Chapter 6

Theressa's POV

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The moment Lyon’s motorcycle stopped in front of my house last night, I felt something inside me collapse—something quiet and trembling, the kind of fear that lingers beneath the skin long after danger is gone.

Ryan’s hands.

His voice.

His breath on my face.

Even now, hours later, the memory makes my stomach twist.

And then there was Lyon—bursting through the door like a storm that refused to be ignored. His presence alone made the entire room freeze. I swear the air had shifted the second he appeared, his shadow falling over Ryan like a punishment from another world.

A part of me wanted to scream in fear, but another part—one I don’t understand yet—felt safe the moment he grabbed my hand.

That contradiction is haunting me.

Now, lying in my bed with the covers pulled to my chin, I should feel relieved. The house is quiet, the door is locked, and Mom is asleep down the hall. Everything around me is normal, peaceful, human.

But I’m shaking.

Not because Ryan tried to…

God, I hate thinking about it.

But because the person who saved me isn’t human.

And because the way he held me afterward felt… too comforting.

Too familiar.

Too right.

My chest tightens as I shift on my pillow, staring at the ceiling in the dark.

I didn’t tell Lyon thank you. I didn’t say anything at all. I just let him drop me at home and walked away. Maybe I was in shock. Maybe I was ashamed that he saw me like that—helpless, terrified, cornered.

He probably thinks I’m weak.

And he’s a werewolf, so every fear I hide… he probably senses it.

The thought makes heat crawl up my neck.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to shut down the whirlwind in my mind. Sleep doesn’t come. How could it? My heart is racing even though nothing’s happening.

Or maybe something is happening, and I’m too scared to admit it.

I rub my arms and sit up. The digital clock beside my bed screams 3:09 AM in bright red numbers.

“Great,” I whisper bitterly. “I hate tonight.”

I shove the blanket aside and get up. My legs feel weak, but I force myself toward the window. The sky outside is dark, heavy, cloudy. Streetlights glow dimly, illuminating the quiet road. No one’s out at this hour.

Except…

I freeze.

There’s a figure leaning against the tree across the street. Tall. Still. Familiar.

My breath catches in my throat.

Lyon.

He’s just… standing there. Not moving. Not hiding. His posture is relaxed but alert, like he’s guarding the street. Guarding… me.

A part of me wants to pull the curtains and pretend I never saw him. Another part—stupid, reckless, warm—presses my fingers to the cold window glass, as if that invisible wall between us matters.

Why is he here?

No, I already know the answer.

And that terrifies me in ways Ryan never could.

He said it last night:

"From now on, I won’t let you go with anyone else. Whether you like it or not, you have to accept it."

Was that a threat?

Or a promise?

I don’t know.

But I can’t stop looking at him. Every time the breeze moves the branches, a sliver of moonlight touches his hair, and I swear he looks unreal—like he doesn’t belong in this world but chooses to be here anyway.

Because of me.

I step back, suddenly overwhelmed. My heart is doing something stupid again—beating too fast, too irregular, too aware of him.

I crawl back into bed, hugging my pillow. But I can’t shake the image of him standing out there, silent and steadfast.

He should be home, sleeping like a normal teenager.

But he’s not normal.

And I’m not sure I am either, not anymore.

I bury my face in the pillow.

I don’t want to depend on him.

I don’t want to get attached.

I don’t want to be another weak girl who falls for someone just because he saved her.

Yet… the thought of him leaving leaves a deeper ache than the fear itself.

I’m still wrestling with that truth when exhaustion finally drags me under.

---

I wake up to the sound of frantic knocking.

“Tessa!” Mom’s voice. “You’ll be late!”

I jump out of bed, heart thudding. Morning sunlight streams through the curtains, warm and too bright. I must’ve fallen asleep for only a few hours.

I throw on my uniform and splash water on my face. In the mirror, I look pale, eyes slightly swollen. Not surprising.

I run downstairs, grab toast, and head out the door—

Then freeze.

Lyon is still there.

Not leaning on the tree anymore.

Not hiding.

Not pretending.

He’s standing right in front of my gate.

Deep gray hoodie. Dark eyes. Unreadable expression.

But when he looks at me… something softens. Just a little.

Barely noticeable.

But it’s there.

“Good morning,” he says, voice low.

My heart betrays me. It leaps.

“O-Oh. Morning.”

I walk past him, and he follows without needing to be asked, as if his place is automatically beside me. The silence between us is thick, but not uncomfortable. Not after last night.

He stops at the bike and hands me the helmet.

“Did you sleep?” he asks.

“Barely. You?”

“No.”

He says it so casually, like sleep is optional. Like staying outside my house all night is normal.

“Why were you there, Lyon?” I ask quietly.

He meets my eyes, and for a second I see something fierce and vulnerable at once—a storm behind a controlled exterior.

“Because you were afraid,” he says. “I could feel it.”

My chest tightens.

“But I’m okay now,” I whisper.

“I know. But I still stayed.”

“Why?”

His jaw flexes. He hesitates.

Then, in a voice almost too soft for him:

“Because you’re mine to protect.”

I swear the world stops.

It shouldn’t sound romantic.

It shouldn’t make my heart flip the way it does.

It should terrify me.

But instead… warmth spreads through my chest, confusing and unwelcome but impossible to ignore.

I take a small step back. “Lyon… I don’t want you to stay up all night just because of me.”

“I don’t care.”

“You should care.”

He doesn’t blink. “I only care about what concerns you.”

I look away, flustered.

This is too much.

Too intense.

Too Lyon.

He gets on the motorcycle and waits.

When I finally climb on, I instinctively keep my hands on my lap—still shy from yesterday.

He sighs softly and reaches back, taking my wrists gently and placing my arms around his waist.

“Hold on,” he says, voice low, soft, almost tender. “I don’t want you slipping.”

I swallow hard.

His warmth sinks into me, chasing away the cold of last night.

And the moment he speeds down the road, I forget how to breathe.

---

School feels different today.

People stare. Whisper. Judge.

Some in envy. Some in disgust. Some in confusion.

But Lyon walks through it all like none of it matters—shoulders squared, eyes sharp, his presence cutting through the hallway like a blade. Every girl who tries to approach him gets ignored. Every guy who tries to glare at him ends up stepping aside.

And me? I walk next to him, pretending my heart isn’t a mess.

Before we split off to our classes, he stops and looks at me.

“If anything happens,” he murmurs, “you call me.”

“How? I don’t even have your number.”

“I put it in your phone last night.”

I blink. “You… what? When?”

He tilts his head slightly. “You were half-asleep. You didn’t notice.”

My eyebrows shoot up. “Lyon!”

“What? I knocked. You opened the door.”

God. I don’t remember any of that.

Before I can argue, he leans closer—just enough for his breath to brush my cheek.

“And Theressa,” he adds, his voice dropping to a tone that makes my heartbeat stutter,

“I’m not letting last night happen again. To you. Ever.”

My throat dries.

My pulse races.

And something in my chest—something I don’t want to name—unfolds quietly like blooming petals.

I step back before I drown in it.

“I’ll… be in class,” I whisper.

He nods once, eyes locked on mine like he can hear every thought I’m trying to hide.

As I walk away, every step feels heavier—because deep down, I know this is no longer simple.

Last night changed everything.

And I’m terrified of what comes next,

not because Lyon is dangerous…

…but because being near him makes me feel alive in ways I’m not ready to face.