Chapter 8

Jerry’s POV

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“Hey, Levin junior,” a cocky senior with slick hair said, blocking my path in the hall, his smirk sharp. “Think you’re special? Anyone think this guy’s special?” he called out, arms spread.

I froze, the Crescent High hallway buzzing around me—lockers slamming, voices humming like bees, the air thick with waxed floors and cheap perfume. Kids stared, their whispers loud. “That’s him,” “Levin’s son,” “No way.” My skin burned under their eyes, but I didn’t shrink. Part of me stood taller, proud to carry Dad’s name, even if it felt heavy.

My wolf stirred, heat rushing through me, claws itching under my skin. I clenched my fists, knowing I couldn’t let it out—not here, not now. It’d be a mess.

Sasha appeared beside me, arms crossed, eyes sharp. “Back off, Darren. He doesn’t even know your name, and you’re acting like his biggest fan.”

Laughter broke out, kids snickering. Darren glared but stepped aside. My wolf calmed, sinking back into my mind. My chest loosened, and I wanted to thank her, but the words stuck. Instead, we talked like nothing happened, walking to the garage where a driver waited.

“Thanks for that,” I finally said, my voice low.

She grinned, shrugging. “No big deal. Darren’s all talk.”

I waved goodbye, collapsing into the back seat. That was close. Sasha saved me from myself today, and she didn’t even know it. My heart felt lighter, but the weight of the day lingered.

At home, the house felt heavy, like a storm was brewing. Mom was in the kitchen, banging pots louder than needed, the smell of stew filling the air. Her hair was tied up messy, sleeves rolled, her face set in a frown like the pot had wronged her. I stood by the door, wanting to say something, but her anger stopped me.

“Hey, Mom,” I whispered, barely loud enough.

She didn’t answer, just kept stirring, her spoon scraping hard. Maybe she didn’t hear me. Maybe she didn’t want to.

Later, I heard voices downstairs, low and easy. Dad’s office door was cracked open. I crept closer, my wolf ears picking up every word.

“Gates are quiet. Patrols doubled,” Brad said, his voice steady. He was Dad’s right-hand man, the closest thing to a friend Dad had.

“Good,” Dad said, smooth and calm, like always.

Brad’s tone dropped. “How’d you get Jerry to school after last night? And Debby—she agreed?”

“All he needed was a push,” Dad said. “He’s my son.”

“You mean taking his pain?” Brad asked.

“Yeah,” Dad said, his voice strong. “He’s my son.”

Brad chuckled. “What’s that smile? Planning something crazy?”

“Nah, just a thought,” Dad said, his tone lighter. “Bet he’s listening right now.”

They laughed, and my stomach fluttered. So Dad did that—took my pain. For me. I smiled, a warm feeling mixing with guilt. He believed in me, even after the forest, the blood, those crimson eyes.

Brad’s voice softened. “You hide it well, Levin, but I see it.”

I peeked, seeing Dad’s profile, still as stone, but his hand shook slightly as he set his glass down. He straightened fast, hiding it. “Brad, let it go.”

“You’ll burn out one day,” Brad said.

Dad didn’t answer, his silence loud, heavy.

Dinner was tense. Mom slammed plates down, her lips tight, not looking at Dad. He chewed slow, like he didn’t want the food but was eating to keep her calm. The stew’s warmth didn’t help the cold air between them.

“Debby, you okay? You’ve been off all day,” Dad said, trying to ease things.

Mom didn’t look up, scraping her spoon through her food. Silence.

“Debby,” he said, firmer.

She raised her head, eyes sharp. “Here? In front of Jerry? You’re joking, right?”

Dad stood. “My room,” he said, nodding for her to follow.

They came back, but nothing changed. Dad stared at the TV, not watching, his fork still. Mom sat like a storm ready to break. I was the rope in their fight, chewing quietly, wishing I could tell them about school—Sasha, Darren, the stares. But the air was too heavy.

Brad tried a joke, but it fell flat, like water in a cracked bucket. Dad gave a tight smile. Mom didn’t react, her anger simmering.

I was glad when dinner ended. In my room, sleep wouldn’t come. I stared at the ceiling, Sasha’s smile mixing with Darren’s sneer and that wolf’s red eyes. The more I tried to push Sasha out, the clearer she got—her laugh, her sharp words, the way she didn’t care about the stares. She was different, like she saw me, not just Levin’s son.

I opened my window, letting the night air cool my face. Boots scuffed outside—patrols—then faded. I thought of Dad’s shaky hand, his belief in me. Pride hit me, but so did guilt. What was I becoming? Those whispers—They’re watching—and the forest’s blood haunted me. I couldn’t shake the wolf’s voice, Vasilias, or the way my claws felt tearing through those shadows.

“I’ll get this under control,” I whispered, a promise to myself. I had to, for Mom, for Dad, for me.

Classes today had dragged, teachers asking easy questions, like they were scared to push me. Kids kept staring, some asking, “You really Levin’s son?” I shrugged it off, but it stung. Being Dad’s shadow was heavy, but part of me liked it, like his strength could be mine. Sasha changed that—she saw me. Her standing up to Darren replayed in my head, her words sharp but calm, like she knew exactly what to say. My wolf stayed quiet around her, and that felt good, like I could breathe.

I rolled over, groaning into my pillow. Why couldn’t I stop thinking about her? Her smile, her voice—it was like a light in the mess of my head. But the wolf, the blood, the whispers—they were there too, pulling me back to the dark. I didn’t know who I was anymore—Jerry, Levin’s son, or something else. Crescent High was supposed to be a new start, but it felt like another cage, with eyes watching me, waiting for me to slip.

Sleep finally came, heavy and restless, Sasha’s smile the last thing I saw.