Lydia
The sun rose slow and coppery through the eastern windows of the Thorne estate, casting warm light across polished stone and ancient portraits. Lydia stood at the far end of the main hall, feather duster in hand, already an hour into her daily rounds.
By now, the rhythm of the place was familiar: early cleaning, breakfast prep, mid-morning tasks. Most servants whispered to one another as they worked, trading rumors and small comforts. Lydia stayed mostly silent, but she listened ,always listened.
Today, their whispers were about the rogue sighting in the woods.
"Another one?" she heard Martha murmur by the scullery door. "That's the third this week."
"They're getting bolder," replied Thomas, the head butler's assistant. "Alpha Thorne's doubling the perimeter guard. Master Duncan's already taken a patrol out."
Lydia's hand tightened around the feather duster. The phrase rogue sighting made her stomach coil. It always did. A vague term ,often meaning anything outside the pack's control. Rogue wolves. Rogue magic. Rogue lives.
People like me, she thought bitterly.
She moved through the corridors and alcoves with calm precision. She avoided corners where dominant wolves lingered. She kept her head bowed around Duncan's father, who passed her twice that morning. He never looked at her directly. His gaze slid off her, as if she were nothing but a fixture of the house.
Good. That was how it needed to be.
And yet ,despite every effort to blend in, she still caught Duncan Thorne's eyes.
Again.
She entered the library that afternoon to dust the bookcases, and there he was ..stretched out in a leather armchair, reading a volume that looked older than most living beings in the estate.
She froze at the doorway, unsure whether to speak or slip away.
"You don't have to flee every time you see me," he said without looking up.
"I'm not fleeing," she replied evenly.
He smiled faintly. "Retreating, then."
She swallowed, walked in, and began at the far end of the room. Rows of books towered over her. Dust clung to the corners. The scent of aged paper and ink mingled with the sharp spice of werewolf.. leather, pine, something wild.
She could feel his gaze. Even when he wasn't looking.
"I don't think I've seen you smile," Duncan said after a long pause.
She didn't turn around. "There's little to smile about in service."
He chuckled. "Spoken like someone who's done it too long."
"Or someone who knows what happens when you let your guard down."
That made the silence stretch.
When she finally glanced at him, she saw that he was watching her ,not in the way some men watched women, but in a way that said he was trying to solve her. As if she were a riddle with no obvious answer.
"Did you read a lot, growing up?" he asked.
That caught her off guard.
She hesitated. "Yes."
"Favorite book?"
She blinked at him.
"Everyone has one," he continued. "Even maids."
Lydia's fingers brushed a worn copy of The Forgotten Sea on the shelf.
"That one," she said before she could stop herself. "It's about a kingdom beneath the waves. Where magic is older than hate."
Duncan tilted his head. "That sounds like something worth escaping to."
Her lips twitched. Not quite a smile , but something close.
He closed his book. "Would you like to borrow it? That one?"
She stiffened. "I'm not permitted-"
"Then I won't tell if you won't."
She turned away, hiding the warmth rising in her cheeks.
Foolish, she thought. He's not your friend. He's the Alpha's heir.
But something in her chest whispered:
He doesn't look at you like the others do
Duncan
She was infuriatingly composed.
Duncan watched Lydia glide through the room like smoke ..quiet, poised, always alert. She answered directly but never too much. She offered nothing unless asked.
And yet, he couldn't stop watching her.
It had started with a flicker of curiosity. But now, every time she entered a room, his senses sharpened. The scent of her, like frost after a thunderstorm ,called to him. His wolf stirred.
But there was nothing familiar in her scent. No pack, no region. It was like she came from nowhere.
Or from somewhere long forgotten.
His father called him overly trusting. His mother said he was too drawn to broken things.
But Lydia didn't seem broken. She seemed caged.
He'd seen wolves like that before,rescued from exile, from bloodlust, from battle. There was always a stillness in them that bordered on grief. Lydia had that stillness.
And yet, her eyes…
When she looked at him, it was like standing at the edge of something sacred and dangerous.
He wanted to step closer.
But that was reckless.
After Lydia left the library, Duncan paced for a while. Something about her mention of the book ,"The Forgotten Sea "lingered.
A vampire's book.
He remembered that detail now. The author, Althera of Veritas, had been part of the old vampire council before the uprising. The book had been banned in many towns during the purges.
She knew it by name.
That wasn't normal.
He pulled the book off the shelf and opened to the inscription: "To those who remember who they once were and dare to love again."
His breath caught.
Then he snapped it shut
Lydia
Later that night, Lydia sat in the greenhouse again, legs folded beneath her skirt, fingers playing with the hem of her cloak.
She'd tucked The Forgotten Sea beneath her apron after Duncan left, taking it like a forbidden relic. Now it sat in her lap, old leather cover worn smooth by countless hands.
She hadn't held this book in over a decade.
Not since her mother read it to her the night before she died.
Not since the blood ran through the village streets and her people were hunted like beasts.
Lydia opened to the first page and closed her eyes.
"Once, there was a world beneath the sea, where magic did not demand loyalty, and love did not require blood."
A tear slid down her cheek before she could stop it.
Isolde would've scolded her for crying.
But Isolde was gone.
I wish you were here, Lydia thought, clutching the necklace.
Then, something stirred outside the greenhouse. A shadow. A sound too soft for human ears ,but not for hers.
She stood quickly, senses flaring.
A wolf?
She slipped out the side door and peered into the moonlit garden. Trees rustled. A shape moved along the fence.
Lydia pressed her back against the wall and held her breath.
The shadow passed, large, swift, four-legged.
But not Duncan.
She waited until it vanished beyond the fence.
A rogue? No. It hadn't noticed her.
But it was getting too close.
And she knew what would happen if the Thornes thought she had something to hide.
She clutched her necklace.
I need to be careful.
Duncan
The next morning, Duncan was called into a war council meeting with his father and several pack enforcers. Tensions were rising.
"There was another sighting last night," said Marshal Voss, the grizzled captain of the north patrol. "Near the greenhouse perimeter."
Duncan frowned. "Greenhouse?"
His father's eyes narrowed. "That's too close."
"They're probing the edge," Voss growled. "Testing our weakness."
"No one was harmed," Liora pointed out. "Let's not act rashly."
Duncan tapped the map. "This wasn't a random breach. Someone's either guiding them or luring them."
"Magic?" his father asked.
"Possibly. The rogues are desperate. If someone's feeding them information…"
The room went still.
Duncan didn't mention the scent he'd picked up near the greenhouse this morning. It was faint ,almost buried beneath wolf and moss ,but something else was there.
Something familiar now.
Her scent.
He didn't know what it meant yet.
But he was going to find out
Lydia
The next few days passed in a haze of caution. Lydia kept her head down, worked twice as hard, and said even less than usual.
But Duncan noticed.
She could feel his eyes on her during every meal service. During every errand. When she crossed the hall carrying laundry, he looked up from his conversations. When she passed him in the gardens, his gaze followed her, lingering like a hand brushing skin.
He knows something, she thought.
But he never said a word.
One morning, he stopped her near the stables.
"You've been quiet."
"I'm always quiet."
"No," he said softly. "You're hiding."
Her chest tightened. "I don't know what you mean."
He took a step closer, gaze sharp. "If you're in danger, I can protect you."
Her voice shook. "I'm not."
"Then why do you look like someone waiting to run?"
She couldn't answer.
Because he was right.
She was waiting to run.
And if he found out what she truly was ,he'd be the first to chase her.
Duncan
He couldn't explain the fire growing in his chest. Every time Lydia walked away, it burned hotter. A mix of protectiveness, curiosity, and something too dangerous to name.
He was starting to dream about her, dreams filled with stormlight and blood and moon-drenched longing.
He didn't want this.
Didn't ask for it.
But his instincts wouldn't lie.
Something about her called to him.
And if she was the danger…
He wasn't sure he wanted to be safe