Chapter 2 Feral Heart, Forbidden Magic

• Skylar
• The moment my spine snapped straight, I found a tall he-wolf blocking my path, and every instinct in me—wolf and the part I refused to acknowledge, flared at once.
• He didn’t bother exerting dominance; his aura did that for him. Sharp, cold eyes locked on me like I’d personally offended him just by existing.
• Perfect. A day here and an alpha-level wolf was already glaring at me like I’d stepped on his tail.
• Of course, it had to be Michael Cunningham. I heard his name being called during the first class earlier.
• “Split-Fang like you doesn’t belong here,” he said, calm in a way that made it sting more.
• My stomach twisted at the nickname, but I kept my face straight. “I didn’t do anything,” I said, stepping back only enough to breathe without looking like I was running.
• His nostrils flared. “Don’t lie. Your magic spiked.”
• Of course, he felt it. He probably assumed it was dominance. It wasn’t.
• “That wasn’t dominance, just nerves.”
• He stared at me like I’d said the moon was made of cheese. Wolves didn’t get nervous magic spikes. Wolves didn’t have magic at all.
• “Whatever it was, don’t let it happen again. You’re disrupting the balance.” Then he turned and vanished behind the hedge.
• I exhaled only when he was gone. Fantastic. One alpha already thought I was unstable. Annoying, considering he wasn’t wrong.
• I headed to the cafeteria before the lunch rush overwhelmed my senses. Inside, the air buzzed with supernatural energy, wolves laughing loudly, dragons sparking tiny flames, witches warming their drinks. A chaos of smells and sounds.
• Naturally, wolf culture treated meals like survival trials. Big portions. Fast eating. No hesitation.
• So I grabbed the biggest tray and stacked it with way too much food. My magic-based physiology didn’t need half of it, but a wolf girl eating like a bird? Instant gossip. So I ate fast, forcing myself not to gag halfway through the second plate.
• Great. Skylar the Gremlin. Totally normal.
• Later, I slipped into the forest behind the academy—a common place for wolves to shift and train. I just needed space to pretend I could shift.
• I’d tried for years.
• 'Shift, Sky. You’re a wolf.'
• Every time that familiar heat rose in my veins, magic leaked instead, loud, messy, impossible to hide. It fizzed through the air and made leaves tremble.
• “Come on,” I whispered, gripping my arms. “Just once. Partial shift: ears, claws...ough anything.”
• Bones cracked. Vision sharpened. Breath deepened. Then a spark ripped up my spine.
• The trees shuddered. The wind froze. The air buzzed with mana that felt both mine and not mine.
• “No, stop!”
• The shift collapsed. Magic flared violently. My knees hit the dirt as I panted through the aftershock.
• Another failure to remind that shifting meant risking a magical meltdown.
• Maybe they were right about me all along.
• **
• By evening, I dragged myself into the library. Professor Ailis insisted the Neutral Territory handbook would prevent ‘accidental homicide.’ Comforting.
• The place smelled like parchment, wax, and faint vampire cologne. I rounded a corner and slammed into someone. Books scattered. A cold hand brushed mine.
• There was a vampire who claimed to be eighteen yet carried the stillness of something much older. The moment our skin touched, his eyes widened, a tiny movement, but enough.
• He inhaled sharply. Not smelling, analysing.
• “Wolf,” he murmured. “But… something else.”
• My heart lurched. “No. Just wolf.”
• “Your aura doesn’t lie.”
• “It’s anxiety.”
• He tilted his head. “Anxiety doesn’t mimic ancient signatures.”
• My blood ran cold. No way he recognised anything from my magic. It was pressed by my father.
• He stepped closer anyway, nose nearly brushing my hair, inhaling with unnerving precision.
• “You’re not just wolf,” he whispered.
• My pulse thundered. “I said back off.”
• Surprise flickered across his face. Vampires didn’t step back from wolves unless they sensed something darker.
• I scooped up my books and bolted.
• By the time I entered the central hall, a cluster of wolves had gathered by the stairs, whispering at just the right volume to ensure I heard every word.
• “She can’t shift.”
• “Maybe she’s a dud wolf.”
• Each comment cut deeper than the last. My wolf bristled. My magic lurched.
• “No,” I breathed. “Don’t react…”
• But emotions never listened.
• Magic surged like a violent heartbeat, sending a pulse through the hall that made the very air tremble. Silence crashed instantly. A wolf sniffed the air and recoiled.
• My scent had shifted, sharper, wilder, more dangerous.
• Heat burned under my sleeve as the Katarina Mark rose, a shadowy circle glowing faintly through the fabric.
• Wolves stepped back instinctively, even the dominant ones were recognising a warning they couldn't name.
• “What is that?”
• “Is she hexed? Cursed?”
• I pressed my hand to my arm, forcing the glow down, forcing my heartbeat steady.
• Too late. The rumours would explode by morning, and I didn’t want them feeding on this any longer. I quickened my pace, even as their voices continued to echo behind me.
• When I finally reached my room, the hallway was dim, shadows stretching long across the floor. A sharp huff drew my attention.
• Michael leaned against the wall, arms crossed tight, irritation rolling off him in waves.
• “Well,” he muttered. “You’ve certainly had a busy day.”
• “Not by choice.”
• He scoffed and brushed past me. “Try not to trigger any more monitors.”
• Before I could roll my eyes, a soft tap made me turn the other way.
• The vampire lounged on the windowsill, half in shadow. One knee propped up. Posture relaxed, expression anything.
• His crimson eyes dragged over me with a sharp, cynical curiosity that made my skin prickle.
• “So,” he drawled, lips curling slightly, “that little spectacle earlier, planning on repeating it?”
• “Nothing happened,” I snapped.
• “Mm.” He arched a brow, his gaze flicking at my sleeve. “Funny. Because it looked like something. Something strong enough to make half the hall smell like fear.”
• His stare lingered too long, measuring me like a puzzle, or a bomb.
• “If you say nothing happened,” he said, voice dry, “I suppose we’re all imagining things. By the way, I’m Irlan.”
• I gripped my doorknob. “Goodnight, Irlan.”
• His smirk deepened. Cold. Knowing. “Sweet dreams…just wolf.”
• It sounded more like a warning.