Sophie stood alone in a sea of people. She had not one person she could claim cared about her, in this room or anywhere.
Off to the right of the stage, her spine was straight, chin lifted, face arranged into something blank and cold. Controlled. Untouchable. Her classmates had dubbed her The Ice Queen, a name spoken with equal parts resentment and grudging admiration.
Onstage, their lead trainer raised the microphone, unable to suppress his excitement.
“This year, we honor a student who has shattered records, achieving the highest merits seen in over three centuries at Wildbourne Academy.”
A murmur rippled through the hall.
“She has shown promise since day one, rising above every challenge thrown her way.”
“She,” Pandora rolled her eyes nearby, “it’s obviously Little Miss Perfect, riding on granddad's coattails.”
A few graduating Hunters snorted in agreement.
Pandora Vale was twenty-one, beautiful, charismatic, adored. Everything Sophie wasn’t allowed to be. Sophie couldn’t understand how someone who had grown up so obviously loved could be so full of hate. Pandora had made her a project from the first week, testing, prodding, taunting, trying everything she could to get a reaction out of her.
What Pandora would never understand was that Sophie’s biggest bully did not live at the Academy. He lived in her home. He shared her blood. He sat in the front row.
Lucian, her grandfather, the grand dragon of Hunters.
And even though Pandora hated her, even though Pandora sharpened every word into something meant to hurt, Sophie envied her.
She envied being touched with affection. Envied being smiled at. Envied being allowed to make mistakes and still be wanted.
None of those things had ever belonged to her.
When Sophie’s name was called, she walked toward the stage with mechanical precision. Every step and breath had been drilled into muscle memory by years under Lucian’s rule. She accepted her silver ring, the symbol of an elite Hunter, without a tremor.
Most Hunters graduated at twenty-one.
Because Lucian did not raise children.
He created weapons.
The ring slid onto her finger like a weight, a promise, and a sentence all at once.
Her smile for the cameras was flawless, empty. Her speech rolled out smoothly, Lucian’s speech, not hers.
He had forced her to rewrite it last night after tearing her first draft in half.
“Your mother talked with softness, too,” he’d said, voice low and poisonous as he ripped the pages. “Pretty words. Useless words. You will not repeat her failures. You will not shame this bloodline as she did.”
She had stood in front of his desk, hands clenched so tight her nails bit into her palms, fighting not to cry. That only made him worse.
He’d come around the desk, grabbed her chin so hard her jaw had throbbed for hours afterward.
“You do not get to humiliate me the way she did,” he whispered. His eyes glinted with something cruel and hungry. “You are all that remains of her. And unlike her, you will obey.”
He hadn’t let go until her eyes dried and her breathing steadied, until the fear sat deep enough in her bones that he could step back, satisfied.
She had swallowed it all, rewritten the speech, and recited it until he approved. He never apologized. He never praised. He only marked when she failed.
Now her voice delivered the lines with chilling precision.
Honor. Duty. Legacy. The Hunters, above all, protected humankind from the wolves.
When her eyes landed on Lucian, seated in the front row, her composure flickered for a heartbeat. His stare was cold granite. Always expectant.
She had fought for her place, not only as the heir of the original Hunters, but because Lucian ensured she had no choice except success. Failure was not a lesson in his house. It was a punishment waiting to happen.
Pandora’s name was called next.
Pandora glided onto the stage as though she were walking into a spotlight meant solely for her. Her dress shimmered. Her smile dazzled. Several senior Hunters whistled openly.
Pandora basked in it. She drank praise the way others breathed air. It belonged to her as naturally as hunger belonged to wolves.
As she stepped back in line, Pandora’s gaze snapped to Sophie like a magnet.
“Enjoy first place while you can,” she murmured, lips barely moving. “The real world will separate the winners from the losers.”
Sophie didn’t respond. Silence was one of the earliest weapons Lucian had taught her. Pandora’s smirk only sharpened, as if Sophie’s lack of reaction insulted her more than any possible retort.
Beside Pandora stood Penelope, her best friend and most devoted follower. Penelope was all glossy hair and long legs, pretty and vacant-eyed, laughing at every cruel comment Pandora made a second too late, like she had to catch up. She repeated Pandora’s opinions as if they were her own and trailed after her like a shadow.
Sophie watched them sometimes, in quiet moments between classes. She knew Pandora envied her, the record, the ring, the bloodline. But she also knew, with a deep, aching certainty, that she envied Pandora more.
Pandora had grown up loved. You could see it in the easy way she touched people, the assumption that hands would not strike, only hold. You could hear it in the unthinking laughter, in the way she never flinched when someone raised their voice.
Sophie had never had that. Love was a story told about other people.
The trainer concluded the ceremony:
“Tonight we celebrate at the Annual Hunters’ Ball. A night to celebrate our graduates and new beginnings!”
A weight settled in Sophie’s chest. The Ball. A celebration for everyone else. A cage for her. Another night on display at Lucian’s side. Another night pretending she didn’t dread the feel of his hand on her shoulder, the way he used her presence like a badge of status.
She descended the stage, steps measured and perfect, heading toward him.
But Rufus Kilsome, Chairman of the Council and Lucian’s oldest ally, intercepted her with a booming laugh.
“You must be proud of her!” Rufus declared, turning his broad grin toward Lucian.
“I expect nothing less,” he said. “She is of the original line.”
Pride implied affection. Lucian did not feel affection. He felt ownership.
Rufus chuckled. “Still, this deserves celebration! Tell me, Sophie, who’s the lucky young man escorting you tonight?”
Sophie bowed her head, angle practiced, careful. “Sir, my studies have kept me occupied. I’ll be attending with my grandfather.”
“Nonsense!” Rufus waved her off. “My son Jax is here as an ambassador for the Ball. He has no date. You two will make quite the power couple.”
A whispered legend in dorm rooms and training yards. Charming. Reckless. Dangerous. The older girls had spent entire nights at the Academy debating which stories about him were true. Pandora and Penelope had once argued over who he’d looked at more at some party; Penelope had nearly cried when Pandora declared she’d “won.”
Before Sophie could decline, Rufus was already lifting his voice.
He appeared from the crowd like the room knew to make space for him.
At least six foot two, shoulders broad beneath a fitted dark jacket, the top buttons undone to reveal a strip of hard chest and the curl of ink disappearing under the fabric. Dirty blond hair was braided neatly at the sides and tied back, that combination of controlled and wild that said he knew exactly how he looked and didn’t care anyway.
He moved with a lazy confidence that made people step aside without realizing they’d done it.
Stubble shadowed his strong jaw, but it was his eyes, sharp, piercing blue, that caught Sophie and made her catch her breath.
They landed on her, and everything else in the room seemed to blur for a second.
A jolt shot through her, quick and violent, like something waking up inside her that she did not have a name for, a mix of danger and desire that made no sense at all.
Jax took her hand, fingers wrapping around hers. His grip was warm, calloused, steady. He lifted her knuckles to his mouth and brushed a slow, almost amused kiss over them.
“Sophie,” he said, voice low and rough-edged. “An honor. Beauty and brilliance. How is someone like you here alone? I would be honoured to be your date.”
Her body reacted in ways she did not understand. Heat stirred under her skin, foreign and frightening, like her nerves had been wired wrong and were suddenly firing all at once. Whatever this was, she had never been taught how to control it.
“You are very kind,” she replied softly but firmly. “I will be accompanying my grandfather.”
Lucian wasn’t a date; he was a chain.
A warning wrapped around her life.
She had learned early what happened when she showed interest in boys. Or when one showed interest in her.
Now, Rufus laughed and clapped Lucian’s back. “Come now, old friend! Let the young have their night!”
Lucian’s jaw tightened. His eyes, cold and assessing, fixed not on Jax, but on the unsteady beat in Sophie’s throat.
Before the tension could snap, a woman approached.
Rose Kilsome, elegant as polished glass, warm in a way that made Sophie’s chest ache. Her dress was understated but perfect. Her eyes were kind, the kind of kind that made Sophie want to step back before she ruined it.
“Sophie,” she said, taking both of Sophie’s hands in hers. “I knew your mother well. You have her strength.”
Sophie flinched inside so hard it felt like something cracked.
Lucian often compared her to her mother, but never like that. Never with warmth.
“She was weak,” he would sneer. “A whore. You will not become her.”
Now hearing Rose speak of her mother with affection twisted Sophie’s insides into knots of confusion and aching longing.
“Thank you,” she whispered, hoping her voice wouldn’t crack.
Rose’s gaze slid to Jax, then back to Sophie. “Don’t you think she’s a little young for him?” she asked Rufus gently. “Let the girl breathe tonight.”
Rufus snorted. “She’s a Hunter now. Jax can accompany her, more of a guardian type situation. Don’t worry, my love.”
The word sat wrong. Jax didn’t feel like safety; he felt dangerous. Every instinct screamed he was trouble, stay away, and every instinct thrilled at the danger. He felt like a cliff edge she was already too close to.
Lucian’s eyes flicked to her. Measuring. Calculating. As though even this, who walked beside her, who glanced at her, who touched her, was just another move on his board.
Before anyone could speak again, Pandora made her presence known.
She moved with every curve on display, blonde hair glossy over her shoulders, lips painted a deep, impossible red. At twenty-one, she was fully grown, confident, lethal. Next to her, Sophie felt young and unfinished. She even noticed Lucian’s cruel gaze transform into something like lust.
Penelope trailed at her side, smiling blankly, eyes wide with excitement at being close to power, as if proximity alone might make her more relevant.
“Well,” Pandora purred, taking in the scene with sharp delight, “our Ice Queen finally melts. How lucky, Sophie. Most of us can’t even get her to speak, and here she is catching Jax Kilsome’s eye.”
Sophie inclined her head. “Good evening, Pandora.”
Pandora placed her hand on Jax’s bicep with an easy familiarity. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen you,” she added, her smile softening in a way that hinted at nights Sophie could only imagine.
There it was, the history, real and not just rumor. Sophie felt a sharp pang, something close to jealousy.
Jax turned, giving Pandora a slow once-over. Even he wasn’t entirely immune to her beauty, but his smile was faint, almost bored.
“Pandora,” he said. “Still dramatic, I see.”
Her smile faltered, then brightened too quickly.
“I just wanted to say hello,” she said, fingers tightening on his arm. “I see our youngest graduate has made an impression?”
He didn’t lean into her touch. He didn’t answer the way she clearly wanted him to.
His attention slid back to Sophie with a heat that made her knees feel unsteady.
Color flared high on her cheekbones before she smoothed it away and pinned Sophie with a vicious little smile.
“Well,” she whispered, too low for the adults to hear, “enjoy your moment, Ice Queen. You have nothing else.”
That was the worst part. Sophie believed her. This attention, this ring, this fragile sliver of something that wasn’t fear, it felt like the first thing in her life that belonged to her.
Jax’s fingers brushed Sophie’s wrist, a light touch, deliberate and electric.
Heat pooled in her belly, bewildering and unwelcome. Whatever was stirring around him, she didn’t understand it. She’d been trained to track, to fight, to kill, never to want.
“Sophie,” he murmured, his grip tightening on her shoulder, “stay beside me tonight. No exceptions.”
A chilling statement. A familiar threat wrapped in the sound of concern.
She nodded because anything else would bring consequences later.
The crowd began to thin, groups breaking off to prepare for the Ball, conversations shifting to gowns and partners and politics. Lucian was pulled aside by two Council members. Rufus followed, talking loudly. Rose drifted off with them, casting Sophie one last sympathetic glance.
Sophie stood where she was, ring cold on her finger, watching, waiting for Lucian to beckon.
Instead, she caught sight of Jax at the far side of the hall.
He was in the shadow of a marble pillar, half-hidden from the main flow of people.
Penelope wasn’t there. Tom, Pandora’s official boyfriend, the one she’d bragged about in the locker room, sweet, reliable Tom, was nowhere to be seen.
Pandora’s posture had changed. Gone was the effortless confidence, the lazy drawl. She was too close to Jax, hands moving as she spoke, expression fierce and desperate. Even from this distance, Sophie could tell it was not a flirtatious conversation.
Jax looked annoyed. Truly annoyed. His mouth a hard line, his arms folded across his chest as Pandora spoke faster, gesturing toward Sophie’s side of the room, toward Lucian, toward the stage, as if trying to make him understand something, trying to pull him back into her orbit.
Pandora’s voice didn’t carry, but her face did. She looked like she wanted to scream. Or cry. Or both.
Sophie’s chest tightened.
Where is Tom? she thought suddenly.
For all Pandora’s cruelty, she’d always talked about Tom with affection and love.
Now she was in a dark corner with Jax instead, looking like her perfect world had just cracked.
Jax finally said something short and sharp. Pandora recoiled as if struck, blinking rapidly, eyes bright with unshed tears. She grabbed his wrist, desperate, but he gently, firmly removed her hand.
Pandora stood there alone for a moment, shoulders drawn tight, breathing hard.
Penelope appeared a second later, all fluttering hands and frantic whispers, wrapping herself around Pandora like decoration and comfort combined.
Pandora threw back her head and laughed at something Penelope said, too loud and too bright, as if nothing had happened at all.
The ring on her finger felt heavier than ever.
Power. Politics. Secrets.
Whatever this night was supposed to be, it already felt more dangerous than any hunt,
and Sophie couldn’t shake the question whispering at the back of her mind:
Was she the amazing hunter everyone thought she was, or the easiest prey in the room?
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Last Updated:
2025-09-30 04:53:45
