Silvia's POV
Sweat trickled down my brow as I struggled to tame my racing heart. A pounding headache throbbed at my temples, remnants of the nightmarish vision that had haunted me.
This time, it was different. It wasn't just a dream; it felt hauntingly real. I could still feel the cold steel of the knife piercing my skin, again and again, with an agony that echoed in my bones.
I should have attributed this to the trauma of being attacked by the woman Drake had sent to kill me for a 'stone.' But this nightmare unfolded in an entirely different setting, one that sent chills down my spine.
I swung my legs over the edge of the unfamiliar bed, struggling to remember how I ended up here. Panic threatened to rise within me, but exhaustion weighed me down. I needed a shower first. Freaking out could wait.
Spotting a door that seemed to lead to a bathroom, I stepped inside, my mind focused solely on the comfort of warm water. The shower was larger than my entire apartment—a mini oasis—and I hurriedly took care of my business: brushing my teeth, showering, and using the toilet, though not in that order.
Emerging from the bathroom, I wrapped a towel around myself and used another to dry my hair. I moved to a door on the opposite side of the room, half-hoping it led to a closet and not something more sinister. I was not in the mood for surprises.
"You're up," came a voice from the shadows, sending a jolt of fear through me.
I whipped around to see him standing there—Xavier. His voice was a chilling melody, one that had haunted my dreams and twisted my memories. It was a voice I both craved and dreaded, smooth and velvety, capable of lulling me into a false sense of security.
"Why are you wandering around after everything that happened? Aren't you feeling weak? You were out for a while."
His tone was almost devoid of emotion, monotone as if he were discussing the weather. But I could sense the undercurrent of concern, hidden beneath the surface. He worried about me, though I felt he had no right to. Not after everything that had transpired. Yet, the thought of his worry sent a warmth through me—though perhaps it was just the lingering effects of a nightmare.
"Don't you ever knock? A good night's sleep shouldn't make me weak," I retorted, rummaging through the room for something to wear. I finally settled on an oversized shirt that reached my thighs and a pair of small boxers.
As I emerged from the bathroom, Xavier was still staring at me, lost in thought. "Well?" I snapped, breaking the silence that felt suffocating.
Finally, his gaze snapped back to me, darkening as it roamed my body. His eyes burned into mine, igniting a heat within me that sent my heart racing. He looked at me as if he could see every hidden secret, every scar.
"You keep running, as if someone is holding you back," he whispered, and a wave of memories crashed over me—hurt, betrayal, and the tears I had shed. I had run away when I should have confronted him, but I was young and overwhelmed. I had to leave. I didn't voice these thoughts, choosing instead to ignore his words, though they echoed loudly in my mind.
"What made you like this?" he asked, stepping back as if I were contagious. "Do you know anything about your parents?"
My stomach dropped at the mention of them. "My parents? Why are you asking about them? You know I grew up in an orphanage."
The memory of the note with my name—left at the door of that cold, cruel place—flashed in my mind. I had never opened it. I had refused to dwell on it for years, but now the past loomed over me like a dark shadow.
"You turned into a wolf five days ago, and you still don't smell like one," he said, his expression oddly serious.
I gasped, the memories flooding back with alarming clarity. I stumbled, and Xavier caught me, guiding me to a nearby chair.
"I would have said it was impossible if I hadn't felt my bones break that day," I managed, a small laugh escaping me despite the chaos of my thoughts.
"What about your back?" I asked, suddenly worried. He looked fine, but who knew what he was hiding?
"I pushed you when I shifted," he replied nonchalantly.
"Don't worry about it," he added, waving off my concern.
"Are you a wolf too?" I asked, even though I already suspected the answer. Memories of him claiming the title flashed before me, and I had dismissed it as a joke.
We were back at our hideout, even though the matron would have my head if she knew I had ditched my night duties yet again. New scars adorned my body, a testament to my adventures. My cheeks burned at the memory of yesterday's events, and I was grateful for my dark skin, which masked the heat creeping up my face.
"I'm a wolf—technically a lycan," he said, a hint of pride in his voice. "But I'm still getting the hang of it. I could show you."
"Really?" I asked, incredulous. "That sounds a bit childish."
"I'm serious! I know it's hard to believe for you humans, but it's true," he insisted, his eyes intense and unwavering.
"Okay… prove it," I challenged, a smile playing on my lips to lighten the mood.
"What?" he replied, confusion etched on his face.
"Prove it if you want me to believe you," I pressed, eager for a show.
"Alright. Just don't freak out," he warned as he began to strip off his shirt and trousers. My cheeks flared again, heat flooding my body. He may not have been a Hollywood star, but he was undeniably fit for a sixteen-year-old.
"W-what are you doing?" I stammered, a mix of shock and embarrassment washing over me.
"To keep my clothes from ripping," he said casually, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. "Here I go."
He grunted and howled, but nothing happened. I couldn't help but laugh at the sight of him squatting and making ridiculous noises. It was comical, and I felt a warmth in my chest as I watched him.
"I must be too exhausted to shift," he admitted, embarrassment creeping onto his face.
I couldn't contain my laughter. "Stop it!" he said, turning crimson as he became annoyed, which only made it funnier.
He snatched up his clothes and started to walk away. "I'm sorry!" I called after him, wiping tears of mirth from my eyes. "You can't blame me; that was hilarious!"
"I'm a wolf, and you should forget this ever happened," he said, his pride wounded.
"Sorry! You'll be a wolf someday," I shouted, chasing after him.
"You're not helping," he shot back, but I could see a hint of a smile breaking through his annoyance.
"You can't deny that was funny. Your howl was priceless," I teased, planting a playful kiss on his cheek.
"I'm glad I could entertain you with my pain," he replied, feigning indignation.
"And besides, you're my favorite person in the world. If you're a wolf, you'll be my favorite wolf. I won't even love a dog!"
I pressed a soft kiss to his lips, and he blinked at me, astonished.
"I don't even know if that's comforting or an insult," he said, a mix of amusement and confusion swirling in his gaze.
"Take it as both," I grinned.
"Yeah?" He lifted me effortlessly onto his back, and I clung to him.
"Let's see if it's still an insult then. Hang tight!" he shouted, and he took off running, laughter and screams filling the air.
It felt beautiful, this moment of freedom and joy.
"You already know the answer to that," he replied, my heart racing for reasons beyond the thrill of the run.
"And the rest?" I pressed, my curiosity piqued.
"Yes, we are a pack. This is the royal kingdom."
"Like in England?"
"No, like the first wolf generation—royal bloods," he clarified, his demeanor shifting to that of a true king. A cold look settled in his eyes, an aura of authority enveloping him.
"Now tell me everything, and don't leave anything out," he commanded.
And I did. I laid bare my secrets, my fears, my past, hoping it wasn't a mistake.