TWILIGHT WOLF
Chapter One: The Boy in the Shadows
Lunaris High was never quiet. Not at 8:00 a.m., not at lunch, not even when exams loomed like executioners. It buzzed — with gossip, with laughter, with the sound of sneakers squeaking against polished marble floors and phones clicking pictures for the next viral post.
In the center of all that noise, like the sun everyone orbited around, was Ayla Sterling.
Her heels tapped against the floor as she strode into the hallway, chin lifted, hair catching every flicker of morning light. The crowd shifted almost naturally, parting for her and her entourage — two girls who acted more like bodyguards than best friends, carrying coffee cups and eyeing anyone who got too close.
"Party at my place Friday night!" Ayla announced, loud enough for the whole corridor to hear. "Theme: midnight masquerade. If you don't have a mask, don't bother showing up."
Students erupted in chatter.
"I need a mask by Friday."
"She threw one last month and the cops came!"
"Best parties in the city, bro, no cap—"
Ayla smiled, soaking it all in. Being a Sterling meant never fading into the background. Her father was a real estate mogul, her mother a former model, and Ayla? She was the celebrity everyone wanted a selfie with. In magazines, online, whispered in locker rooms — her name carried weight.
And she wore it well.
Or at least, she pretended to.
Because beneath the diamonds and expensive perfume, Ayla Sterling sometimes felt… hollow. Like a porcelain doll at a party, fragile and smiling while everyone else drank from her shine.
Her eyes wandered, scanning the hall like she always did, hunting for distractions. And then she froze.
There, in the farthest corner by the lockers, sat a boy she'd never seen before.
He wasn't part of the crowd. He wasn't laughing or shouting or even scrolling through his phone. He leaned back against the cold metal, a black hoodie drawn low, shadows clinging to him like a second skin. A book rested open in his hands, but his eyes didn't move across the page. He wasn't really reading. He was waiting.
The bell rang, and students rushed inside, Ayla among them. She found her seat by the window and flipped her hair back just in time for the teacher to start calling names.
"Sterling, Ayla."
"Here," she said with a practiced smile.
"Martinez, Evan."
"Here!"
The list went on, until—
"Draven, Lucien Aiden Mortalis."
The room hushed. For a heartbeat, even the air seemed to stop moving. Then, from the back, the boy raised his head.
His eyes caught the light strangely — not brown, not black, but something in between, like twilight itself had taken root in them.
"Here," he said, voice low. Calm. Too calm.
The silence broke. Students whispered.
Lucien Aiden… that's kinda hot.
Mortalis? What kinda name is that?
Sounds like Dracula's cousin.
Ayla tilted her head, intrigued. Lucien Aiden Mortalis Draven. The name rolled off her tongue like poetry, beautiful in a way that didn't match his hoodie or silence. She studied him shamelessly, waiting for him to look her way.
He didn't.
If anything, he seemed to sink further into his corner, as if her attention was a spotlight he didn't want.
The teacher droned on, but Ayla couldn't shake it. She was Ayla Sterling. People noticed her, chased her, adored her. But this boy? He acted like she didn't exist. And that made her curiosity burn hotter than any applause or attention.
At lunch, she found herself drifting toward the cafeteria corner where he sat. Alone. Again. Tray untouched, a book still in hand.
"Why do I feel like you're a serial killer?" she asked lightly, sliding into the seat across from him without permission.
His eyes lifted, slow, steady. For a second, Ayla swore her breath caught. They weren't just strange — they were endless, like shadows meeting starlight.
"I'm not," he said simply. Then, after a pause: "Serial killers talk more than I do."
Ayla blinked — then laughed, the sound startling her own friends at another table. "Okay, fair. But you're still creepy. Do you, like, brood for a living?"
Lucien's mouth twitched — not quite a smile, but close enough. "Do you perform for a living?"
Her jaw dropped in mock offense. "Excuse me? This is not a performance, it's called existing. Some of us were born to shine."
"And some of us weren't," he said, eyes dropping back to his book.
Something about his bluntness should've stung, but instead, Ayla grinned. Nobody talked to her like that. Nobody dared.
She leaned forward. "What's your deal, Lone Wolf?"
His gaze flicked to hers again, sharper this time. She didn't know why, but when he looked at her like that, it felt like he could hear her heartbeat. Like he could taste the words before she said them.
"Don't call me that," he murmured.
"Why not? It fits." She rested her chin on her hand, smiling playfully. "Quiet, mysterious, sits in the shadows, reads books no one else cares about. Classic lone wolf vibes."
This time, the corner of his mouth really did curve. But it wasn't warm. It was dangerous.
"If I'm a wolf, Sterling…" his voice dropped lower, "…you should stay far, far away."
Ayla's grin faltered, just slightly. There was no mockery in his tone. No joking. Just a quiet warning that pressed cold fingers against her skin.
And yet, instead of fear, all she felt was a rush of adrenaline.
For the first time, Ayla Sterling wasn't the hunter. She was prey.
And she liked it
Chapter Two: The Party Invitation
The Sterling mansion was already legendary in Lunaris City. Rumors swirled about its marble halls, glass chandeliers, and the infinity pool on the roof where Ayla once threw a flaming floatie just to "see what would happen." No one really cared about the truth. What mattered was this: if Ayla Sterling threw a party, you went.
And if you weren't invited? You didn't exist.
Which was why half the school nearly fainted when Ayla Sterling — queen of Lunaris High — leaned across the cafeteria table the next day and spoke to the boy who avoided everyone.
"Lucien," she said sweetly, dragging out his name like honey.
He didn't look up from his tray. Just stabbed a piece of apple with his fork like it had personally offended him.
"You're coming to my party Friday."
A pause. Then his quiet voice: "No."
Ayla blinked. No one said no to her. Not because they were afraid, but because she made refusal impossible. Her parties were the definition of fun. Music, lights, food, drinks — chaos wrapped in glamour. Even the teachers pretended not to notice.
"Excuse me?" she asked, eyebrows arching.
Lucien finally looked up. His eyes glimmered under the cafeteria light, something unreadable swirling in their depths. "I said no."
Her friends at the next table were already whispering.
Is he serious?
Doesn't he know who she is?
Man's either crazy or suicidal.
Ayla leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Do you realize people beg me for an invite? I've got seniors bribing me with gift cards just to get on the list. And you're just gonna say no?"
"Yes."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why?"
Lucien stabbed another piece of apple, chewed, and swallowed before answering. "Because I don't like noise. Or crowds. Or people pretending to be happy when they're not."
Ayla froze. For just a second, his words sliced deeper than she expected. She covered it with a smirk. "Wow. Deep much? What are you, a philosopher wolf hiding in human skin?"
He didn't laugh. Didn't even flinch. Just stared, steady and calm, as if her words had brushed against something too close to the truth.
"Fine," she said, tossing her hair. "If you won't come willingly, then I'll make it interesting."
Lucien tilted his head, wary. "Interesting?"
"If you don't show up Friday night…" She tapped her manicured finger on the table, smiling with wicked glee. "…I'll assume you're a coward. And I'll announce it. Everywhere. Instagram, TikTok, posters on the school walls. Lucien Draven: confirmed chicken."
A few kids nearby snickered.
Lucien's jaw flexed. He put down his fork slowly, like someone carefully holstering a weapon.
"You don't want me there, Sterling."
"Oh, I do," she shot back, leaning even closer. Their faces were barely a breath apart now, her perfume clashing with the faint scent of something colder that clung to him — like smoke and night air. "You're mysterious, creepy, and apparently too good for us mortals. That makes you the perfect guest."
Lucien's eyes narrowed, and for the briefest instant — too quick for anyone else to notice — they flickered. Not brown, not black, but molten silver, glowing faintly like the edge of a dying sun.
Ayla's breath hitched.
Lucien caught it, and his voice dropped so low it was almost a growl. "You don't know what you're asking for."
And then he stood, tray in hand, walking away without another word.
The cafeteria buzzed with whispers, laughter, and speculation. But Ayla sat frozen, her heart hammering.
Because for a second, when his eyes had burned with that strange silver fire, she hadn't seen a quiet boy.
She'd seen a predator.
Friday Night: The Party
By the time the sun dipped behind the skyline, the Sterling mansion was alive. Cars lined the street, music throbbed through the walls, lights flashed in rhythmic colors. The pool glowed neon blue, smoke machines hissed across the dance floor, and the house was crammed with students laughing, shouting, and making enough bad decisions to keep the rumor mill busy for weeks.
Ayla was in her element. Sequined dress catching every glint of light, hair cascading in perfect curls, she moved through the crowd like royalty. Boys tried to hand her drinks, girls showered her in compliments. She laughed, posed for selfies, spun in the center of the dance floor.
And yet, her eyes kept drifting toward the door.
Would he come?
Lucien Draven. The boy who said no. The boy who looked at her like he could see past all the glitter and glamour, into the hollow space she kept buried. The boy whose eyes had burned with something inhuman.
As the night stretched on, she almost gave up hope.
Until the front door creaked open.
He stepped inside, hands in his pockets, black clothes blending into the shadows as if they belonged to him. He moved through the crowded, glittering chaos without effort, without care, like a ghost no one dared touch.
And every head turned.
Not because he was loud. Not because he tried. But because his presence was… different. Too still. Too sharp. Like a wolf walking into a herd of sheep.
Ayla's lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile.
The Lone Wolf had come to the party.
And she had no idea what it would cost her.
Chapter Three: The Predator Within
The Sterling mansion pulsed like a living thing. Bass rattled the windows, lights strobing against velvet curtains, bodies moving in chaotic rhythm. Laughter spilled from the rooftop pool, someone was already vomiting in the downstairs bathroom, and the night wasn't even halfway over.
Ayla floated through it all like she was queen of her own glittering kingdom. Everyone adored her, wanted her, envied her. And yet—
Her eyes kept darting toward him.
Lucien.
He hadn't joined the dance floor. Hadn't picked up a drink. He stood at the edge of the chaos, leaning against a marble pillar like a shadow carved in flesh. He wasn't trying to be noticed, but he was. Every glance in the room kept circling back to him.
Even now, a group of girls huddled nearby, whispering.
"Oh my God, who is he?"
"That's the new guy… Draven, I think."
"He looks like he could kill me and I'd say thank you."
Ayla smirked. Typical.
But her smirk faltered when she saw someone else approaching him.
Of course.
Darren Blake. Her boyfriend — at least technically, though they'd been circling the drain for weeks. He was tall, broad-shouldered, captain of the lacrosse team, and smug enough to believe he owned every room he walked into.
And right now, he looked ready to pick a fight.
"Hey, bro," Darren said, slapping a heavy hand on Lucien's shoulder. "Haven't seen you around before. You lost or something?"
Lucien's gaze shifted, slow, deliberate. He looked at Darren's hand on his shoulder, then up into his face. He didn't answer.
The silence stretched.
Something in Darren's grin faltered. But then he chuckled, trying to play it off. "You're a quiet one, huh? Cool, cool. Just don't creep around my girl." He jabbed a thumb toward Ayla across the room. "She's taken."
The word taken hit Ayla like a slap, but before she could move, Lucien finally spoke.
"I wasn't creeping." His voice was calm. Too calm. "Wolves don't creep."
Darren blinked. "The hell does that mean?"
And that's when it happened.
Lucien's eyes flickered — not human anymore. A sudden blaze of silver lit them from within. The air around him seemed to vibrate, low and dangerous, like a growl no one could hear but everyone could feel.
A few students nearby froze mid-dance, their instincts prickling. The music throbbed on, but suddenly the room felt sharper, heavier.
Darren stumbled back half a step, face paling. "What the—? Did your eyes just—"
Lucien blinked, and they were human again. Dark, unreadable. "You should leave," he said quietly.
It wasn't a suggestion.
For a moment, Darren actually did. His chest rose and fell too fast, his skin prickling with a fear he didn't understand. But then the crowd's laughter, the music, the pressure of his friends watching — it all pushed him back into arrogance.
He shoved Lucien's chest. "Nah, bro. You don't get to threaten me at her party."
The push wasn't much, but it was enough.
Something inside Lucien snapped.
A low growl rumbled in his chest, primal and raw, slipping past his control. His hand shot out, catching Darren's wrist before it could pull back. Fingers tightened like steel, and Darren's smirk collapsed into a grimace of pain.
Lucien's jaw clenched. His nails dug deeper. For a heartbeat, they weren't nails anymore — they were claws. Sharp, black-tipped, pressing against Darren's skin hard enough to draw blood.
Gasps rippled through the crowd.
Ayla pushed forward, panic rising in her chest. She didn't know why — Darren was a jerk, but the look on Lucien's face terrified her. His calm mask had cracked, and beneath it wasn't anger. It was hunger.
"Lucien!" she shouted, grabbing his arm.
His head snapped toward her — and for one terrifying instant, his eyes weren't human. Silver light burned through them, wolfish and wild.
Her breath caught.
But then — in a blink — the glow vanished. His claws retracted. He released Darren so suddenly the lacrosse captain stumbled back into his friends.
The crowd buzzed, unsettled. "What the hell was that?" "Did you see his eyes?" "He had claws, bro, I swear—"
Lucien didn't stay to explain. He turned, pushing through the partygoers, vanishing into the night as if he'd never been there.
Ayla stood frozen in the middle of the chaos, heart racing, mind spiraling.
She'd wanted him at her party. Wanted to peel back his mystery.
But now she'd seen it.
Lucien Draven wasn't just mysterious.
He wasn't just dangerous.
He wasn't human.
Chapter 4 — Shadows at the Party
The Sterling mansion was alive.
Music pulsed through the walls, chandeliers rattled from the bass, and the pool outside glittered under string lights as if the stars themselves had come down to watch Ayla Sterling throw yet another of her legendary parties. People were everywhere — spilling onto balconies, shouting over music, taking selfies in the hallways, drinking from expensive bottles they couldn't even pronounce.
And through it all, Ayla thrived.
She wore a crimson silk dress tonight, one that shimmered every time she moved, catching every flash of every camera phone. She didn't walk — she glided. Her laugh was high, intoxicating, and the crowd followed her like she carried gravity in her bones.
But the thing about gravity? It always pulls hardest toward the quietest center.
And that center stood at the farthest corner of the room, leaning against a marble pillar like he had no business existing in this world of light and sound.
Lucien.
Dark jacket. Hood down tonight, hair slightly tousled, his pale face catching the strobe lights in flashes. He wasn't drinking, wasn't dancing, wasn't talking. He was simply… there. Watching. His eyes — silver, sharp — flicked over the room like he was measuring every breath, every heartbeat, every secret.
Most people avoided looking at him for too long. He radiated the kind of energy that said I could kill you if I wanted, but I don't care enough to try.
But Ayla looked. Always.
When she finally spotted him through the crowd, her smirk widened. Without hesitation, she excused herself from the circle of admirers and walked straight across the room. Her heels clicked against marble, cutting through the bass-heavy music like a countdown.
"You showed up," she said, tilting her head as she stopped in front of him.
"I said I would," Lucien replied, his voice low, calm.
"You also said you'd text me back."
"I don't like phones."
Ayla raised a brow. "What century are you from?"
Lucien's lips quirked. Not quite a smile, but close enough to make her blink. "Would you believe me if I said… not this one?"
"Pfft. Try harder," she shot back, but her chest tightened anyway. Something about the way he said it didn't feel like a joke.
Half an hour later, Ayla had him cornered again.
"Come on," she said, tugging his hand toward the dance floor.
"No," Lucien muttered.
"Yes," she countered.
He resisted like a stubborn statue, but she didn't let go. "It's my party. Which means my rules. Which means…" She pulled harder, grinning like the devil. "You're dancing."
He finally sighed — and followed.
The crowd swallowed them both, bodies moving in a chaotic rhythm. The music roared, neon lights painted their skin strange colors, and Ayla spun into him with perfect timing. She was light, warmth, fire. He was shadow, restraint, hunger.
"Relax," she teased, leaning close to his ear. "No one's going to bite you."
Lucien's jaw tightened. If only you knew.
But when she laughed, he let himself move with her. Just for a moment. His hands caught hers, his steps matched her rhythm. The world blurred, the music fell away, and all he felt was her heartbeat.
Then — instinct.
His fingers wrapped her wrist. Too tight. The scent of her pulse hit him like a drug. His throat burned, his teeth ached, and for a flicker of a second, his control slipped.
Ayla's laugh died. "Lucien?"
He released her instantly, stepping back like she was fire. "I need… air."
The night outside was colder. Softer. The stars stretched above, the city glowed in the distance, and the muffled bass of the party throbbed faintly behind him.
Lucien stood at the edge of the lawn, shadows curling around him like they knew who he was. He breathed deep, trying to steady the hunger clawing at his insides. Not here. Not her. Control it.
That's when he heard it.
Low. Deep. Wrong.
A growl carried across the treeline. His head snapped toward the forest just beyond the mansion grounds. His eyes sharpened, narrowing. He didn't need to see them yet. He already knew.
The pack.
They had followed him. Found him. And they weren't here for small talk.
The air shifted. Shadows broke apart into three figures stepping out from the trees. Tall. Broad. Predatory. Their eyes burned red in the dark, their teeth bared in silent warning.
Lucien's own growl rolled low in his chest, unbidden. His body shifted, bones aching as claws threatened to slip through his skin. His pupils burned white, faint light flickering behind them.
The Twilight Wolf stirred.
"Lucien?"
He froze. Slowly, he turned.
Ayla stood in the doorway, one hand on the golden handle, her face pale. She'd followed him outside. Of course she had. She always wanted to peel back the mystery.
"What's… wrong?" she whispered.
The three shadows growled again, closer now. Ayla's eyes darted between them and Lucien — and her voice trembled as she whispered:
"What… are you?"
Lucien stepped forward, his body changing, his voice deeper, edged with a predator's growl.
"You shouldn't be here."
And for the first time, Ayla saw the truth: Lucien wasn't just quiet. Wasn't just dangerous.
He wasn't human at all.
The Party That Burned Like Midnight
The mansion pulsed with music loud enough to rattle the windows. From down the street, it looked like a beacon—lights strung across the wide balconies, expensive cars lined bumper to bumper along the driveway, and teenagers spilling across the manicured lawn like they owned the world.
Ayla Stanton was at the center of it all. Of course she was.
She stood at the top of the marble staircase in her silver dress, sequins catching the light every time she moved. Her laugh carried through the crowd, high and easy, like a soundtrack everyone else unconsciously danced to. She was the girl who made this city her stage, and everyone else—boys, girls, teachers, neighbors—were lucky just to be extras in her performance.
Lucien Draven hated it already.
He lingered on the edge of the crowd, his hood drawn up, hands shoved deep in his pockets. The bass thudded through his chest in a rhythm that wasn't music but warning, his instincts wired for battle instead of dancing. He could smell the tang of cheap vodka, feel the heat of bodies pressed too close, hear every heartbeat like a drum in his skull.
The wolf in him stirred restlessly.
Parties were the worst. Too much light. Too many scents. Too many eyes.
"Lucien!"
Her voice cut through the noise. He looked up, and there she was, moving through the crowd like a comet. Heads turned as Ayla came down the staircase, her silver heels tapping against the marble, her hair cascading down her shoulders in perfect waves. Everyone else faded when she smiled.
And she was smiling at him.
"You came," she said, her tone carrying just enough surprise to make it a challenge.
"Unfortunately," he murmured.
But his lips tugged into the faintest smile, which she caught instantly.
"Who's that?" someone whispered nearby.
"I don't know—he's new."
"He looks… dangerous."
"Dangerous? Please, he looks like he hasn't slept in weeks."
Ayla ignored them. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and tilted her head. "You're the only one here not drinking, not dancing, not even pretending to enjoy yourself."
Lucien shrugged. "I'm surviving."
A laugh slipped from her lips. "I like strange."
He almost flinched at that. Dangerous words. Words that could unravel him.
Of course, Darren chose that exact moment to appear.
"Babe." Darren's voice was smooth, trained from years of being the golden boy of the school. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with a jawline that could have been carved by a jealous god. The kind of boy who didn't need to introduce himself—people already knew his name.
And right now, his arm slid around Ayla's waist like he was planting a flag.
She didn't pull away, though the sparkle in her eyes dimmed just slightly.
"Darren, this is Lucien," Ayla said brightly, as though she hadn't just walked across the room to find him.
"Lucien," Darren repeated, sizing him up. "New kid, huh? Where from?"
Lucien's gaze flicked to him, bored and sharp all at once. "Nowhere you'd know."
That earned him a quick laugh from Ayla, though Darren's jaw tightened.
The party swelled around them—laughter, shouts, music vibrating the chandelier overhead. Lucien leaned back against the wall, arms folded, watching. Always watching.
He watched Ayla dance with her friends, laughing so loud it almost drowned out the beat. He watched Darren cling too tightly to her, jealous eyes darting whenever someone else got too close. He watched the crowd shift like tides around their golden couple, oblivious to the shadows pressing just outside the light.
And then he felt it—
the itch in his skin, the tremor in his bones.
The wolf inside him pressed against the cage of his ribs, snarling, hungry.
He clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked.
Not here. Not now.
But the shadows whispered otherwise.
The Stanton mansion was loud enough to wake the dead. Music thundered so hard the marble floor seemed to pulse. Glittering lights strung across the vast balconies, spotlight beams cutting the night sky, and teenagers spilled onto the immaculate lawn with red cups and careless laughter.
It wasn't just a party. It was Ayla Stanton's party.
That fact alone gave it weight. Teachers would hear about it. Parents would roll their eyes at it. The city would whisper about it. Ayla threw parties like other people breathed—effortlessly, beautifully, always leaving people wondering how she managed to turn chaos into art.
Lucien Draven hated it already.
He stood near the edge of the crowd, his hood pulled up, eyes shadowed. The music wasn't just sound—it was a living thing, rattling against his ribs. He could feel it in his bones. Every laugh was too loud, every cologne too pungent, every heartbeat thrumming like a drum in his ears.
He had trained himself to blend. Quiet, watchful, ordinary. But here, in a house blazing with lights and people, it was impossible to pretend. The wolf inside him clawed, restless, wanting release.
"Lucien!"
The voice cut through the noise like a clean blade.
His head lifted. Across the grand staircase, Ayla Stanton stood in a silver dress that clung and shimmered like starlight. She wasn't just the center of attention—she was the source of it, the gravity everyone else revolved around. Her smile was bright, her hair a perfect cascade of waves, her presence effortless.
And somehow, impossibly, she was smiling at him.
"You came!" she called, descending the stairs with elegance that would've made lesser mortals trip.
"Unfortunately," Lucien muttered.
But the smallest quirk tugged at his lips, just enough for her to catch it.
"Who's he?" someone whispered.
"I don't know. New kid. Hot, though."
"Hot? He looks like he broods in libraries for fun."
"I'd let him brood in mine."
Lucien ignored them. He always ignored them.
Ayla reached him, eyes sparkling. "You're the only one here who isn't drinking, dancing, or at least pretending to enjoy themselves."
He shrugged. "I'm surviving."
Her laugh bubbled up like champagne. "I like strange."
The wolf inside him stirred at her words, a dangerous heat curling in his chest. He should've walked away. He should've left before he was tempted.
But then came Darren.
"Babe."
The golden boy. Captain of the lacrosse team. The kind of guy who had never once doubted the world adored him. Darren slid his arm around Ayla's waist like he was sealing a deal, his jaw sharp, his grin smug.
She didn't flinch, but something in her sparkle dimmed.
"Darren, this is Lucien," Ayla introduced, like she hadn't just crossed a room full of people to find him.
Darren sized him up with a practiced smirk. "Lucien. New kid, huh? From where?"
Lucien's gaze was flat, bored. "Nowhere you'd know."
Ayla laughed at that, her hand brushing Darren's chest. Darren's smile didn't reach his eyes.
"Cool," Darren said, the word bitten off.
The party surged on. Music thumped, people shouted, the chandelier shook dangerously with the bass. Ayla twirled into the crowd, silver dress catching the light as she laughed with friends. Darren followed, possessive, his eyes darting with every move she made.
Lucien leaned against a wall, arms folded, always watching. He told himself he wasn't. But his gaze tracked her like a shadow. Every time she laughed, something twisted in him. Every time Darren touched her, something darker coiled in his chest.
He told himself it wasn't jealousy. It was hunger. Instinct. The wolf inside pressed against his skin, snarling, begging for release.
He clenched his fists until his knuckles cracked.
Not here. Not now.
Comedy cracked through the chaos. A drunk sophomore stumbled into the DJ table, shutting the music off mid-beat. Groans and boos erupted.
"Nice one, Kevin!" someone shouted.
"Shut up, I meant to do that!" Kevin yelled back, tripping into a bowl of chips.
Ayla laughed so hard she nearly cried, her silver dress glittering as she leaned against her friend. Lucien found himself almost—almost—smiling.
But then her gaze caught his. Across the crowded room, with Darren whispering something in her ear, she still found him. And she smiled, soft, private.
His chest burned.
The wolf's claws dug deeper.
He needed air. He slipped outside into the night, hood pulled low, the bass still rattling behind him. The cool air should have helped, but instead it sharpened his senses.
Because he wasn't alone.
Across the lawn, shadows shifted.
Too big. Too silent. Too wrong.
Wolves.
Not ordinary ones. Not his kind either. Mutts, half-turned, dripping hunger like rot. Their eyes glowed faintly, their snarls vibrating in his bones.
They circled the house, unseen by drunk teenagers, but clear as day to him.
Lucien's jaw tightened. His breath came ragged.
The wolf inside him roared.
And when the first howl split the night sky, Ayla Stanton was the only sober person to see his eyes flicker silver.
Chapter 5 – The Wolf That Walks in Twilight
The attack began fast. A shadow lunged from the trees, a wolf bigger than any natural beast, its fangs bared, claws ripping through a car door like paper. Screams exploded as the party turned from fun to nightmare.
Darren shoved Ayla behind him, his hands shaking but his bravado unbroken. "Stay back!"
The wolf snarled. Darren looked brave for three seconds. Then Lucien moved.
He didn't think. He tore his hoodie off, stepping into the open. The shift burned through him. His human eyes—calm, forgettable grey—lit into blazing silver. His muscles snapped, bones stretching, shadows curling around his skin like smoke.
And then he was gone—
and in his place, a black wolf stood.
Massive. Too large for the yard. His fur shimmered as though shadows clung to it. His silver eyes cut through the chaos like twin moons.
Ayla froze. Her breath caught in her throat.
The black wolf lunged. In seconds, one attacker was down, throat torn. Another charged, but Lucien slammed it into the ground with such force the pavement cracked. The other wolves hesitated—snarling, circling—but none dared face him directly.
Even Darren stumbled back. His bravado was nothing in the face of this. He grabbed Ayla's arm, trying to pull her away, but her eyes never left the black wolf.
Because even in his monstrous form…
he was looking back at her.
Not hunger. Not rage. Something else. Something softer.
Recognition.
The pack retreated, dragging their wounded into the dark. But Lucien stayed in the yard, silver eyes locked on Ayla. She should have screamed. Should have run. Instead, she whispered his name.
"Lucien…?"
The wolf blinked. Slowly, painfully, the shadows peeled away. His body cracked, shrank, until Lucien Draven stood shirtless and bruised in the moonlight.
Everyone else was gone—running, crying, fleeing. But Ayla was frozen there, her perfect party dress ruined, her life shattered.
"You're not…" she whispered. "You're not human."
Lucien didn't answer. His eyes, now grey again, looked almost apologetic.
"I told you," he said softly. "I'm surviving."
And then he vanished into the night, leaving her trembling, staring after the boy who wasn't a boy at all.
The Wolf Beneath the Skin
The night should have drowned the noise, but the party thundered too loud to ignore. Music, laughter, clinking bottles—all of it a flimsy shield against the sound that only Lucien seemed to hear.
The howl.
It rose again, sharp and primal, cutting through the bass like glass.
Nobody inside noticed. They were too busy screaming the lyrics to a song that had already been overplayed on the radio. Too drunk, too alive, too foolish to realize the shadows were watching them.
But Lucien knew.
He stood in the doorway, half inside, half out. His body was rigid, fingers curling against the wood frame, breath misting in the cool air. The wolf inside him strained, snarling, recognizing the threat outside.
The air carried it—the scent. Rot. Copper. Hunger.
Lucien closed his eyes, his jaw tight. "Not tonight."
But the night never listened.
"Aren't you going to dance?"
The voice startled him. He turned, and Ayla stood behind him, one hand on the doorframe, her silver dress shimmering like starlight under the porch light. Her cheeks were flushed from the heat inside, strands of hair falling from her perfect waves.
"You keep sneaking away," she said, tilting her head. "Do you hate my parties that much?"
Lucien hesitated, the wolf inside clawing at his chest. "It's not the party."
"Then what?" she pressed, stepping closer.
His throat worked. He wanted to tell her. He wanted to explain why his blood was on fire, why his skin felt too tight, why every bone in his body ached with the need to tear and rend and devour.
Instead, he whispered, "You shouldn't be near me."
She blinked, taken aback. "What?"
"You don't know what I am," he said softly.
Her brows knit. "Lucien… you're scaring me."
Good, he thought bitterly. You should be terrified.
But before he could speak again, the first scream shattered the night.
It came from the side yard. Then another. And another.
The music inside faltered, people stumbling toward windows and doors, confusion spreading like wildfire.
"What was that?" someone slurred.
"Probably just Kevin puking again," another laughed nervously.
But then the glass shattered—something large slamming into the side of the house, a shape too fast, too monstrous, too wrong. Shadows poured across the lawn. Wolves. Half-formed, glowing eyes, dripping fangs.
The party turned to chaos. Teenagers screamed, drinks spilled, someone tripped over the snack table.
And Ayla froze.
Because right in front of her, as the wolves advanced, Lucien's eyes flickered. Not silver this time—black edged with burning red.
Her breath caught.
"Lucien… what are you?"
He didn't answer. He couldn't.
Because the wolf was no longer asking politely. It was breaking out.
His skin rippled, bones shifting beneath flesh, his breath coming in sharp bursts. His hood fell back, and Ayla gasped as his features warped—fangs lengthening, claws splitting through skin, the quiet boy unraveling into something ancient and monstrous.
The black wolf tore free.
It wasn't just big. It was colossal. Muscles rippled under midnight fur, eyes burning like embers, teeth gleaming white against the dark. The kind of creature that didn't belong in suburban lawns or high school parties—it belonged in nightmares.
And yet Ayla couldn't look away.
Her silver dress shimmered in the porch light, and there she stood, inches away from the beast that had been Lucien.
The wolf snarled, low and guttural. The sound rattled her chest.
And then it lunged—
Not at her.
At the things crawling toward the house.
The yard went still for a breathless second. Music died, lights flickered, and the crowd of teenagers spilled out from the house, red cups clutched in confused hands.
"What the hell was that?" someone demanded.
"Bro, tell me that's not, like… a prank? Ayla, is this a prank?"
"Yeah, totally—because nothing says fun like wild animals crashing my house," Ayla snapped, voice sharp despite the fear building in her chest.
Laughter erupted nervously among the drunker ones. "Dude, I swear I just saw a giant dog!"
"That's no dog," another muttered, backing away.
And then the wolves emerged.
Six of them, shadows with glowing eyes, hunched and feral. Their fur was matted, their movements jerky, unnatural. They weren't pure-blooded wolves. They weren't Lucien's kind. They were something half-made, something broken.
The first one let out a guttural snarl.
Screams erupted.
"Holy sh—RUN!"
"Save the beer!" someone shouted before being yanked inside by his girlfriend.
"Darren, do something!" a cheerleader shrieked, grabbing his arm.
All eyes turned to the golden boy.
Darren, jaw set, puffed his chest like he was about to score the winning goal. He picked up a decorative garden rake leaning against the porch. "Everyone stay back! I got this!"
"Dude," his best friend hissed, "that's a rake."
Darren gritted his teeth. "And you're a coward."
He took a heroic step forward, rake trembling in his grip. The wolves turned their glowing eyes on him, lips curling back over dripping teeth.
"Nice doggies," Darren stammered. "Sit. Stay. Roll over—AHHHH!"
The first wolf lunged. Darren screamed like a kettle and threw the rake like a javelin… which missed by about ten feet.
"BABE!" he screeched, stumbling back toward Ayla. "They don't listen!"
But Ayla wasn't looking at Darren anymore.
Her eyes were locked on Lucien.
Because Lucien was no longer Lucien.
The transformation had torn through him, body splitting between boy and beast until the beast had won. His frame stretched impossibly, fur bristling like smoke, jaws splitting wider than any natural animal. Midnight black, he towered over the other wolves, easily twice their size. His growl shook the ground.
He wasn't just another wolf. He was something older. Something made to rule.
"Holy…" someone whispered. "That's… that's not real."
"Costume!" another insisted weakly. "It's… uh… special effects!"
The black wolf's burning red eyes turned toward them. One kid promptly fainted into the punch bowl.
The feral wolves lunged.
Lucien lunged back.
It was a blur of fur and fangs, shadows colliding with midnight. Lucien's claws raked across one mutt's throat, sending it sprawling with a yelp. Another tried to circle behind him, but he snapped its leg with a single whip of his massive jaws.
Blood sprayed across the lawn.
Teenagers screamed, scattering like ants, some tripping over each other, some too drunk to even realize what was happening.
Ayla couldn't move. She was rooted to the porch, her hands trembling against the railing as she watched.
Darren grabbed her wrist, trying to pull her back inside. "Ayla, let's go! We gotta go, NOW!"
But she shook him off.
Her eyes were locked on the black wolf.
On Lucien.
And somewhere inside the horror, the blood, the chaos—she recognized him.
Lucien slammed another wolf into the ground, his snarl splitting the night. But the others kept circling, snapping, desperate to tear at the humans cowering nearby.
One broke past him, rushing the porch.
Straight toward Ayla.
She gasped, stumbling back—
And then the black wolf was there.
A blur of midnight fur and burning eyes, slamming into the attacker with bone-shattering force. They rolled across the lawn, Lucien's jaws ripping into its throat until silence followed.
When he rose again, his muzzle was dripping with blood. His chest heaved. His eyes burned.
And they locked on Ayla.
For a heartbeat, she thought he would attack her. Everyone did.
Screams echoed behind her. "He's coming for us! He's gonna kill us!"
Darren grabbed her again. "Babe, MOVE!"
But Ayla didn't. Couldn't.
Because she saw something the others didn't.
Through the monster, through the fur and the blood and the teeth, she saw Lucien.
And he was fighting it.
Fighting himself.
His claws dug into the ground as he forced himself back, his growl shaking the porch. His body trembled like he was pulling chains taut inside his own skin.
He wasn't hunting her.
He was protecting her.
That realization hit her harder than the screams, harder than Darren's panicked shouts, harder than the chaos around them.
This wasn't just some monster.
This was Lucien Draven.
The quiet boy with the unreadable eyes.
The boy who warned her to stay away.
The boy who had saved her life.