Chapter 7

Lyon's POV

---

Zeo hasn’t shut up since dawn.

The moment the sun started bleeding through the blinds of my bedroom, he’s been pacing in the back of my mind like a wolf overdosed on caffeine.

“Say something nice to her today.”

“Don’t be weirdly silent.”

“Humans like reassurance.”

“Theressa almost died last night, you idiot—act like someone who cares.”

I rub my temples.

“I do care,” I mutter under my breath while buttoning my shirt. “That’s why I stood outside her house all night.”

“Exactly. And instead of telling her that, you said ‘You’re mine to protect’ like some medieval caveman.”

“I meant it.”

“Yeah, but humans aren’t accustomed to vows of eternal protection before breakfast.”

I ignore him and grab my jacket.

Even after everything, after last night, after watching her panic and tremble while Ryan cornered her—

even after the rage that nearly tore through me when I saw his hands on her—

I still have to be careful.

Theressa’s not a wolf.

She’s fragile in ways my instincts don’t fully understand.

And yet she walked to my bike this morning with her heartbeat steady and her eyes focused—still shaken, still fragile, but willing to stand next to me.

I don’t deserve that kind of trust.

Not yet.

---

School is loud, chaotic, grating.

Humans think they’re subtle when they talk about someone.

They’re not.

I hear everything.

“Did you see them arrive together?”

“He’s so possessive.”

“What’s with that vibe? Poor Theressa.”

“Or maybe she likes it…”

Zeo growls in my head.

“Ignore them. They’re useless.”

I already planned to.

But the comments directed at her—the way girls glare, the way boys whisper—

I won’t pretend it doesn’t bother me.

If she were wolf, none of them would dare.

But humans… humans rely on words.

They poke.

They gossip.

They destroy reputations with their mouths.

I keep myself silent as I walk beside her, but I’m listening to every voice in the hallway.

Theressa holds her books tighter. She tries to pretend she doesn’t notice everyone staring. But I can feel her heartbeat—it’s calm, controlled, trying so hard to be normal.

For a moment, I admire her strength.

Last night would’ve broken most people.

But she’s here.

Walking beside me.

Trying to act like she’s not scared.

Strength doesn’t always look like claws and fangs.

Sometimes it looks like a nervous girl clutching her books and still choosing to keep walking.

---

“Did you sleep?” she asks once we reach the hallway outside her classroom.

“No.”

Her brows knit. “Lyon—”

“I wasn’t tired.”

She stares at me, obviously not believing that. I look away, pretending to check the time on my phone so I won’t focus on the worry in her eyes.

Worry about me.

That’s new.

That’s dangerous.

Before my instincts can twist that into something more intense, the bell rings. Crowds push around us, and I watch her tuck her hair behind her ear before stepping toward the classroom door.

Then she hesitates.

Her fingers lightly brush my arm—accidental, maybe, but enough to send a sharp electric awareness through my body.

“See you later,” she says.

I swallow.

“Theressa.”

She turns.

I almost say don’t sit near the window, or text me if you feel uncomfortable, or I’ll kill anyone who looks at you wrong.

But Zeo nudges me sharply.

“Humans. Soft words. You’re gonna scare her.”

So instead, I manage, “If you need anything… call me.”

A small smile warms her face—tiny but soft enough that it hits harder than any punch I’ve ever taken.

Then she disappears into the classroom.

I breathe out slowly, fists relaxing.

Zeo hums. “You’re done for.”

“I know.”

---

My first class is math, and as usual, I don’t pay attention. Humans exaggerate how difficult math is. It’s not. It’s boring. And the classroom is too loud—breathing, pencils tapping, whispers, heartbeats.

But today is different.

Today every few minutes, my senses flick toward Theressa’s class across the hall.

I don’t mean to.

My body just does it.

I sense her heartbeat first—steady, soft, but slightly quickened in moments when someone walks by her desk or speaks too loudly.

Then her scent drifts faintly through the hallway when someone opens her classroom door. It’s warm, subtle, almost floral but not quite. Something unique, something I’ve never scented on anyone else.

Every time it reaches me, my wolf goes still.

Mate.

Like her presence alone calms him.

Like the world makes more sense when she’s near.

I grip my pencil until it snaps.

Zeo sighs. “Smooth.”

---

When the bell rings, I rise quickly. I try not to make it obvious that I’m heading toward her classroom first, but I’m not fooling anyone—least of all myself.

Students flood out, chatting, laughing, complaining.

Then she steps out.

And everything else goes quiet.

Not literally. The noise is still there.

But my focus narrows to her like the world is blurred at the edges.

She spots me leaning against the wall, and for a second her expression softens—

relief washing over her features before she quickly hides it.

Something warm tightens in my chest.

“Waiting?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Because I don’t like not seeing you.

Because last night scared me more than I want to admit.

Because you’re my mate, and instinct alone wants to shadow you everywhere.

“I wanted to walk with you,” I say simply.

Her cheeks warm slightly. “O-Oh.”

We walk down the hallway, and even though she tries to hide it, I feel the change in her heartbeat—

not fear, not panic…

but a nervous warmth.

Zeo snickers. “She likes you. Don’t mess this up.”

I ignore him again.

---

Near the library, her friends catch up to her. Loud, excited, nosy. Human energy is exhausting.

“Oh my God, Theressa! We saw you get off Lyon’s bike—”

“Are you two—”

“Did something happen—”

Theressa panics.

“I’ll see you later!” she blurts before her friends can bombard her further.

But one of the girls—Delilah, I think—waves at me. “Bye, Lyon!”

I nod curtly.

When they’re gone, Theressa exhales dramatically. “That was… something.”

“You want me to scare them?”

“Lyon!”

“What? You looked uncomfortable.”

“They’re just excited,” she mutters.

But her shoulders relax when they’re no longer around.

We stop in front of her next classroom. She turns, fiddling with the strap of her bag.

“You don’t have to walk me everywhere,” she whispers. “People are already talking.”

“I don’t care.”

“But I do.”

I finally look her straight in the eyes.

“Then tell me to stop,” I say. “If you want distance, I’ll take it.”

Her breath catches.

Her heartbeat stutters.

She opens her mouth, closes it, opens it again.

Then, barely audible:

“I… don’t want distance. I just… don’t know how to handle all of this.”

Something inside me softens completely.

Zeo practically melts. “She doesn’t want distance, Lyon. Don’t screw this up.”

My voice comes out lower than I intend.

“Then we take it slow. Your pace, not mine.”

Her eyes flick up to mine—surprised, relieved, almost grateful.

Before either of us can say anything more, the bell rings. She hurries inside, but not before glancing back once.

Just once.

Just enough to anchor something inside me.

---

When lunch finally comes, I sit outside by the old oak tree near the courtyard. It’s quiet enough, and I can scent her steps approaching before she even speaks.

“Can I sit?” she asks softly.

“You don’t have to ask.”

She settles beside me, pulling her knees up slightly, trying to hide the fatigue in her eyes. She doesn’t talk about last night—not right away, not even within the next few minutes.

But she doesn’t have to.

I feel it.

The weight.

The lingering fear.

The way her fingers tremble slightly when she opens her water bottle.

She’s strong, but she’s hurting.

And I hate that I can’t tear Ryan apart for what he did.

“Patience,” Zeo warns. “Protect her, don’t smother her.”

I take a slow breath.

“You’re safe,” I say quietly.

Her eyes flick toward me.

“Even if you don’t see me, I’m near. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

She looks away quickly, cheeks warming.

“Thank you… for last night,” she whispers.

There’s a softness in her voice I’ve never heard before.

A trust she doesn’t even realize she’s giving me.

For a moment, neither of us speak.

But the bond—quiet, subtle, forming piece by piece—fills the silence between us.

Just sitting next to her feels right.

Dangerously right.

When the lunch bell rings, she stands up, brushing crumbs off her skirt.

“I’ll… see you after school?”

“Yes,” I say instantly.

Her smile is small—but real.

And when she walks away, my wolf stretches contentedly inside my mind.

“Told you,” Zeo murmurs. “She’s yours.”

I clench my fists lightly.

“She’s not mine,” I whisper. “Not yet.”

But gods help me,

I want her to be.