Lydia
The wind howled softly beyond the tall glass windows of the Thorne Estate, brushing the trees like a whispering ghost. Ravenglade seemed to breathe differently at night ,slower, deeper. As if the town remembered.
Lydia stood in the middle of Duncan Thorne's bedroom, hands trembling as she folded the heavy gray cloak he'd tossed over his armchair earlier. The fire in the hearth crackled quietly, casting long, flickering shadows against the walls. Her fingers brushed the collar of the cloak, and her heart thudded louder than it should have.
She hadn't seen him all day, not since their strange moment in the hallway. That moment… where time seemed to stop, and her eyes met his for far too long. The echo of it had haunted her, pulling her thoughts into a slow spiral of curiosity and caution.
It was too dangerous to think about him that way. Too foolish to let herself get comfortable.
He was the Alpha's son. A werewolf.
She was the enemy in hiding.
Even if he didn't know it.
She finished folding the cloak and set it on the bench beside the wardrobe. Her gaze swept the room, orderly, masculine, but clean. Not a single speck of dust. She wondered if he noticed. She'd been meticulous, just as Isolde had taught her.
"Do everything as though your life depends on it, Lydia," the witch had said once, adjusting her scarf with trembling fingers. "Because one day it will."
Lydia swallowed hard, her eyes blurring for a moment.
Isolde's last moments had come back to her in flashes lately. The pain. The quiet strength. The necklace pressed into her hand. The final, fierce whisper: "Survive. No matter what."
A knock at the door startled her.
She turned, heart jumping. It was late well past the time any maid should be summoned. She wiped her hands against her apron and crossed to the door, opening it slowly.
It was Ana, another maid from the estate. Younger, cheerful, always chatty in the mornings. But tonight, her face was pale and her brows creased.
"There's been a commotion at the east gate," Ana said, voice hushed. "They found a body."
Lydia blinked. "A what?"
"Dead animal, at first glance. But one of the patrol wolves swears it had a scent. Something not… right." Ana leaned closer, glancing over her shoulder. "They're calling for the Alpha."
Lydia's stomach tightened.
"What kind of scent?" she asked slowly.
"Magic," Ana whispered. "And something else. Something old."
Duncan
The scent was wrong.
Duncan stood near the edge of the forest, where the moonlight barely touched the ground. The corpse lay twisted among the brambles, half-decayed, claw marks down its side, and yet it hadn't bled out naturally. The body had been drained. Emptied.
He'd seen things like this before. In old reports. Faded records kept deep in the Thorne library. This wasn't the work of rogues.
His father stood beside him, arms crossed, face hard as stone. "This wasn't a wolf."
Duncan nodded. "No. Too precise. Too… cold."
The patrol wolves stood further off, tense and silent. Behind them, human guards from the town had begun to gather, torches flickering in the night breeze.
"Word is spreading fast," Duncan said.
"They'll assume it's vampires," his father replied flatly.
Duncan frowned. "There are no vampires left in Ravenglade."
"Are you certain?" His father turned to him, voice lower now, dangerous. "You've never questioned it?"
Duncan stiffened. "Of course not."
But even as he said the words, a strange image flickered in his mind.
A maid. Eyes too intelligent. Movements too controlled.
The girl in the hallway.
Lydia.
He didn't know why the thought of her came now, of all times. But something had shifted in the air since her arrival. He'd felt it more than once. That scent fleeting, strange, then gone. Like something disguised.
His wolf stirred inside him. Alert. Listening.
"Have the guards sweep the perimeter," Duncan said. "And double the watch on the estate."
His father raised a brow. "You think they'd come that close?"
"If this was a warning," Duncan replied, eyes narrowing toward the tree line, "then yes."
Lydia
Later that night, Lydia stood by the window of her small servant's room, peering out at the estate grounds. Wolves moved along the edge of the garden, patrols with silver glints in their eyes. Something had truly rattled them.
A kill. A body. A scent of old magic.
Her heart was a stone in her chest.
Could it be…?
She hadn't sensed any other vampires in the area. She would've known. Wouldn't she?
Unless it wasn't a vampire at all, but something worse.
Her thoughts raced as she touched the necklace at her throat, fingers tracing its delicate runes.
"This will hide you, little star," Isolde had whispered. "But nothing hides the truth forever. Be ready."
The knock on her door made her jump.
Again?
She opened it cautiously.
To her shock, Duncan Thorne stood there.
Up close, he was even more devastating than memory allowed ,tall, sharp-eyed, moonlight catching in the line of his jaw.
"I need to speak with you," he said.
Lydia
Lydia stepped back instinctively, unsure whether to invite him in or flee.
Duncan didn't move past the threshold. His broad shoulders filled the doorway, and the tension in his expression made the small space seem even smaller.
"I didn't mean to startle you," he said, voice low, calm , too calm. The kind of voice a predator used to put its prey at ease.
"You didn't," she lied, tightening her fingers around her night robe. "It's… just late."
"I know." His eyes flicked behind her briefly, scanning her modest room. "May I come in?"
Everything inside her screamed no, but she stepped aside anyway.
He moved in carefully, like someone trying not to scare a cornered animal. She noticed that ,how he carried his strength like a burden, not a weapon. His scent was stronger in the confined room: pine, smoke, leather… and something underneath. Something wild.
Duncan turned to face her once the door shut. "There's something I need to ask you."
Lydia kept her face carefully blank. "Yes?"
He studied her for a long moment. "You were raised outside Ravenglade."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes. In Fenhollow," she replied slowly. "By a woman named Isolde. She was a healer."
"I know of her. My mother used to buy herbs from her… long ago."
Lydia's heart skipped.
"I'm sorry for your loss," Duncan added, voice gentler now. "She was respected."
"She was… everything," Lydia whispered, surprised by the ache that bloomed in her chest. "The only family I had."
Duncan nodded, and a beat of silence stretched between them.
He seemed… conflicted.
"I asked because," he said finally, "tonight, something happened near the eastern gate. Something… unnatural."
Lydia blinked slowly, careful to keep her breathing even. "I heard something happened."
He didn't look away. "What do you know of old magic, Lydia?"
That question struck straight through her like an arrow.
"I don't know what you mean," she said softly.
Duncan's jaw flexed, and she saw the sharp glint in his golden eyes.
"That's not entirely true."
Silence again.
A test.
Lydia let the silence stretch this time. She met his gaze head-on, allowing just a hint of defiance to spark behind her eyes. "I was taught restraint. I clean your halls and dust your library. I know how to boil teas. I know how to listen. But I don't know anything about what happened tonight, my lord."
He blinked at the "my lord," as if it struck him somewhere vulnerable.
For a moment, she thought he'd accuse her outright. But instead, he nodded once, slowly.
"If you hear anything," he said finally, "I want you to tell me. Personally."
"I'm just a maid."
"No, you're not."
Lydia's breath caught.
The wolf inside him, the Alpha heir was closer to the surface than ever before. His voice had dropped an octave. His energy filled the room like rising storm clouds. And yet… it wasn't threatening.
It was curious. Drawn to her, perhaps.
He stepped back toward the door. "Goodnight, Lydia."
She didn't answer.
Not until he'd gone, and her heart finally remembered how to beat again
Duncan
He didn't know what he expected to find when he knocked on her door.
Maybe a slip of something. A mistake. A scent out of place. But all he'd found was quiet sorrow and a girl with eyes too old for her face.
He knew she was hiding something.
But whatever it was, she was hiding it well.
Duncan walked the halls of the estate long after others had gone to bed. The Thorne household was well warded, with old sigils etched into the doorframes, protection runes beneath the rugs, and his mother's soft-touch enchantments sewn into every curtain. Yet tonight, the air felt thinner. Tighter. As if something unseen was testing the walls.
He found his mother, Lady Elira Thorne, in the conservatory, still awake and sipping warm herbal tea beneath the vines of moonblossoms. Her dark hair had streaks of silver now, but she sat as poised as ever, wrapped in midnight-blue robes.
"You're troubled," she said without looking at him.
Duncan sat across from her. "Something's coming. I can feel it."
"Elira Thornes always do." She smiled faintly. "Has your father told the Council?"
"He wants to keep it quiet. For now."
"As always." She stirred her tea, silver spoon clinking. "And you? What does your wolf tell you?"
Duncan hesitated. "That someone is here who shouldn't be."
Elira looked up sharply.
He met her gaze. "But I don't think they mean harm."
Her brows lifted.
"I saw her tonight," he said. "The new maid. Lydia."
"The one with the sad eyes."
"You saw it too?"
"I see many things, Duncan." Her voice softened. "You have your father's instincts. But you also have mine. Trust them."
Duncan nodded slowly, the firelight flickering across his hands.
He didn't know what Lydia was. Not yet.
But she was not what she appeared.
And if something was hunting near Ravenglade again, she might be the key to stopping it—or the storm waiting to begin..