Chapter 8

THERESSA’S POV

There’s a strange heaviness in the air after lunch— a tension humming under the surface of the school like invisible electricity. Maybe it’s just me. Maybe it’s everything I’ve been trying to pretend I’m fine about.

But as I walk through the hallway, I can feel something sharper, something colder.

Whispers.

Eyes following me.

My name flowing from one mouth to another like a rumor thirsty for fuel.

I try to ignore it, but every step feels heavier, like the tiles are trying to swallow me whole.

Two girls deliberately slow down when they pass me.

“Look at her. She thinks she’s special just because Lyon walks her to class.”

“I bet she forced herself on him.”

“She’s using him. Obviously.”

Their voices are sharp. Intentionally loud. Intentionally cruel.

I grip my books tighter, nails biting into the cover.

They know I can hear them.

That’s the point.

I keep my head down and keep walking.

I shouldn’t care.

I shouldn’t let their words get to me.

I shouldn’t let strangers have the power to bruise me.

But right now, with everything happening—Ryan, Brian, the pack, Lyon—

It hurts more than I expected.

By the time I reach my locker, my shoulders feel like they’ve absorbed an entire day’s worth of weight. I shove my books inside, closing the door more forcefully than necessary.

“Theressa.”

For a second, the sound of my name cracks something in me.

I turn.

Lyon stands a few steps away, leaning against the lockers with one hand in his jacket pocket. His presence fills the narrow hallway instantly. Somehow he always looks like he owns whatever space he’s in without trying.

But this time—

his eyes are sharper than usual.

Colder.

Focused.

He heard them.

Of course he did.

Werewolf hearing doesn’t miss anything, especially if it’s about his mate.

I swallow hard. “Lyon… don’t.”

His jaw flexes. “They shouldn’t talk about you like that.”

“I know, but please don’t start anything.”

“I’m not starting anything,” he says quietly. “I’m finishing it.”

“No. Lyon. Listen to me—” I step closer, lowering my voice. “If you react, it’ll make it worse. They’ll think you’re controlling me. Or… or that I’m using you. Or that there’s something to defend.”

“There is something to defend,” he says, frustration glinting through his voice. “You.”

I should feel comforted.

Instead, I feel exposed.

My chest tightens. “I just want today to be normal.”

His expression flickers—only for a moment—but I see something soften behind his eyes.

He lets out a slow breath and steps aside, giving me space.

“Fine,” he mutters, though I can tell it costs him everything not to react. “But if anyone touches you or says something directly—”

“I’ll tell you,” I whisper.

He studies me for a long moment, then nods once.

The hallway bell rings, but neither of us move at first. People stream around us, but Lyon doesn’t look away from me until the crowd thins.

Only then does he turn and walk down the opposite direction, his shoulders tense, hands clenched, like he’s holding back a storm inside him.

---

My next class passes in a blur.

Every time someone whispers, I flinch.

Every glance feels loaded.

Every snicker feels directed at me.

Maybe I’m paranoid, but after everything lately, my instincts are shot. And worst of all, Lyon is somewhere in this building hearing everything I can’t.

Part of me is terrified he’ll snap.

Another part is terrified… that I want him to.

Because the truth is, when Lyon is near, I feel safe.

Too safe.

Safe enough that it scares me how quickly I’m starting to rely on it.

I’m still wrestling with that when the final bell rings and I slip out into the hallway—

Only to nearly collide with Brian.

My stomach lurches.

He stands in front of me like he belongs there, arms crossed, face unreadable. Not apologetic. Not ashamed.

Just… annoyed.

As if I did something to inconvenience him.

“Theressa,” he says flatly.

I tense. “What do you want?”

“Relax,” he sighs. “I’m not here to fight.”

Right.

Brian never “fights.”

He manipulates.

He glances over my shoulder. “Where’s your shadow? Isn’t your bodyguard usually glued to you?”

I clench my teeth. “Don’t call him that.”

He raises a brow. “So you admit he is?”

I don’t answer.

He smirks, leaning in just slightly. “Look, Theressa. I talked to Claire. She told me you’ve been acting weird ever since—”

“Brian.” My voice cracks with warning. “Move.”

“I’m trying to help you,” he insists. “Everyone’s talking about you. You’re getting a reputation, and—”

“Oh, you mean the reputation you ruined?”

The words slip out sharper than I intended. “Should I be grateful you’re suddenly pretending to care?”

He scowls. “Don’t twist my words. I’m saying—”

But he doesn’t finish.

Because a low growl—quiet but lethal—cuts through the air behind me.

I don’t even have to turn to know who it is.

Lyon.

His presence hits like a storm rolling over the hallway. Conversations die. People instinctively step back.

He walks toward us with slow, deliberate steps, like a predator who already knows the outcome.

Brian stiffens instantly.

Lyon stops beside me—not in front, not behind—right at my side. Close enough that our arms almost touch.

He doesn’t look at me.

He doesn’t look at anyone else.

His eyes are locked onto Brian with a gaze cold enough to freeze bone.

“Walk away,” Lyon says quietly.

It’s not a threat.

It’s a command.

Brian’s jaw tenses. “I wasn’t—”

“Walk. Away.”

Silence falls so heavy it feels suffocating.

For once, Brian doesn’t argue.

He backs up, eyes darting between us, before turning and leaving.

Only when he disappears around the corner does Lyon exhale.

I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.

He turns to me—just slightly—his voice lower now.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,” I whisper. “I just… I didn’t expect him.”

“I did.”

I look up at him. “Lyon, I—”

But someone cuts me off with a giggle so loud it echoes.

“Wow, Theressa. Getting protected by Lyon again?”

A group of girls. The same ones from earlier. They slow down, eyeing me with fake pity and jealousy sharp enough to slice skin.

“She must love the attention,” one whispers loudly.

“Or she knows exactly what she’s doing,” another adds.

Lyon’s jaw tightens.

And for a moment, I’m terrified he’s going to snap.

I quickly touch his arm—just gently, but it’s enough to make him look at me instead of them.

“Don’t,” I whisper. “Please. Let it go.”

His eyes search mine, stormy and conflicted.

After a long moment, he gives a small nod.

The girls walk off, probably disappointed they didn’t cause a scene.

I swallow hard. “Lyon… I can handle this.”

“No,” he says softly. “You shouldn’t have to.”

I don’t know what to say to that.

Because something about his voice—low, steady, rough at the edges—hits me somewhere deep, somewhere I can’t admit out loud.

We start walking toward the exit, side by side, silence stretching between us—not uncomfortable this time, but heavy with words neither of us know how to say.

When we reach his motorcycle, he stops and turns to face me fully.

His voice is barely above a whisper.

“You’re trying to protect everyone from me,” he says. “But you don’t need to protect me from this. Let me protect you.”

My breath catches.

“Lyon—”

“You don’t have to be afraid of needing someone.”

His eyes soften just enough to disarm every defense I have left.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he murmurs. “Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever.”

And for the first time today—

for the first time since Ryan, since the fear, since the whispers—

I feel something quiet settle inside me.

Something warm.

Something dangerous.

Something that feels… like beginning to belong.