Wolf's Veil

Ellie's POV

It was supposed to be an ordinary Tuesday afternoon.

Lucas and I were walking home from school, taking our usual shortcut through the alley behind Miller's Hardware Store. The autumn sun cast long shadows across the cracked pavement, and we were arguing about whether pineapple belonged on pizza—a debate we'd been having since middle school.

"I'm just saying, fruit and cheese is a crime against nature," Lucas insisted, adjusting his backpack strap.

"Says the guy who eats rabbit sandwiches," I shot back, grinning.

"That's different. That's tradition."

"That's weird."

He was about to respond when we heard it—a sharp cry, followed by cruel laughter echoing from deeper in the alley.

We both froze.

"Please, just leave me alone," a girl's voice pleaded. "I don't have any money."

Lucas's eyes met mine. In that split second, I saw his jaw tighten, his pupils dilate slightly. The wolf in him responding to distress, to injustice. Before I could say anything, he was already moving.

"Stay here," he muttered.

"Like hell," I whispered back, following close behind.

We rounded the corner to find three guys surrounding a small figure pressed against the brick wall. Samantha Grey. Her backpack lay torn on the ground, its contents scattered across the dirty pavement.

"Hey!" Lucas's voice cut through the air like a whip. "Back off."

The tallest one—a guy with a buzz cut and a neck tattoo—turned slowly. "Or what, pretty boy?"

"Or I make you."

I'd seen Lucas fight before. During full moons, we'd sparred in our wolf forms, testing our strength against each other. But I'd never seen him fight as a human, not like this. He moved with controlled fury, landing a solid punch to Buzz Cut's jaw before the guy even registered what was happening.

The other two lunged at him simultaneously.

"Lucas!" I shouted, rushing forward.

One of them—a stocky guy with a shaved head—grabbed Lucas from behind. The third one, lanky with greasy hair, swung at Lucas's face. I didn't think. I just moved, throwing myself between them.

My shoulder connected with Greasy Hair's chest, knocking him off balance. For a moment, I thought we had this under control.

Then Stocky shoved me hard.

I stumbled backward. My spine hit something solid and unforgiving. The sound of shattering glass filled my ears before the pain registered—sharp, burning, spreading across my back like wildfire. I slid down the brick wall, feeling wetness seep through my shirt.

"Ellie!" Lucas's voice sounded distant, muffled by the ringing in my ears.

Through blurred vision, I saw him break free from Stocky's grip. What happened next was brutal and efficient. Lucas moved like a predator, every strike calculated, every movement precise. Within thirty seconds, all three guys were on the ground, groaning.

"Don't ever come back here," Lucas snarled at them. "Don't even look in her direction again."

They scrambled to their feet and ran.

I tried to stand, pressing my hand against the wall for support. My palm came away red. Behind me, the remains of a broken beer bottle glittered on the pavement, pieces of brown glass mixed with my blood.

"Oh my god, oh my god," Samantha's voice trembled from where she still stood against the wall, tears streaming down her face. "This is all my fault. I'm so sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

Lucas rushed over to her. "Are you hurt? Did they touch you?"

"N-no, I'm fine, but she—" Samantha pointed at me with a shaking hand.

"I'm okay," I said, even though my back felt like it was on fire. "Just some cuts."

Lucas finally looked at me. His eyes widened when he saw the blood on my hand, my shirt. For a moment, I thought he'd come over, check on me like he always did when we got hurt during training.

Instead, he turned back to Samantha.

"We need to get you checked out," he said gently, putting his arm around her shoulders. "You're in shock. The hospital—"

"Lucas," I interrupted, trying to keep my voice steady. "I'm the one who's bleeding."

"You'll be fine," he said quickly, not quite meeting my eyes. "You're tougher than you look. But Samantha needs help. She's terrified. She needs someone right now, and you... you know..." He trailed off, leaving the sentence unfinished.

You know you'll heal.

He didn't say it. He didn't have to.

I watched him guide Samantha down the alley, her face buried in his chest, his varsity jacket draped over her shoulders. She looked back at me once, her eyes meeting mine over Lucas's shoulder.

No tears on her face anymore. Just that same cold calculation I'd seen before.

Then they were gone.

I stood there alone in the alley, surrounded by broken glass and blood—mine and theirs. Slowly, carefully, I reached behind my back and touched the wounds. They were already closing, skin knitting itself back together with that familiar tingling sensation.

Right. Because I'm a werewolf. I heal.

I pulled my hand away and stared at the blood on my fingers. It looked red and human and entirely ordinary. Nothing special about it. Nothing worth staying for.

She needs someone right now, and you... you know...

I laughed. It came out bitter and sharp, echoing off the brick walls.

Of course. Why would Lucas worry about me? I'm not fragile. I'm not human. I don't need protection or comfort or someone to hold me when I'm scared. I'm a werewolf. I'm built to take damage and keep going. Built to heal and move on. Built to be strong so others don't have to be.

Built to be left behind in an alley, apparently.

I picked up my backpack and started walking home, ignoring the way my shirt stuck to my back, wet and uncomfortable. By the time I reached my house, the wounds would be completely healed. By tomorrow, there wouldn't even be scars.

Just like Lucas probably expected.

The next day, I spotted them in the hallway between classes.

Lucas was carrying Samantha's books, laughing at something she said. When he saw me, he waved but didn't stop to talk—a first in our fifteen years of friendship.

"He's walking her to class now," Emma Brown said, appearing beside me. My best friend since freshman year had a talent for noticing things. "Like, every class.."

"I'm sure he's just being nice," I said, more to convince myself than Emma. "Making sure she feels safe after what happened."

Emma's eyes narrowed. "Ellie, you were the one who got hurt. Does he even know if you're okay?"

I didn't answer. The truth was, Lucas hadn't texted me last night. Hadn't called. Hadn't asked if my wounds healed properly or if I needed anything. For the first time in fifteen years, he'd gone an entire evening without checking in.

"He knows I'm fine," I said finally. "I always am."

Emma gave me a look but didn't push it. "If you say so. Wanna grab lunch later?"

I nodded, my eyes still following Lucas and Samantha down the hallway. Despite my uneasiness, I trusted the bond Lucas and I shared. We grew up together, transformed under the same moons, shared secrets no human could understand. One act of heroism couldn't change that.

Right?