knotting in his posture. “We all want the same thing. To keep her safe, to see her survive. That’s the line we’re dancing on. And I swear, if you let your wolf take over, you’ll destroy the very thing you want to protect.”

Rhett. Me. My fingers twitch. My teeth grit. My instincts hum with the low growl of primal rage. But I can’t lose it—not yet. She’s walking forward, unaware of the storm we’re building in her wake.

And then Silas does something that twists me inside out: he steps back, letting the space between us breathe, letting her choice—her freedom—exist. Shadow curls around her like a protective cloak. Not suffocating. Not cage-like. Just enough.

My jaw tightens. I hate it. Hate the restraint. Hate the realization that even the four of us together, even with all our fire and strength, she is beyond us. She is the storm.

She’s halfway down the hall when I finally speak, low, gritted. “We’ll protect her. Every way we can. But we’re not stopping her from burning brighter than all of us combined.”

Lucian’s eyes gleam, calculating, smoldering. “Good. She’ll need the fire. And the chaos. And maybe… maybe that’s enough.”

Kai sighs, eyes darting down the hall where her figure is already fading. “Enough. For now. But it’s going to get worse. You feel it too.”

Rhett growls, low and visceral. “I feel it. Every shadow. Every whisper. Every step she takes. And I’ll be there, waiting, whether she wants me to or not.”

Silas meets my gaze, and for a brief moment, something unspoken passes between us. We all know it: we’re on the edge of a storm none of us can control. But we are here. All four of us. And for her… that has to be enough.

I watch her round the corner, and the hall empties behind her. My pulse finally slows, but the ache in my chest stays. The wolf beneath my ribs whines, pacing, longing, desperate.

No one can prepare her for what’s coming. No one.

Except us.

And even then… it may not be enough.