Hekate’s Bride

The meeting with both our parents ends up making me feel sick.

The Hekate has found a way to get his men through the veil, and the rot has begun. Rather than attack the people first like we anticipated, he comes for the schools.

He should not even know the school’s exist. They are hidden deeply, and the only way to get into them is through the portals, two of which exists in my realm and the other in the realm of lycans.© 2024 Nôv/el/Dram/a.Org.

The gates that lead to these portals are heavily guarded, not even leaving out the fact that the portals can only be opened by the Grand Mistress.

It’s impossible for the dark army to have gotten past the gates and through the portal.

And the most aggravating question of them all.

Why the schools?

I blow out a breath, threading my fingers in my hair as the harsh smell of bland shampoo fills my nostrils.

I really miss home.

I had spoken to my father and mother alone after the meeting and it had gone nowhere. I can still feel my mother’s stern disapproval as I pleaded for them to get me out of here.

“Father,” I had cried, drawing out the word to my father whose heart, though he was male, was softer than my mother’s when it came to me. “I don’t want to stay here. Issue an order and get me back to Wolvendom.”

Father’s eyes had softened and he smiled lightly. “I tried. The moment it was reported, I tried to get you back here, but it is the Goddess’s will. You must follow–”

“Will my foot. Everyone hates me. They all want to kill me. I don’t think I’ll last another week at this rate!” I point to my neck where there are bruises. “This is just from today. Rune tried to kill me!”

My father’s lips twitched and it dawned on me that he thought I had been lying just to get out of Lycan School.

“Father!” I exclaimed. “This is not a funny matter.”

“Compose yourself, Astrid,” my mother says, striking a chord in me that has me straightening immediately and shutting my mouth. “Do you never wonder why the Lycan King Fenrir respects your father so much?”

I rolled my eyes, having heard it so many times. Father smiles, patting my mother’s knee lovingly.

Barf.

In a brawl between the Lycan King and my father, father had won, against every odd, fighting solely with his wits, smaller size and fierce determination. Everything that had been deemed a disadvantage, he had used to win against King Fenrir, stunning the realms and making a name for himself.

“You are your father’s daughter. Do not shame the Blackwood pack and name by being a coward. The Goddess would never put you in a place she didn’t think you could handle. Excel in this one year. Make a good name for yourself or they will never respect you or see past you being a wolf to what you embody. Do you understand?”

I had nodded, unable to meet her stern gaze, while my father had laughed outright at it, earning a frown from mother.

There are times I wonder how the Moon Goddess mates us. They could not be any more different from each other. Total opposites.

A knock on my door has me pausing in my shower. I splash some water on my face to rinse the water out of my eyes before grabbing my towel from the hanger.

“Who’s there?”

There comes a muffled sound on the other side of my door and I can make out just one word. Darian.

I cringe and race to the bathroom, throwing on my old clothes–the only clothes I have here. My camisole and matching leather jacket and pants.

I pull the door open and crack a grin.

Darian’s eyes land on my wet hair first and to the rivulets dropping down to wet my camisole. Then they go all the way down to my bare feet.

Self conscious, I step on my left foot to hide it. “What do you need?”

His gaze rises to my face again and he blinks, as if remembering himself. He pulls out a tiny yellow pill container. “From the nurse. She says it’ll help the sore throat heal faster.”

“Oh,” I say, taking the container from him.

“Can I… come in?” Darian says from nowhere, startling me.

I look back at my room that’s disgraceful and I smile sheepishly. “Nothing to look at here. It’s rather empty.”

“Why?” He asks, looking genuinely curious.

I shrug, fumbling with the cover of the container. “I didn’t pack heavily. My father assured me that everything I needed would be provided. I… We didn’t expect this to happen.”

“You could get the things you need at the complex.”

I blink. “The… complex?”

Darian looks at me like I have grown another head. “Complex– you haven’t gotten your gadgets yet?”

“No. I didn’t know where to get them, and no one’s exactly eager to talk to me.”

He leans against the door frame. “Who was your tour guide? I suppose it’s a mistake from her end. Every student’s alloted a certain amount of credits at the beginning of the session to be used at will,” he pauses suddenly. “Tell me you have at least seen the Crimson Pool.”

“The what? There’s a pool here?” I ask, truly baffled. In the three days I have spent here, my routine’s been simple. Room, cafeteria, class, cafeteria, class, room.

Not necessarily in that order, but I haven’t deviated from it, and the combats have been so grueling that I come back right before dinner tired out of my mind.

I’ve never been to the cafeteria for dinner. Breakfast and lunch are a pitiful affair. I either go early enough so no one sees me or late enough that they’re too busy rushing to class to notice me.

All I’ve seen are the three floors that houses the class room area and rooms. I didn’t know there was more. Not that I’ve cared enough to look.

“You free later tonight?”

When I don’t reply immediately, he adds swiftly. “To show you around the rest of the school, and get you your gadgets as well as the other stuff you need. Like more comfortable pillows.”

He makes a point of inclining his head into my empty room.

My skin flushes. “Yeah, but the curfew–”

“Doesn’t apply to Star students. I’ll get you back by 9. I promise.”

I eye him sceptically, wondering if there’s an ulterior motive to him being nice to me. But his eyes are clear and his smile seems rather friendly. I don’t think he’s up to anything shady, though, I can’t tell yet.

“Okay.”

His smile broadens and I get a glimpse of perfect white teeth with longer, sharp canines. “I’ll come get you by dinner.”

I nod shyly. “Later.”

But a few minutes before the bell is rung for dinner, he knocks on my door.

“Coming!” I yell, shoving my feet into my boots. “You said dinner. You’re early.”

However, when I open my door, it isn’t Darian who’s leaning against the door frame.

It is Rune.

I slam the door in his face.

Not.

His foot wedges between the door and its frame and he gives it a push that has me stumbling back and my door slamming wide open.

“Expecting someone else?” He coos, stepping into my room with the stupid air of arrogance and ownership he moves around with. He is in an ivory shirt and black slacks with his hands shoved in either of his pockets.

I whirl, glaring at him. “None of your business and– get out. I didn’t invite you in.”

He ignores me, sidestepping around me to sit on the edge of my bed. “How’s your throat?”

“Sore, no thanks to you. What do you want?”

“Many things, Astrid,” he murmurs, looking around my room with disdain. “Have you not been to the complex?”

“No. I’ll go later.”

“With the one whose scent is on you, I suppose,” he says, nostrils flaring.

I resist the urge to sniff me clothes. Darian’s scent is on me? How? What is it to Rune? Why does he act like this? If I didn’t know better, I’d think he had a problem with every guy I choose to hang around.

“Yes. Darian,” I reply, watching his features for anything that might give it away. Whatever he is feeling.

But his expression is cold and empty as always. Like… a winter painting void of landscape and people. Just… winter.

He pulls out something from his pocket and throws it at me. I catch it on impulse and stare at it. It’s some sort of candy. “That’ll work faster than the pill. Consider it an apology. Even if you have done nothing to deserve it–”

I hurl it at his head, hoping it hits him hard enough to fracture his stupid pretty skull.

My hope is dashed when he catches it midair and looks at me with incredulity. “You would decline my favour.”

“Are you just being mean or you’ve always been this stupid? I don’t care about your candy. Get out of my room. I am busy. Take your candy with you. Maybe give it to the blonde. She’ll surely grovel at your feet in appreciation.”

He lets out an exasperated sigh and drops the candy by the bed beside him before standing. “Use it.”

Then he leaves.

Even I don’t understand what that was for.

I am about grabbing the candy and throwing it in the trash when I notice something else beside it. A necklace.

The silver necklace gleams softly under the light, its surface polished to a mirror-like finish. Its slender chain sparkles with delicate silver links that seem to catch the light and reflect it back in a thousand tiny glimmers. At the center of the chain, a small pendant hangs, a flawless silver teardrop that seems to shimmer with a gentle, inner light.

The pendant is perfectly smooth, with no visible blemishes or imperfections. Its shape is elegant and simple, yet somehow striking in its beauty.

My throat tightens as I look at it and I hate the constricted feeling in my chest. What is this? A gift? For what? Strangling me?

I grip both the necklace and the candy and throw them out my window.