Chapter 4 Problematic Men
Skylar
At lunchtime, I headed to the garden behind the west wing. Wolves usually avoided dragons unless forced, but I needed air and calm—which, naturally, meant trouble.
Three dragon shifters stood in a loose semicircle, faint wing shadows visible beneath their jackets, surrounding someone smaller.
They were cornering the shy dragon shifter I’d seen before—narrow shoulders, shaggy brown hair, bright orange eyes always half-filled with fear.
“Come on, Gils,” one jeered. “Show us your sparks. Or are you still broken?”
“Maybe he’s half dragon, half toaster,” another snorted.
Gils flinched, clutching his book. One of them kicked him, sending him stumbling back, his panic only growing.
Alright. Enough.
“Hey!” I shouted.
They turned. One frowned. “What’s a she-wolf doing here?”
I ignored him. “There’s no rule saying WOLVES can’t be here. Leave. NOW!”
The tallest dragon scoffed. “What’ll you do? Sniff us to death?”
I stepped in front of Gils. My wolf instincts surged—claws, breath, rage, but I forced them down.
“Touch him again,” I said lowly, “and you’ll regret it.”
A burst of heat flared behind me. Gils panicked, sparks flickering from his fingertips.
“I…I didn’t mean to…”
I grabbed his wrist. “Hey. Breathe. It’s okay.”
The flames dimmed.
The bullies backed off not because of the fangs bared at my lips, but because the garden lights flickered, magic pulsing for a brief second. They noticed. I crushed it down instantly.
“Whatever,” one muttered. “He’s not worth it.”
They left.
Gils sagged. “Thank you. I…I’m not used to anyone.”
“It’s okay.” I smiled faintly. “I’m used to disasters.”
He blinked. “Me too. I’m Gils. Half dragon, and apparently perfect toaster material.”
“Nice to meet you, Gils. I’m Skylar…and you’re not a toaster.” I chuckled. “We can be disaster besties.”
He laughed awkwardly, eyes brightening, smile unfairly sweet. Something warm bloomed in my chest.
Then his fingers flared again.
“Gils?”
“I…I swear it’s an accident!”
“It’s okay. Remember, we’re disasters.” I cupped his hands. “Two disasters together. We can manage.”
His cheeks flushed in a way that should’ve been illegal.
I didn’t sense him until the air suddenly cooled. Of course. A vampire’s aura always triggered a werewolf’s instincts.
He emerged from behind a willow tree, his gaze dissecting my soul.
“You did it again,” he murmured. “Your aura—when you defended him.”
I stiffened. “I didn’t do anything.”
“Skylar.” His voice dropped—gentle, but sharp enough to cut. “Your scent changed. Just like Valentina’s.”
My breath stopped.
Gils looked between us, confused. I didn’t break eye contact with Irlan.
“I’m not Valentina. Whoever she is, I’m not her. I don’t know her.”
“You resemble her,” he said, stepping closer. “Not just the scent. Your face. That reckless bravery…”
Cold crept up my spine not fear, but the way he looked at me, like I was a wild flame he wanted to step into.
The air tightened.
“This is the second time you’ve acted like her,” he continued softly. “And the second time my instincts have responded.”
“Your instincts?” My voice wavered. “For what?”
“For you.”
He wasn’t testing me. The sincerity in his tone felt like a confession—and my heart stumbled.
I stepped back. “I don’t have time for this.”
“I’m not asking for your time.” His eyes flashed red for a second—vampiric hunger, not for blood, but for answers. “I’m asking for the truth.”
Gils tugged my sleeve. “Skylar… are you okay?”
I took a deep breath. “I told you—I’m not her. That’s the truth.”
Irlan didn’t believe me. He stared at us, puzzled, until Gils pulled me away.
The day should have ended there but life clearly hated me.
As we crossed the east courtyard, two wolf students laughed loudly.
“Hey, Split-Fang. Did your mum curse you before she left?”
The words hit like broken glass and blood. Mother burned. And I knew the insult came from Michael spreading rumours that I wasn’t a pure wolf.
Before I could react, someone else did.
Moon Goddess, why does everyone want to torment me today?
Michael appeared out of nowhere, grabbing the boy by the collar and slamming him into a pillar with a low growl that made the air tremble.
“Never talk about his mother,” he snarled.
The boy shook. “I…I was just…”
“Say it again,” Michael said, eyes glowing gold. “I dare you. One-on-one.”
They fled.
Michael didn’t look at me right away. His jaw was tight, anger radiating from him; anger I didn’t understand.
When he finally did, his voice was sharp. “This is exactly why I have to keep cleaning up after you.”
“I didn’t.”
“And don’t thank me. I didn’t do it for you.”
He left before I could reply. I couldn’t decide whether to punch him or hug him.
Typical. Calling me Split-Fang one moment, spreading rumours then stopping my magic from erupting the next.
Gils and I parted ways when he said he wanted to return to his room.
By sunset, I was too exhausted to remember my own name. So when I entered the main hall and saw them standing there.
Elroth.
Gils.
Irlan.
Michael.
My brain buffered.
They weren’t talking. They weren’t standing close. All four stared at me, each with a different expression.
Elroth wore an amused smile, like he knew a secret about me I hadn’t yet discovered. Gils’ eyes lit up instantly, and he practically glued himself to me.
Irlan looked confused yet cold, too arrogant to dictate my identity. Then there was Michael, clicking his tongue, Alpha aura radiating protectiveness that pulled my focus from the others.
‘Please don’t let this be another bad omen ending with me in Black Bolt prison.’
My breath caught.
“Uh,” my voice rasped. “Could you… stop staring at me? Except Gils. I mean him.”
“Well, well,” Elroth smirked at Gils, then at me. “Looks like the shy dragon’s stolen your heart already.”
Somehow, Elroth was suddenly right in front of me despite having stood ten metres away moments ago. He moved like he glided.
Michael approached next, looking like he wanted to tear something apart, hands in his pockets.
Irlan followed last, his unblinking stare unmistakably vampiric.
Something sparked inside me, four directions at once. Four different energies brushed against my aura like threads tightening into a knot in my chest. I gripped my bag strap hard.
What is happening to me?
As they all looked at me like I was the eye of a storm they were closing in on, my voice trembled when I finally spoke.
“Why… are you all so close to me?”
No one answered. Not even Gils.
Oh no. I could tolerate him best, we were on the same server.
“You have something each of us wants,” Elroth said first.
“Mate,” Michael snapped.
“You’re my first friend, Skylar,” Gils said softly.
“My queen,” Irlan finished—and that was the most irritating of all, because he kept comparing me to this Valentina.
No. I am not collecting stamps labelled ‘problematic men.’
