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.
