I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.
Patréon.com/emperordragon
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Isaac stepped through the gates of Beacon Hills High alone, his shoulders tense and drawn up like he was bracing against an invisible storm. From across the courtyard, even without my senses, I could sense the unease radiating off him. His eyes moved quickly, scanning the clusters of students that gathered in their usual cliques, but they didn't linger on anyone for more than a second. His gaze bounced from face to face, picking up every sideways glance, every poorly concealed whisper. This school was a breeding ground for rumors, and right now, Isaac Lahey was the headline.
People were still talking about his father's death—about how he'd ended up in the hospital for two days afterward. No one had the full story, of course, but that didn't stop them from filling in the blanks with their own versions. That's what Beacon Hills did best: turn pain into entertainment. A tragedy into a lunchroom conversation.
Isaac looked like he wanted to disappear, to fold into himself and vanish.
And then Lucas pulled up.
The engine of the car alone was enough to silence half the parking lot. The sleek, silver Porsche glided into view like it didn't belong in a school lot—and it didn't. Not really. It belonged on a private runway or maybe the cover of a luxury magazine. Heads turned. Conversations stopped mid-sentence. Every eye found the car first… and then, just like clockwork, shifted to the boy who stepped out of it.
There was something effortless about the way he moved, like he didn't even notice the attention or maybe just didn't care. But Isaac did. The moment he saw Lucas walking toward him, something shifted. The uncertainty in Isaac's face—that tight, almost brittle look—loosened. His shoulders straightened, the stiffness bleeding out of him like a tide receding. In the span of a breath, he looked less like someone under attack and more like someone who could be himself again.
From where I stood leaning against the redbrick wall—half-shadowed, unnoticed—I watched them talk. I couldn't hear what they were saying, but it didn't matter. Isaac's body language told me everything I needed to know. The way his stance opened up. The way he stopped fidgeting. The way he looked at Lucas like he was something solid to hold onto when everything else was sliding out of place.
It was trust. Genuine faith in the person standing before him.
The funny thing was, I don't think Isaac even knew it yet. Not really. And I was pretty sure Lucas hadn't noticed either. They were both moving too fast, adjusting to everything new—new strength, new rules, new threats—to realize what was happening between them.
I saw the way Isaac fell into step with Lucas, half a pace behind. Not consciously. Not because he was told to. But because it just… felt right. It was automatic. Unquestioning.
He already saw Lucas as his Alpha.
And Lucas—whether he knew it or not—was starting to carry himself like one.
They finished their conversation. No drawn-out goodbye, no awkward pause. Lucas turned toward the school building, and Isaac followed without a word, like his feet had already made the decision for him.
By third period, I was still watching.
Not stalking—at least not technically. Just… observing. Keeping a quiet eye on him.
During gym class, we were stuck playing dodgeball. I wasn't in the mood. I claimed a rolled ankle and parked myself on the sideline bench, wrapping my ankle in an ace bandage just convincing enough to avoid suspicion.
From my spot on the bleachers, I watched the game unfold. Lucas, Isaac, and the sick girl ended up on the same team. That alone caught my attention.
Everyone at this school knew Erica's story. She'd had epilepsy since she was a kid, and it was bad enough that people treated her like she was fragile glass—something to avoid breaking. Except, of course, for the ones who made it their mission to do exactly that. The kind of girls who smiled sweetly in the hallways but aimed a little too hard when the teacher's back was turned.
I noticed the pattern quickly. So did Lucas.
Three girls from the opposite team had been targeting Erica from the start, pretending it was all part of the game, but their throws were sharper, faster, they deliberately aimed everything her way.
Lucas didn't say anything.
Every time a ball came flying toward Erica, he was there—catching it cleanly, knocking it aside with a smooth flick of his arm. His reflexes were still human, subtle enough to not raise any alarms. To most people, he probably just looked athletic. Coordinated. But I saw the way he positioned himself, how he placed his body in the direct line of fire without hesitation.
He was protecting her.
And when he finally got tired of playing defense, Lucas stepped into offense with a quiet kind of precision. Three throws. Three clean hits. The girls who'd been gunning for Erica were out, no argument, no complaints.
He didn't gloat. Didn't even smile. He just turned away like it hadn't been worth his time.
After the game, Erica approached him slowly. Hesitant. She offered him a quiet thank-you, like she wasn't sure if she was allowed. Like she half-expected him to ignore her or wave her off.
He smiled—just a small, easy grin that melted some of her nerves—and nodded like it was nothing, like stepping in to protect her had been the most natural thing in the world.
And maybe, for him, it was.
He hadn't done it for recognition. He wasn't trying to impress anyone. He'd seen someone weaker being targeted, and he'd acted. Simple. Direct. Quietly powerful.
That kind of instinct doesn't come from nowhere.
And as I watched him—watched the way Isaac stuck close to his side, the way Isaac found comfort beside him, to disregard all the rumours and pointed glances coming Isaac's way.
What kind of person is he?
More importantly what kind of Alpha is he?
I didn't have the answers.
But I was going to find out.