Eileen
The roar of the crowd hit me like a physical wave as I pressed myself further into the corner of the weathered stone bleachers. My fingers twisted the fabric of my skirt until my knuckles went white. Down in the training arena, two wolves circled each other under the climbing sun, their forms blurred by the dust their paws kicked up with each calculated step.
I shouldn't be here. Treatment track students rarely attended the Warrior division exhibitions, and when they did, they certainly didn't sit alone in the nosebleed section like some pathetic stalker. But I couldn't help it. I never could, not when it came to Derek Ashford.
The deep brown wolf—some third-year whose name I'd never bothered to learn—lunged with a vicious snarl that made the crowd gasp. Derek's gray-brown form twisted mid-air, but not fast enough. The impact sent him crashing into the packed earth with a bone-rattling thud that I felt in my chest.
*No.* My nails dug crescents into my palms. *Get up. Please get up.*
"He's done for!" someone shouted from the rows below. "Two matches back-to-back, he's got nothing left!"
"Just yield, Derek!" another voice called. "Don't be stupid!"
But Derek had never yielded. Not in the year I'd watched him from the shadows, memorizing every victory like they were scripture. Twenty wins, with matches only twice a month. Top five in his cohort now. I knew his record better than my own grades, could recite his tournament brackets like the healing herbs I studied until my eyes burned.
The brown wolf pressed his advantage, massive paw slamming down toward Derek's exposed throat. The stands erupted in screams. My heart stopped.
Then Derek moved.
It was beautiful—that was the only word for it. His gray-brown form became liquid shadow, rolling beneath the strike and hooking his claws into his opponent's scruff in one fluid motion. The over-shoulder throw that followed was textbook perfect, sending the larger wolf crashing onto his back with enough force to crack the practice stones beneath them.
For a heartbeat, the arena went silent.
Then chaos. The brown wolf's submission whine cut through the air, and the crowd exploded. "DEREK! DEREK! DEREK!" The chant thundered against the ancient walls of St. Helena Academy until I thought the stones themselves might crumble from the force of it.
"UNBELIEVABLE!" The announcer's magically amplified voice cracked with excitement. "A perfect reversal! Derek Ashford advances to finals with two consecutive victories!"
I was on my feet before I realized I'd moved, clapping so hard my palms stung, my vision blurring with tears I absolutely would not let fall. *I knew it. I knew he could do it. He's always brilliant when it matters most.*
The coaches tossed both fighters makeshift shorts to cover themselves. They shifted back to human form, acknowledged the cheering crowd with brief waves, then headed toward the locker rooms.
I remained standing, still buzzing with adrenaline, trying to calm my racing heartbeat as the excitement slowly ebbed.
"Did you see that throw?" A cluster of Warrior track girls pushed past me, their expensive perfume making my nose itch. "Derek's definitely winning the championship."
"Obviously. Oh, I started to wonder who could be the lucky girl at the ball tomorrow."
My breath caught. The card in my pocket—pale blue cardstock I'd spent nights preparing, edges pressed with silver moonflowers I'd harvested at midnight—suddenly felt impossibly heavy.
"I wonder who he'll ask," one of them said, her voice bright with speculation. "He could have anyone."
"Maybe he already has someone in mind? We were screaming so loud, I bet he noticed at least one of us."
They dissolved into giggles as they descended the steps, their voices fading into the general din of the dispersing crowd. I sank back onto the stone bench, my hand instinctively moving to my pocket, fingers brushing the carefully folded card through the fabric.
*He could have anyone.* The words echoed in my head, each repetition driving the knife of doubt a little deeper. But Derek wasn't like that—wasn't the type to just pick the loudest admirer or the prettiest face. The Derek I knew was different. Thoughtful. Kind.
My fingers traced the outline of the card again, and I let myself remember.
---
That evening a year ago in the herb garden felt like yesterday. I was still in the basic academy then. Everyone knew I was broken, wolfless, a shame to the Wylde name. But I refused to give up, pouring all my hope into the healing arts I loved and excelled at, desperate to compensate for what nature had denied me.
The garden had been empty at dusk, the perfect place to collect night-dew grass for my practical exam. I'd been so focused on finding the freshest stems that I hadn't heard them approach until it was too late.
"Well, well. What's a little wolfless freak doing in our garden?"
I'd looked up to find three Beta girls blocking the path, their leader's hand already reaching for my hair. I knew her—everyone did. She'd been expelled two months later for theft, but that evening she'd been queen of her little domain, and I'd been trespassing.
"Please," I'd whispered as she'd grabbed my braid, yanking hard enough to make my eyes water. "I just need these for my assignment—"
"Assignment?" She'd laughed, a sound like breaking glass. "Wolfless don't get to graduate, sweetheart. You're wasting everyone's time."
The basket had gone flying. Precious night-dew grass—hours of careful searching—crushed under their feet as they'd shoved me against the wall. My back had hit stone with enough force to knock the air from my lungs, ribs screaming in protest.
"Worthless," one of them had hissed, drawing back her hand for a slap I'd known would leave bruises. "Just like your pathetic bloodline—"
"Three against one seems a bit unfair, don't you think?"
The voice had been low, controlled, but carrying an edge that had made all three girls freeze. Through my tears, I'd seen him—a tall silhouette backlit by the setting sun, carrying himself like he owned the world.
He stepped between us without hesitation, his hand catching the lead girl's wrist mid-swing. "Leave. Now."
They'd scattered like startled rabbits. And then he'd turned to me, crouching down with such careful gentleness that something in my chest had cracked wide open.
"Hey," he'd said softly. "You okay? Can you stand?"
God. I'd stared at him, completely stunned. A stranger was helping me? Actually asking if I was okay—and waiting for an answer? My own family had never spoken to me with that kind of gentle concern. Never looked at me like I was worth protecting.
The kindness in his voice was so foreign that for a moment I forgot how to breathe. Jesus, when was the last time anyone had cared if I was hurt?
His hand had been warm and dry and steady as he'd helped me up. The sunset had painted him in gold, transforming him into something out of the fairy tales I used to read before. He'd even helped me gather what remained of my ruined herbs.
"Here." He'd shrugged off his jacket—expensive leather that probably cost more than my entire wardrobe—and draped it over my shoulders. "Don't let them see you cry, okay?"
He'd walked me all the way to the Treatment division offices, and just before leaving, he'd ruffled my hair like I was a child. "If anyone bothers you again, come find me. Promise? Oh, right, my name is Derek Ashford."
"I'm Eileen," I'd whispered, the words barely escaping my lips. I nodded, my heart swelling with gratitude and an unfamiliar warmth I hadn't had words for yet. Something had taken root that evening.
But then I found that he belonged to the Advanced Academy while I was still in Junior Division. Though we shared the same campus, our worlds rarely crossed—separate classrooms, separate schedules, separate everything. I never understood what had brought him to the Junior Herbology gardens that day, and despite my hopeful lingering there over the next few weeks, I never saw him again.
But fate had other plans. At the start of the new semester, my herbology research earned me something almost unheard of—a direct promotion to the Advanced Academy's Healing Program.
