Misery’s Games
The crowd grew quiet as the wiry vampire stepped closer to Lyra, his head tilting slightly as he sniffed the air again. His expression darkened, a cruel smile spreading across his face.
“You reek of wolf,” he said, his voice low but carrying across the courtyard.
Lyra’s breath hitched, her heart hammering against her ribs. The world seemed to tilt as she caught the murmurs rippling through the crowd. She clenched her fists tightly to suppress the wolf clawing beneath her skin.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she replied, her voice steadier than she felt.
The vampire laughed darkly, circling her like a predator stalking prey. “Oh, don’t you? That feral edge to your scent—so raw, so… wrong. It’s not vampire. What are you hiding?”
Lyra’s instincts screamed at her to attack, to silence him before he could say more. But she knew better. A single misstep could expose everything. Instead, she steadied herself and focused on the fight.
He lunged suddenly, his blade arcing toward her in a flash of silver. Lyra dodged, her movements swift and precise. She countered with a strike of her own, forcing him back a step.
“You’re quick,” he admitted, his grin widening. “But speed won’t save you.”
Their blades clashed in a flurry of movement, the sound of metal ringing through the courtyard. Lyra’s wolf surged within her, its instincts sharpening her reactions. Every strike she dodged, every counter she delivered, felt like a battle not just against her opponent but against herself.
The vampire’s strikes became more erratic, his frustration growing as he failed to land a decisive blow. He growled low in his throat, his fangs glinting as he lunged again. This time, Lyra sidestepped and swept his legs out from under him, sending him sprawling to the ground.
She leveled her blade at his throat, her chest heaving.
The crowd erupted into cheers, but Lyra barely heard them. Her opponent’s eyes burned with rage as he glared up at her, his voice a venomous hiss. “This isn’t over.”
She stepped back, lowering her blade. Her wolf still growled within her, demanding she finish the fight, but she forced it down.
The match was over, but the unease lingered. Lyra knew she’d drawn too much attention, and the words “reek of wolf” rang in her ears like a warning bell.
Eryon was waiting for her at the edge of the crowd, his expression tense. “What happened out there?” he asked, his voice low.
“He said I smelled like…” Lyra’s words faltered, her gaze darting nervously around them.
Eryon’s jaw tightened. “We need to be more careful.”
Before Lyra could reply, Misery’s voice cut through the tension like a blade.
“You put on quite a show,” she said, stepping toward them with her signature smirk.
Lyra stiffened, the hair on the back of her neck rising. Misery’s presence felt suffocating, her crimson eyes gleaming with malicious amusement.
“What do you want?” Lyra asked, her tone clipped.
Misery’s smile widened, her gaze flicking between the twins. “Just to congratulate you. That was… impressive.”
Her words dripped with insincerity, but Lyra said nothing.
The next few days at the academy were no easier. Misery’s games continued, her subtle sabotage targeting Lyra at every opportunity. She tampered with training equipment, spread whispered rumors, and orchestrated moments of humiliation that kept Lyra on edge.
But her focus wasn’t solely on Lyra. Misery’s interest in Eryon grew more intense, her flirtations turning bolder. She cornered him in the training hall one evening, her movements deliberate as she approached.
“You’re different,” she said, her tone soft but probing.
Eryon didn’t look at her. “Is that supposed to be a compliment?”
Misery chuckled, her voice low and smooth. “It’s an observation. You don’t belong with the rest of them. You’re better.”
Eryon finally met her gaze, his expression guarded. “What are you after?”
Misery tilted her head, her smile sharp. “Maybe I’m just curious. Or maybe I see something in you no one else does.”
