Wolves are watching

Rory's POV

The moment we pull up to Crescent Hills, the energy shifts. It’s like walking into a den where every beast is already sniffing the air, waiting, watching, judging.

Outside the black car, students are gathered in clusters, whispering with hungry curiosity. Their eyes gleam with wonder, most with calculation. The Luna’s daughter has arrived. The infamous stepdaughter of Alpha BlackFang.

Me.

Before Jaxon even gets the chance to kill the engine properly, I swing the car door open hard. It slams against its hinges with a satisfying thud.

He winces. “Careful, honey. Spoil that and you’re buying me a million-dollar tinted glass.”

I glare at him as I step out, not bothering to fix my skirt or adjust my bag. Let them see me however the hell they want.

Jaxon’s smile is lazy, smug, the same one he wore when he watched me squirm last night under the weight of this strange new world.

“Come on,” he says, gesturing like I’m some bratty toddler who’s wandered off in a mall.

I ignore him and walk ahead, straight through the crowd of staring eyes and murmuring mouths. The path they make for me is wide enough to feel like mockery.

He follows, of course.

“You don’t even know your way here,” he says casually, his voice annoyingly close behind me. “Just let me show you. Stop acting tough.”

That does it. I stop, turn around slowly, and smirk at him. A purposeful, daring smirk.

He pauses, a single brow rising and then I turn again, brushing past him.

Let him follow me. Let him chase. Let him know I don’t need his damn direction.

The stares grow louder in pressure. Their murmurs slither into my ears like wet vines.

"That's her? Alpha BlackFang’s stepdaughter?"

"The Luna’s girl? Seriously?"

"She's so pretty though… way too hot."

"She's in for deep shits. I almost feel bad for her."

They think I can’t hear. I do. Every word slices, some shallow, some deep but I don’t flinch. If there's anything I've learned from Celeste and her too-sweet poison, it’s how to smile with a knife in your spine.

I keep walking. Jaxon eventually guides me to a door, opening it with the ease of someone who owns everything his eyes touch. A sleek office waits inside, and the woman at the desk stands the moment she sees him.

She bows to him. He just nods in return like he expected it. Because of course he did.

The woman turns to me. “Please, sit. Fill this form, Miss Aurora.”

Her voice is clipped, professional. Like she doesn’t know whether to be scared of me or just pity me.

I take the pen, fill in the stupid boxes:

Aurora Duskwood

17

Transferred from nowhere that matters

When I hand the form back, she smiles. “I’m Ms. Clara. I’m Crescent Hills’ principal. Welcome.”

I nod. Politely hollow. She stands and gestures. “Come. I’ll show you to your class.”

I follow, and the halls stretch endlessly ahead. Each step tiring. Every breath feels like I’m inhaling someone else’s story. Wolves walk these walls, real ones in human skin. I can feel them. Sense the pulse in the air and it doesn’t welcome me.

When she opens the classroom door, the noise cuts off instantly. Dozens of heads swivel toward us.

The glares. The eyes. The judgement.

“Everyone,” Ms. Clara says, voice high and fake-cheerful. “This is Rory, as I’m sure you’ve all heard. She’s transferred here and will be joining you from now on.”

My spine straightens and Sshe turns to me. “Fix yourself somewhere. Anywhere you see.”

And just like that, she leaves me in the pit. The silence is draining. Not a single welcome just the sound of my own breath and the burn of a hundred gazes crawling over my skin.

Jaxon’s words echo in my mind: You'll get in trouble with your sharp tongue.

I scan the room. Most of the middle rows are full. No one dares move. But in the far back, near the window, there’s an empty desk. I walk straight to it, my feet echoing louder than they should. When I sit, the tension thickens. Like I’ve just sat in someone’s sacred seat.

Murmurs start again.“What is she doing?”

“That’s.....she can’t sit there.”

“She’s not serious…”

What? Did I just desecrate some throne?

They’re weird. So weird. Every single one of them watches me like I’ve upset some silent order. I look out of the window instead, feigning calm.

Then the door opens again. Three girls walk in like they’re stepping onto a runway. Stylish, poised, dripping with intentional power.

Blonde. Redhead. Dark-haired. All three. The girl in the center has raven-black waves and eyes like ink. Her presence isn’t just felt, it commands. She doesn’t smile but her gaze cuts through the room.

And when her eyes land on me, something shifts.

Her pupils dilate. Her irises shimmer just enough. Like some part of her wolf stirred at the sight of me.

I don’t see it but I feel it, something hostile. She walks right past everyone else, her heels clicking in tempo, and slides into the desk three rows down from me without breaking eye contact.

The others follow, flanking her like well-trained sidekicks.

A boy behind me leans forward, whispering with hot breath near my ear. “You shouldn’t have sat there.”

I don’t turn. “Why? Is it haunted?”

“It belongs to Briar,” he says.

I glance back slightly. “Who the hell is Briar?”

“Her,” he nods toward the dark-haired girl.

Of course it is. Briar. Even her name sounds like thorns.

She hasn’t looked away. It’s a challenge. A stare that stretches longer than it should but I don’t back off either.

If she thinks I’m going to grovel or move seats, she’s dead wrong.

Let her stare. Let her hate me. At least that’s real.

The teacher walks in and class begins, but I don’t hear a word. I’m too aware of the way Briar keeps glancing back. Too aware of the air thick with tension. My knuckles ache from clenching my pen. I scribble things on my notebook that don’t matter, pretending I belong here. Pretending I’m not counting the minutes till I can leave.

Hours passed until it wss lunchtime, I step outside, looking for air that isn’t filled with stares. I end up behind the science building, sitting on the ledge of a crumbling stone wall, chewing on a granola bar I stole from the kitchen.

“You’re braver than you look.”

The voice startles me. Deep. Smooth. Familiar in a way I wish it wasn’t.

Jaxon.

I don’t look up. “Shouldn’t you be too busy being worshipped to bother with the outcast?”

He chuckles. “You sat in Briar’s seat. That’s a declaration of war around here.”

“Good,” I say, biting into my bar. “I like war.”

He whistles low. “You’re going to get eaten alive in this place.”

I finally look up, eyes narrowing. “Let them try.”

He walks closer, hands in his pockets, that ever-present smirk dancing on his lips. But there’s something darker under it now.

“Do you even know what they’ll do to girls like you here?” he asks softly.

I raise a brow. “Girls like me?”

“Pretty. Defiant. Unclaimed.”

The word makes my skin crawl.

“I’m not a fucking object,” I spit.

His gaze hardens. “No. You’re worse. You’re temptation and temptation gets hunted.”

I stand up, my chest tight. “Why are you even here?”

“Maybe I’m curious,” he says, eyes unreadable. “Or maybe I wanted to see how long you’d last.”

“And?”

His eyes dip down, then back up to mine. “Not long.”

I step closer, jaw set. “You think I scare that easy?”

“I think,” he says slowly, “you don’t know what you’ve walked into. And by the time you figure it out... it might be too late.”

We’re so close now. The space between us crackles with wildness. His smirk fades as his gaze drops to my lips, and for a second, I think he might.

No.

He steps back. Just like that, the cold returns.

“Enjoy lunch, princess,” he says with venom-laced sweetness, and walks away.

I sit back down, my heart pounding, hands shaking with with fury until Bang! Everything splittered behind and suddenly students screams and bows at whatever human was coming behind me.