Her Eyes. His Truth

Tonight is Nyssara’s turning of age ceremony. Of course, I wasn’t invited. Or rather, my family never planned on letting me be there.

This just gives me more time to train in the family gym. If there’s one thing I don’t slack on, it’s building muscle.

I may not be the strongest Lycan out there-maybe not even average-but if I don’t at least look tough, even the cowards who mock me behind my back might start being more open about it, doing it to my face to feel good about themselves.

They only stay quiet because of my family’s name. If that ever stops being enough… well, I’d rather not know.

As I pass the hallways leading to the gym, the judgmental stares from the household helpers threatens to disrupt my peace.

I never understood why it still bothered me. After all these years, I should be numb to it.

But something inside me-something raw like a raging force-keeps clawing at my insides, begging to tear their eyes out, to remind them they’re beneath me.

And maybe I would’ve, if I could get away with mass murder.

We’d definitely be the talk of the town then.

I muse on the thought and shake my head.

“Mark.”

I call out to our family’s butler. He’s never respected me, but at least he’s never spoken ill–or given me that condescending stare I see everywhere else.

“Young Master.”

He appears before me with surprising grace. For an elderly man, he moves like a shadow.

I'm heading to the gym, I would prefer to rest before dinner.

"Yes", he's about moving when I recall something.

"Also, the heater in my room isn't working, have someone fix it, preferably before I'm done with the gym. It's not exactly pleasing bathing with ice water"

"Of course", he replies calmly, it isn't the first time we've had this conversation, it seems my siblings have found a different way to torment me.

I push the thought aside, stepping into the gym where solitude welcomes me refreshingly.

Nyssara

The ballroom sparkled–a myriad of silk and gold beneath chandeliers. Music loud and orchestral, echoing through the high arches of the palace that belonged to my family by blood and dominance. I stood at the center of it all, dressed in silver like the moon herself, yet I had never felt suffocation like I did now.

Tonight was supposed to be mine. My Turning of Age. A celebration of legacy, lineage, and the power that ran through my veins. But all I could feel was the weight several expectations sewn into my gown.

Dancers twirled around me–alphas from noble lines, betas with ambition gleaming in their eyes, and omegas like me who hadn't yet realized they were being given like trophies in a game of power to the highest bidder.

I stood beside my mother. We were one of the Five Great Families. Her hand rested gently on my back, an elegant pressure that said, 'Smile Nyssara'. Be what they expect you to be. Her eyes never left the crowd. Always searching. Always calculating.

I smiled–it was etched into me.

My father raised his goblet, beginning the ceremonial toast, but his words faded into the hum of my own thoughts. From somewhere in the sea of people, I caught a pair of eyes watching me like I was something distant.

Another suitor.

Of course.

Powerful omegas are rare, and I am the rarest of them all. My lineage is so thick with dominance and power, my scent alone could bend lesser wolves to their knees. Some of these alphas would sell their souls to mark me. Breed me. Bind me.

I stepped down before the toast ended.

“Nyssara,” my mother hissed behind her smile.

“I just need air,” I whispered back, already moving. She didn’t stop me. Not here. Not tonight.

I slipped past the guards with a single nod. Let them whisper. Let them call it arrogance. I couldn’t breathe in there.

The gardens were soaked in moonlight. Trees gently swaying in the wind like they, too, were tired of standing tall. The air was cool against my skin, and the music from the ball was only a faint murmur now. I exhaled, finally letting go of the tightness in my chest.It seems I had gone too far.

At first, I thought he was just a shadow–tall, still, nearly hidden beneath the trees.

His scent reached me before his eyes did. Earthy. Male. Suppressed.

It wasn’t the scent of power. Not like my cousins. Not like the alpha suitors inside. It was... quieter. Caged. Ancient.

I tilted my head. “You’re not supposed to be here.”

He turned slowly,with surprise and caution.

“Neither are you,” he replied, voice low and steady.

My lips curled slightly. “Touché.”

He didn’t bow. He didn’t avert his eyes like most males did when they realized who I was. He simply stood there,chin high–but not in challenge. In quiet resistance.

It intrigued me.

“You’re from the House of Varkai aren’t you?” I asked, stepping closer. “The youngest.”

His jaw tightened. “Rhyven.”

“Rhyven.” I tested the name on my tongue like a secret. “You train late.”

“I prefer when no one’s watching.”

I laughed–soft, genuine, “Same.”

He shifted, and only then did I notice the faint sweat across his collarbone, the way his knuckles were stained with blood. He’d been hitting something hard.

“What are you doing out here?” he asked.

I gestured back toward the mansion “Celebrating my turning of age. With a room full of men who want to breed me and women who want to see me fail.”

His brow arched, humor in his eyes. “Sounds... festive.”

“You have no idea.”

We stood in silence for a moment. The wind scattered petals from a nearby tree. I looked at him more closely now. Something about his posture–it wasn’t wrong exactly, but off. Like he was moving against himself.

And then it clicked.

“Your body is fighting your training,” I said suddenly.

His eyes flicked to me, “What?”

“Your constitution. You’re pushing it in the wrong direction. You're using high-pressure strength conditioning, pure alpha based techniques. It doesn’t align with your nature.”

He stared at me. No one had probably ever said something like that to him. Definitely not from the Great Houses.

“You're not built like them,” I continued, softer now. “But that doesn’t mean you’re weak. You're built... differently.”

His voice came low, almost bitter. “Everyone keeps telling me I’m a defective alpha.”

“Maybe you’re not defective,” I said, “just... misread.”

He swallowed hard. The moonlight caught in his eyes, and for a moment, he looked more wolf than human. I wondered how long he’d carried that shame, how deep it had rooted inside him. Then I wondered why I cared.

“I should go,” I said, turning. “They’ll come looking soon.”

“Wait.” His voice halted me.

I turned, one brow raised.

He hesitated. “If you know another way, one that works with my body... could you show me?”

I studied him. Not a trace of arrogance in his face. Just sincerity, and something else beneath it.

“I might,” I said.

And with that, I left him standing there in the moonlight, staring at me like he’d seen something precious for the first time.

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