How Old Is Leo On Lab Rats Novels & Stories

I was the one who killed heaven, and now the Earth was coming to claim the remains. "Mommy..." Leo’s voice was a tiny, metallic rasp. He was huddled in the corner of the pod, his small peacoat singed and matted with silver soot. He wasn't shivering. He was too still—a terrifying, ancient stillness that made the air in the cramped cabin vibrate with a subsonic hum. He looked at me, and for exactly 1.2 seconds, the gold discs in his eyes reflected a wisdom that no four-year-old should possess.

0 ... just like Leo’s.

Willow We have thirty minutes before the next class, and we usually have to already be in class, making sure that everything is in order. Professors usually have to be in class ten minutes before lessons, but not Leo, unless he has back-to-back classes. He stares at my lips, and his pupils dilate, something primal and hungry in them. Is it his wolf? I wrap my arms around his broad shoulders, and he doesn’t move or even flinch. The lab is a little too quiet, with just the sounds of our heartbeats and heavy breathing.

Leon transformed into a small white wolf again and jumped on my stretcher. I was so amazed by the fact that he could shift into a wolf almost effortlessly every time he wanted. He looked much younger than I was, not more than 15 years old. I could tell that he was a very powerful werewolf for his age. Leon jumped on my stretcher and lay on his stomach next to me. Then, he wrapped his tail around my body tightly. He stuck his head underneath my arm. Then, he rolled around next to me, acting like a spoiled child, looking up at me with a pair of twinkling eyes.

Of course, as an animal, Leo was placed later in the sequence—just in case it became aggressive after evolving and started causing chaos. Now all that remained was to wait for the harvest.

He paused, pulling himself together because she was right. If Elena was with VORTEX… If she was hurt… He would never forgive himself. Pascal moved even closer to Leo, crouching so that he could stare directly into the young wolf’s battered face. “Where would they take her?” Leo swallowed hard, tasting blood and shame. His eyes went from Pascal to Damon. “Their nearest lab,” Leo whispered. “A… research and termination facility just a few miles from here. Hidden underground. They…They experiment on wolves there. They kill them when they're done.”

"Bring in Subject Gamma." A side door opened. A young man walked in, led by another guard. He was maybe nineteen, wiry, with nervous brown eyes. He kept his gaze down. "This is Leo," Thorne said. "A recent turn. His wolf is still close to the surface. Highly reactive." Leo’s eyes darted to me, then away quickly. He shifted his weight, uncomfortable. "Leo's job is simple," Thorne continued. "He will approach you. He will try to use his basic wolf senses to gauge your threat, your status, your pack affiliation. It is a simple, biological handshake."

I look back at the paper and read the rest of the doctor’s notes. I attended Leo’s first shift at eleven years old. He had difficulty shifting, as his wolf was quite large. It took him almost 12 hours to shift completely, and when his shift was complete and his wolf, Demi, came forward, his eyes were different. They were not yellow. Instead, they were a deep shade of blue. When he first attended training to become a warrior at thirteen, his wolf was unusually aggressive. Leo often had trouble controlling Demi, and he attacked his brother viciously, almost killing him. Nevertheless, he showed a strength rarely seen outside of an Alpha pup throughout his pack training.

I was scared to death for Rey, what if he hurts him or worst killed? I was so close to passing out when the unthinkable happened. Leo was head slapped, pinched, and told off like a kid. Her question about his age almost made me laugh. True, he looked young and boyish, like he was in his mid-twenties but he was old, centuries old.

“And how old are you, Leo?” “Three,” Leo said instantly. I didn’t flinch. I didn’t even blink. I had known Silas would go straight for the timeline—it was the only math that mattered to a man who suspected he’d been robbed. But I wasn’t scared. I had spent months drilling that number into Leo’s head until it was an instinct. To a child, age is a fixed point, a badge they wear until they are told otherwise. He would say “three” with the same conviction whether he was four or five, simply because it was the answer we had practiced.