Chapter 10

The morning sun cast golden rays through the curtains of Lillian's dorm room, stirring her awake. She stretched lazily, her muscles still sore from yesterday's intense combat training. The scent of freshly brewed coffee drifted in from the shared kitchen, making her stomach growl.

Rolling out of bed, she grabbed her phone and saw a message from Beatrice: "Meet me at the café in 20. Big news!"

Lillian frowned. Beatrice wasn’t usually this cryptic.

After a quick shower, she threw on a casual outfit—jeans and a loose sweater—and headed out. The campus was alive with students rushing to classes, their laughter filling the crisp autumn air.

When she arrived at Moonlight Brew, Gabrielle greeted her with a warm smile. "The usual?"

"Please," Lillian nodded, scanning the café for Beatrice.

Her best friend sat in their usual corner booth, bouncing with excitement. "You won’t believe what happened!"

Lillian slid into the seat across from her. "Spill."

Beatrice leaned in, lowering her voice. "I saw Donovan last night—with Evelyn."

Lillian’s grip tightened around her coffee cup. She had moved on, or so she told herself, but the mention of her ex-fated mate still stung. "And?"

"They were arguing. Loudly." Beatrice smirked. "Something about him still being hung up on you."

Lillian scoffed. "Doubtful."

But Beatrice wasn’t done. "Then guess who showed up? Sebastian Blackwood."

Lillian nearly choked on her coffee. "What?"

"Yeah. He just… stood there, watching them like some brooding shadow. Then he walked away without a word."

Lillian’s pulse quickened. Why would Sebastian care about Donovan’s drama? Unless…

Her thoughts were interrupted by a sharp voice. "Well, if it isn’t the reject and her sidekick."

Cassandra stood by their table, arms crossed, her usual sneer in place.

Beatrice rolled her eyes. "Get lost, Cass."

Cassandra ignored her, focusing on Lillian. "Heard you’ve been cozying up to the Lycan Chairman. Pathetic, really. First Donovan, now him? You really can’t stand being alone, can you?"

Lillian’s fingers twitched, her wolf itching to put the girl in her place. But before she could respond, a deep voice cut through the tension.

"Problem here?"

Sebastian stood behind Cassandra, his presence commanding immediate silence. His icy gaze flicked to her, and she paled.

"N-no, Alpha Blackwood," she stammered, backing away.

Sebastian watched her leave before turning to Lillian. "We need to talk."

Beatrice raised a brow but wisely kept quiet.

Lillian exhaled. "About?"

"Not here." His tone left no room for argument.

She hesitated, then nodded. "Fine."

As she followed him out, Beatrice mouthed, "Tell me everything later!"

Outside, Sebastian led her to a secluded spot near the campus gardens. The scent of blooming roses mixed with his rich, woodsy aroma, making her head spin.

"What’s going on?" she asked.

He turned to face her, his expression unreadable. "Donovan’s been asking questions about you."

Lillian stiffened. "So?"

"So," he stepped closer, his voice dropping to a growl, "he’s planning something. And I won’t let him near you again."

Her breath hitched. The intensity in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine.

Before she could respond, his phone buzzed. He glanced at it, his jaw tightening. "We’ll continue this later."

And just like that, he was gone, leaving Lillian standing there, heart racing.

What the hell had just happened?

And why did the thought of Sebastian protecting her make her stomach flutter?

"Are you frightened of me?" I inquired, tilting my head as I studied the boy before me. My gaze sharpened. "Or perhaps you lack the courage to demand what you truly want?"

Oliver appeared utterly taken aback by my bluntness. Unlike his previous tutors—who likely coddled him—I had no intention of softening my words. His cheeks flushed crimson as he dropped his gaze to the ground, while Theodore merely smirked in amusement.

"I'm Oliver," the boy declared, lifting his chin. "And you are?"

I crouched down to meet his eye level, offering a small smile. "You may address me as Lillian."

His posture stiffened, shoulders squaring as if preparing for battle.

"You're decent with a bow," he admitted, though his tone turned challenging. "But that doesn’t mean you’re skilled at everything." His piercing stare sent an unexpected pang through my chest. "All my tutors have been useless. You don’t look particularly strong or clever. I need someone who’s actually capable." He planted his hands on his hips, defiance radiating from his small frame.

"Quite the bold words for a seven-year-old," I remarked, impressed despite myself. "And how, precisely, do you expect me to prove myself, Master Oliver?"

A sly grin curled his lips before he marched toward a wooden bucket I hadn’t noticed earlier. My brows furrowed as I glimpsed its contents—daggers, glinting ominously in the sunlight. Nearby, training dummies stood at attention, clearly meant for target practice.

Then, without warning, Oliver snatched up two blades, gripping them with unsettling precision.

My eyes flicked to Theodore, whose face had drained of color. He tensed, ready to intervene—but it was already too late.

A dagger hurtled toward me with startling speed.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t impressed. The boy had strength and accuracy beyond his years.

Thankfully, my reflexes were sharper.

In one fluid motion, I twisted midair, narrowly avoiding the first blade—only for another to whistle past my ear. I landed on my palms, arching backward just as a third dagger grazed the space where my head had been.

Oliver didn’t relent. A fourth blade spun toward me, but this throw was sloppy—his focus wavering. Seizing the opening, I pivoted and delivered a swift kick to the dagger’s hilt, sending it ricocheting back toward him.

Horror spiked through me.

"Oliver—!"

He dropped to the ground just in time, the blade embedding itself in the dirt mere inches away.

I exhaled sharply, relief flooding my veins.

"How did you do that?" Oliver demanded, scrambling to his feet and dusting off his trousers.

Brushing dirt from my sleeves, I shrugged. "Years of training," I replied simply. "If I’m to be a Gamma warrior, I can’t afford to be careless."

His eyes gleamed with something akin to respect—and perhaps the barest hint of admiration.

Theodore, however, looked ready to faint.

"Always be prepared for every attack." When Oliver stared at me, dumbfounded, I arched a brow at him.

"You didn't know I was training to be a warrior?" I asked, tilting my head. "Do you usually throw daggers at people who haven’t trained?" His cheeks flushed pink again, and that was answer enough. I glanced at Theodore, who looked thoroughly chastised, his gaze fixed firmly on the ground, shame written all over his face.

Everything was starting to make sense now. Oliver truly was a little menace.

A deep, booming bark yanked me from my thoughts. I turned just in time to see a massive black wolfhound barreling toward us, tongue lolling, its thick tail wagging furiously as it bounded straight for Oliver.

Oliver grinned, wrapping his arms around the beast’s thick neck—though the dog was nearly as big as he was. "Shadow, what are you doing out here, boy? I thought you were inside," he cooed as the dog enthusiastically licked his face, making him laugh.

Smiling, I crouched down to meet the dog at eye level. He hadn’t noticed me yet, but the moment I moved, his head snapped toward me, golden eyes narrowing into slits.

"Shadow doesn’t take to strangers," Theodore warned, his voice tight with unease. "He bit the last tutor. She had to get stitches at the pack clinic."

I raised a brow. "Her wolf didn’t heal her?"

"She was an Omega. No wolf," Theodore explained.

I hummed thoughtfully, turning my attention back to Oliver and Shadow. The dog was now glaring at me, lips curled back to reveal sharp canines, a low growl rumbling in his chest.

But I didn’t flinch. Instead, I held out my hand, palm up, steady. Shadow took a step closer, and I could practically feel Theodore’s tension radiating behind me.

Still, I kept my breathing even, my gaze locked with the dog’s.