Chapter 9 The Second Study Session (Vivienne POV)
Declan looks like he's dying.
He's waiting at our usual table when I arrive, but he's nothing like the composed, controlled boy from our first meeting. His hair is damp with sweat despite the library's autumn chill. His skin is flushed, almost feverish. When he looks up at my approach, his pupils are so dilated his grey eyes appear nearly black.
"Hi," I say, setting my bag down slowly. "Are you alright? Owen said you had the flu, but you look worse than I expected."
"I'm fine." His voice is rough, strained. "Just recovering."
"You don't look fine. You look like you should be in bed." I reach across the table without thinking, pressing the back of my hand to his forehead. "You're burning up. Declan, you shouldn't be…"
He flinches away from my touch like I've scalded him.
"Sorry," I say quickly, pulling my hand back. "I didn't mean to…"
"It's not you." He's gripping the table edge, knuckles white. "I'm just... sensitive. Because of the fever."
But the way he's looking at me doesn't suggest illness. There's something predatory in his gaze, something intense that makes my pulse quicken.
"Maybe we should reschedule," I suggest. "You clearly need rest."
"No. I've missed enough already. We need to work on this project." He pulls a notebook from his bag with hands that aren't quite steady. "You said you wanted to research selkie legends?"
I sit slowly, watching him with concern. "Yes, but Declan…"
"Please. Just... let's work. It helps. Gives me something to focus on besides…" He stops himself, jaw tightening. "Besides feeling terrible."
I don't believe that's what he was going to say, but I don't push. Just pull out my laptop and open the document we've been building.
"Selkie legends are common across Scotland and Ireland," I start, keeping my voice neutral. "The basic mythology involves seals that shed their skins to become human. If someone steals their seal skin, they're trapped in human form."
"Until they find it again," Declan adds, his eyes fixed on my screen. "And then they return to the sea, leaving behind their human families."
"Right. It's usually framed as a tragic love story. Human man steals seal woman's skin, forces her to marry him, she eventually finds it and abandons him and their children."
"Not abandons. Escapes." There's an edge to his voice. "She was never there by choice. He took her agency, her ability to be what she was born to be."
I look up, surprised by the vehemence in his tone. "You feel strongly about this."
"Wouldn't you? Being trapped in the wrong form, forced to pretend to be something you're not?" His eyes meet mine, and I see something raw there. "Always knowing you're meant to be something else, but everyone around you insists you're human?"
"The selkies are human, though. Part of the time."
"But it's not their true form. The seal is." He leans back, running a hand through his damp hair. "The tragedy isn't that they leave. It's that they were stolen in the first place."
We're quiet for a moment. I pull up an article about selkie sightings in the Orkney Islands, but my attention keeps sliding to Declan. The way he's breathing too quickly. The way his hands shake slightly when he reaches for his water bottle.
"You're really not well," I say softly. "Please, let me at least get you some paracetamol or…"
"I don't need medicine."
"You need something. You look like you're about to pass out."
"I'm not going to pass out." But he doesn't sound certain.
I stand, moving around the table before I can second-guess the impulse. "At least let me check your temperature properly. My father taught me how to assess for serious fever."
"Vivienne…"
But I'm already reaching for him, pressing my palm flat against his forehead. His skin is impossibly hot, but not in the clammy way of illness. It's more like standing too close to a fire.
Declan goes completely still under my touch. Every muscle in his body tenses. His breathing stops.
"You're definitely running a fever," I say, my medical assessment automatic. "But your skin isn't clammy, and you don't seem disoriented. Have you taken anything for it?"
He doesn't answer. Just stares at me with those dark, dilated pupils, his jaw clenched so tight I can see the muscle jumping.
"Declan?"
"You need to stop touching me." The words come out as almost a growl.
I pull my hand back, stung. "I'm sorry. I was just trying to help."
"I know. But you can't…" He stands abruptly, putting distance between us. "I need a minute. I'll be right back."
He walks away quickly, heading toward the back section of the library where the older archives are kept. I watch him go, confused and worried in equal measure.
Something is seriously wrong. This isn't just flu. The way he reacted to my touch, the intensity in his eyes, the barely controlled tension in his body, it all suggests something more.
I pull out my mobile, texting Freya: Is Declan okay? He's acting really strange.
Her response is immediate: Where are you?
Library. Second floor. Study session.
Stay there. I'm coming.
I frown at the phone. Why would Freya need to come? But before I can text back, Declan returns, looking slightly more composed but still feverish.
"Sorry," he says, settling back into his chair at a careful distance. "I just needed some air."
"In the archives section?"
"There's a window back there. It helps." He opens his notebook. "Where were we?"
"Declan, something's wrong. You're clearly unwell, and you keep…"
"I'm fine. Let's just work on the project."
His tone doesn't invite argument, so I turn back to my laptop, pulling up the next section of research. But I can't focus. Can't stop watching him from the corner of my eye, cataloging symptoms like Father taught me.
Elevated temperature. Dilated pupils. Rapid breathing. Heightened responses to physical contact. Trembling hands. Intense focus alternating with distraction.
It doesn't add up to any illness I recognize.
"What about the selkie children?" I ask, trying to return to normalcy. "The mythology mentions them being left behind. Do they have any special abilities?"
"Some legends suggest they inherit traits from both parents," Declan says, his voice steadier now. "Enhanced swimming abilities, connection to the sea, sometimes the ability to transform themselves."
"So they're not fully human?"
"No. They're something in between. Caught between two worlds, not quite belonging to either."
The way he says it…with such understanding, such empathy…makes me wonder if he's still talking about mythology.
"That must be lonely," I say quietly.
"It is." He looks at me, and for a moment the intensity fades, replaced by something sadder. "Never quite fitting in anywhere. Always having to hide what you are."
"Is that how you feel?" The question slips out before I can stop it.
Declan's expression shutters. "We're talking about selkies."
"Are we?"
We stare at each other across the table. The air between us feels charged, heavy with questions neither of us is asking directly.
"I found a good source on regional variations," I say finally, breaking the tension. "If you want to look at it."
"Where?"
"Here." I gesture to my laptop screen. "But the text is small. You might need to…"
I don't finish the sentence because Declan moves closer, leaning in to read the screen. His shoulder brushes mine, and I feel the heat radiating off him even through our clothes.
"This is interesting," he murmurs, reading about Scottish versus Irish selkie traditions. "The Irish versions emphasize the tragedy more. The Scottish ones focus on the children left behind."
"Different cultural priorities," I say, but my voice sounds breathy. "Irish mythology tends toward romantic tragedy. Scottish toward family legacy."
"Which do you prefer?"
"I don't know. Both are sad in different ways." I scroll down, reading more. "Though I think the Scottish version is worse. At least the Irish selkie gets to go home. The children are stuck in a world that will never fully accept them."
"Maybe they make their own world. Find others like themselves."
I look up at him, and realize how close we are. His face is inches from mine, close enough that I can see the amber flecks in his grey eyes, can feel his breath against my cheek.
"Others like themselves?" I whisper.
"People who understand what it's like to be different. To be hiding."
"Are you hiding something, Declan?"
His eyes drop to my lips. "Yes."
"What?"
"Everything." His hand moves like he's going to touch my face, then stops, hovering in the air between us. "Everything important."
My heart hammers against my ribs. "Tell me."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"Because once you know, everything changes. You'll look at me differently. You'll be afraid."
"I'm not afraid of you."
"You should be." But his hand is moving closer now, his fingers almost touching my cheek. "God, Vivienne, you should run from me."
"I don't want to run."
The moment stretches, elastic and fragile. His hand hovers near my face. My breathing matches his. We're suspended in possibility, in the space between restraint and surrender.
"Declan…"
"Vivienne!" Freya's voice cuts through the moment like a blade. "There you are. I've been looking everywhere."
We jolt apart. Declan pulls back so quickly he nearly knocks over his chair. I blink, trying to reorient myself to the normal world.
"Freya? What's wrong?"
She's standing at the end of our table, her expression urgent. "I need you. Emergency. Sophie's locked herself in the bathroom and won't come out. She's asking for you."
"What? Why?"
"I don't know, but she's really upset. Please, Vivienne. She said it's important."
I look at Declan, torn. He's composed himself, the careful mask back in place, but his hands are shaking.
"Go," he says quietly. "Sophie needs you."
"But the project…"
"Can wait. Go."
I gather my things quickly, shooting apologetic looks at Declan. Freya grabs my arm the moment I'm packed, practically dragging me toward the exit.
"Freya, what's really going on?" I ask once we're in the corridor. "Sophie was fine this morning."
"Sophie's fine now too." Freya doesn't slow down, pulling me toward the main entrance. "That was an excuse."
"An excuse for what?"
She stops abruptly, turning to face me. "For getting you away from Declan before you did something you can't take back."
"What are you talking about?"
"You were about to kiss him. And this time, in his current state, he wouldn't have been able to stop at just a kiss."
Heat floods my face. "We weren't going to…"
"You were. I could feel the tension from across the library. And trust me, Vivienne, you don't want that. Not yet. Not until you understand what it means."
"Understand what?"
Freya looks around the empty corridor, then lowers her voice. "Meet me at the old chapel. Tonight. Midnight. I'll explain everything then."
"Why can't you explain now?"
"Because here, we could be overheard. And what I need to tell you…" She squeezes my arm. "It's not safe to discuss where others might listen."
"Others like who?"
"Like the twenty or so students at this school who aren't exactly human." She releases me, backing toward the stairs. "Midnight. The chapel. Don't tell anyone, not even Sophie. And Vivienne? Stay away from Declan until then. Please. For both your sakes."
She disappears down the stairs, leaving me standing in the corridor with my pulse racing and my mind spinning.
Not exactly human.
The words echo in my head as I walk back to Thornfield House, barely noticing the path. My enhanced hearing picks up conversations from multiple buildings. My sense of smell identifies dinner being prepared in the kitchens. My body moves with a coordination that still feels foreign, new.
Not exactly human.
Is that what I am? Is that what Declan is?
I think about his reaction to my touch, the way his eyes went dark, the barely restrained intensity in every movement. I think about the selkie conversation, the way he talked about being trapped in the wrong form, forced to pretend.
And I think about the woman in my dreams, silver-eyed and urgent: They're coming. You need to remember before it's too late.
When I reach my room, Sophie is sprawled on her bed reading a magazine, completely fine.
"Hey," she says, looking up. "How was the study session?"
"Freya said you locked yourself in the bathroom. That you were upset."
Sophie's brow furrows. "What? No. I've been here all afternoon. Why would she say that?"
"I don't know."
But I do know. Freya lied to get me away from Declan. To prevent something she thought was dangerous.
I sit on my bed, pulling out my mobile. A text from an unknown number: Are you alright? - D
I stare at the message. Declan got my number somehow. Is checking on me.
I type back: I'm fine. Are you?
The response takes three minutes: No. But I will be. Stay away from me for a few days, Vivienne. Please. It's safer.
Safer for who?
Both of us.
I want to argue, to demand explanations. But something in his text, the barely restrained desperation…makes me hesitate.
Okay. But we need to talk. Soon.
I know. We will. I promise.
I set down my phone, staring at the ceiling. Midnight at the chapel. Freya's going to tell me something. Something about not being exactly human, about the twenty supernatural students at Blackthorn, about why I need to stay away from Declan.
Part of me is terrified.
But a larger part, the part that's been waking up, getting stronger, demanding recognition, is eager.
Finally, someone's going to tell me the truth.
Finally, I'll understand what I'm becoming.
The hours until midnight crawl by with agonizing slowness.
Sophie falls asleep around ten. I wait until her breathing evens out, then slip from bed and dress in dark clothes. The corridors of Thornfield House are empty, the monitors having finished their rounds.
I make it outside without being seen, my enhanced hearing allowing me to avoid detection easily. The grounds are dark, lit only by a half-moon that casts everything in silver.
The old chapel sits on the edge of campus, technically off-limits but rarely monitored. I push open the heavy wooden door, wincing when it creaks.
"Hello?" My voice echoes in the empty space.
"Over here." Freya emerges from the shadows near the altar, holding a lantern. "You came."
"You knew I would."
"Hoped. There's a difference." She sets the lantern on a stone bench, creating a small circle of light. "Sit. This might take a while."
I sit, and Freya settles across from me, her expression serious in the flickering light.
"What are you?" she asks.
"I don't know. That's why I'm here."
"No. I mean, what do you think you are? What does your body tell you?"
I consider the question. "Something that isn't human. Something that's been sleeping and is now waking up."
"Good. That's exactly right." Freya leans forward. "Vivienne, has your father ever told you what killed your mother?"
"An animal attack. Something that came through the window."
"Did he tell you what kind of animal?"
"No. He won't talk about it."
"Right. Because the truth would require him to admit what your mother was. What you are." She takes a breath. "Vivienne, your mother wasn't human. She was a werewolf. And so are you."
The word hangs in the air between us.
Werewolf.
I should laugh. Should dismiss it as absurd.
But instead, something in my chest responds with fierce recognition.
Yes.
"That's impossible," I say, but my voice lacks conviction.
"Is it? Think about what's been happening to you. The enhanced senses. The increased strength and speed. The craving for raw meat. The way your body is changing." Freya's eyes are kind but relentless. "You're not sick, Vivienne. You're awakening. The suppression spells your father paid for, the ones keeping you human…are breaking down."
"Suppression spells?"
"Magic. He's been dosing you with magical suppressants since you were a child. Keeping your wolf dormant. But something triggered the awakening, and now there's no stopping it."
I think about the dream-memory. Father with the syringe. His desperate words: I won't let you become what she was.
"Declan," I whisper. "It started after Declan."
"Because he's your mate. And mate bonds are stronger than any suppression spell." Freya reaches across the space between us, gripping my hands. "Vivienne, I'm telling you this now because you need to understand what's at stake. You're awakening. Declan is in heat. And if you two complete the bond before you're ready…before you understand what it means…the consequences will be catastrophic."
"What kind of consequences?"
"The kind that could get you both killed."
I stare at her, my mind racing through implications, through revelations, through the impossible truth that somehow makes perfect sense.
"Show me," I say finally. "Show me what I am."
Freya smiles, sad and knowing. "I can't show you. But the next full moon will. And Vivienne? When it comes, you need to be ready. Because once you transform, there's no going back to the girl you were."
"Good," I say, and mean it. "I don't want to go back. I want to know what I've always been."
"Even if it means your father becomes your enemy?"
The question hurts, but I don't hesitate. "Even then."
Because whatever I'm becoming, it's real.
And I'm done living a lie.