I walked back to the dorm like a ghost, each step heavier than the last. My hands were still stained with blood. My clothes, my shoes, everything felt tainted. I tried to wipe it off, but it was like that girl's blood had soaked into my soul. Her lifeless eyes kept flashing behind mine every time I blinked.
The door creaked open, and my friends were there in the common room, chatting quietly. The second Elise saw me, she jumped up.
"Lorraine! Why did the cleaning duty take so long, we were starting to get worried!"
I wanted to speak, to tell them everything, but my throat locked up. My voice just wasn't there.
She had cooked. A warm, comforting smell drifted through the air, something with spices and maybe rosemary. I barely registered it. The sight of the food only made my stomach twist.
Callum, ever gentle, tilted his head and looked at me with concern. "Maybe she's just exhausted from cleaning," he offered, placing a light hand on my shoulder.
"Or maybe she heard about it" Felix muttered from the corner. "Thanks to someone leaving the kitchen messy, Silas docked us ten dorm points. Its barely been a week since we came and we've lost ten dorm points. I swear, we're gonna get locked out in the rain at this rate."
I couldn't bring myself to argue, or even respond. I just gave them all a weak nod and left them in the common room, their voices fading into static behind me.
I stepped into the bedroom and shut the door. My legs gave out the moment I reached my bed. I collapsed face-first onto the sheets, still fully clothed, my fist clenched tightly around the blood-stained fabric. I couldn't let go of it. Even in sleep, my hand stayed closed around it, like it was the only thing tethering me to reality.
I don't even remember falling asleep.
All I know is I was suddenly ripped from whatever dreamless pit I had sunk into by the sharp, blaring morning siren. It screamed through the dorm like a drill through bone, shaking me awake. I blinked against the faint morning light spilling through the dusty window.
I was still wearing yesterday's clothes.
And that piece of cloth… it was still in my hand.
I sat up slowly. My bones ached. My mind screamed. But I moved through the motions like I had always done, like I was still trying to survive.
I took a long shower, hoping to wash away the sticky filth that clung to my skin and thoughts. The water was cold. It didn't help.
I got dressed for class. My limbs were slow, heavy, but focused. Elise walked in with a bowl. "We made oatmeal. With honey. Thought it might help."
Callum and Felix stood by the door, their eyes all on me. I tried to smile. I tried to reach for the bowl. I even took a spoonful and forced it past my lips.
But I couldn't do it. It was like trying to swallow gravel.
"I'm sorry," I mumbled, pushing the bowl back to Elise. "I just… I can't."
She gave me a small nod, her eyes worried but understanding.
I needed to get out of there. I needed to breathe.
No… I needed to see him.
I needed to find Kieran.
The morning air bit at my cheeks as I left the dorm, the cold wind carrying the scent of pine and damp stone. But it wasn't the weather that sent chills down my spine, it was what I carried in my pocket. The torn fabric. A lifeline. A clue to finding whomever committed such a gruesome murder. And the weight of a dead feral girl hung heavy on my shoulders as I moved through the crowd like a shadow.
My steps quickened as I passed through corridors and peered into classrooms, searching, scanning.
He wasn't in his usual seat in Advanced Combat Theory.
He wasn't at the Lycan-exclusive strategy session.
I kept moving, my eyes sharp, my chest tight.
And then—I saw him.
In the courtyard behind the east wing, under the arching limbs of an ancient oak tree. He was seated on a stone bench, legs crossed, a book open in his lap. The wind combed through his midnight hair like invisible fingers, and the morning light danced across his sharp, god-like features.
Kieran Valerius Hunter.
Surrounded by Lycans.
They watched him like he was their sun and they were caught in his orbit. Silent. Obedient. Deadly.
But I didn't care.
I stepped forward.
And instantly, they moved. Like wolves reacting to a threat.
Strong hands grabbed me by the arms. Sharp claws dug into my skin. The air was ripped from my lungs as I was yanked to a halt.
"No one is allowed this close to the Lycan Prince," one growled, his yellow eyes glowing, voice sharp with contempt. "Especially not a lowly feral."
Kieran didn't look up at first. He remained engrossed in his book, a serene expression on his face like this didn't concern him.
But then…
His eyes lifted.
And they found me.
"Lorraine Anderson," he said, his voice like dark silk. "You're still alive."
"I need to speak to you. Privately," I said, my voice shaking, not from fear, but from restraint.
He watched me fo or a long, drawn-out moment.
Then he scoffed. A low sound that almost sounded like a chuckle.
"This is what marvels me about you, Lorraine," he said, shutting the book with a soft thud. "You're stupidly bold. You speak to everyone like they're your equal, when in fact, you are the lowliest of the low. Trash with a tongue."
"It's important," I insisted, planting my feet.
The Lycans around him growled, their presence towering and oppressive. One of them, the largest, tightened his grip on my arm. His claws lengthened, gleaming silver under the sun.
"It seems this feral has too much guts and doesn't know how to speak to royalty," he snarled. "Allow me, my prince, to teach her a lesson by ripping out her tongue so she never speaks again."
He raised his other hand, claws poised for my face.
But then, Kieran moved.
"Stop."
His voice wasn't loud.
It didn't need to be.
It was laced with something dark and final. Authority, yes, but something else lurked beneath it. Concern? Rage? Possessiveness?
The Lycans froze.
"Leave," he ordered, his gaze never leaving mine.
They hesitated. The large one holding me seemed to want to protest, but he met Kieran's eyes and backed off, slowly retracting his claws. One by one, they dispersed, their glares lingering like poison in the air before fading into the background.
And just like that, it was just me and him.
Kieran turned his head, looking at me from his seat, the picture of calm power.
"Whatever you have to say," he murmured, "had better be important, Lorraine Anderson."
His eyes darkened.
"Because if it's not…"
He stood slowly, his towering frame casting a shadow over me as he stepped closer.
"I'll rip out your tongue myself."