Chapter 67 Sixty-six

Chapter 67 Sixty-six
CHAPTER 66

THE WOLF AT THE DOOR 

GREY’S POV — MODERN MYSTICAL SETTING

The Blood Moon hadn’t faded.
It lingered like a bruise on the horizon, not visible anymore, but pulsing inside him, threaded into every heartbeat. The air around Lunar Crest Academy still shimmered faintly, as though reality hadn’t quite recovered. The corridors smelled of ozone and old smoke. Every light flickered at the edges.

And Grey hadn’t slept.

He sat in the shadows of the east tower, his knuckles raw, his breath coming out in ghosted puffs that carried heat. The entire world felt too small to contain what was inside him, the storm, the guilt, the need to destroy and protect at the same time.

He’d always known betrayal was possible in a place like this, politics, power, ancient curses wrapped in smiling faces.
But not her.
Not Clara. Not Iria’s supposed friend.

The confirmation had hit him like a blade to the ribs. Clara had fed the professors secrets, twisted the narrative, painted Iria as the source of the curse instead of the vessel trying to survive it. And somewhere in the background, Kael’s name whispered like a dark echo. The enemy had been inside their circle all along.

He closed his eyes. His mind replayed Iria’s face when she’d found out, the way she’d gone quiet instead of crying. That stillness had broken him more than any tears could have.
She hadn’t screamed. She hadn’t blamed anyone.
She’d simply folded inward, as if the betrayal had pressed a knife against her very soul.

Grey had felt her power shift that night. The air trembled when she moved. The Blood Moon’s residue burned in her veins, unstable.
And still, she looked fragile.

He gritted his teeth, feeling the heat rise through his palms. The light bulb above his head flickered, then shattered. Sparks fell like fireflies around him.
He didn’t flinch.

When Brian entered, the temperature dropped.

“You’re going to burn this place down,” Brian said evenly, shutting the door behind him. His posture was calm, his suit jacket immaculate even after everything that had happened. “Again.”

Grey didn’t turn. “Maybe it deserves to burn.”

“Not helpful.” Brian’s voice was steel under silk. “The professors are already on edge. If they sense what’s inside you…..”

“Let them,” Grey snapped, finally facing him. “Let them see what happens to anyone who touches her.”

Brian’s expression didn’t change, but the line of his jaw tightened. “You think rage will fix this?”

“I think breaking a few bones might,” Grey hissed, stepping closer. “Clara betrayed her. You want me to sit still while she walks free under your goddamn protection?”

“I’m not protecting Clara,” Brian said. “I’m protecting Iria from you.”

That stopped him.

Grey’s power pulsed outward, invisible but heavy, a pressure that made the windows hum. “Say that again,” he growled.

“You heard me.” Brian’s voice was low, clipped, too calm for what he was provoking. “You’re losing control. You think you’re the only one who cares about her, but you’re not. You’re the only one who might kill her by mistake.”

Something cracked inside Grey, not anger, but disbelief. “You think I’d hurt her?”

“I think you already are,” Brian said softly. “You smother her with protection. You make her afraid of herself because she sees you afraid of her.”

Grey’s laugh was sharp and hollow. “And what about you? You’re the one calculating every move like she’s some pawn on your board.”

“At least I can think.”

Grey’s eyes glowed faintly, that same dangerous light that had appeared the night of the Blood Moon. “You talk like you’ve got her figured out. But you don’t feel her, Brian. You don’t wake up to the sound of her heartbeat shaking the air. You don’t see what she’s holding back.”

Brian didn’t answer immediately. He stepped past Grey, stood by the cracked window, and looked out at the storm-tinted sky. “You love her too loudly,” he said at last. “And loud love burns everything.”

Grey stared at him for a long moment, then turned away before his hands could do something he’d regret.

Later, in the training hall, Grey broke every target they set up for him.
The practice dummies exploded in clouds of ash. The floor cracked under his boots. The other students watched from the corners, whispering.

Rumors were spreading faster than the truth.
The cursed girl. The unstable brother. The Blood Moon choosing its children.
Lunar Crest thrived on fear.

He could feel Iria somewhere above, her aura trembling, her emotions leaking through the walls. She was hiding again, maybe in the observatory, maybe by the northern greenhouses where the mist was thick enough to feel like a shield.
She didn’t want anyone near her.

But Grey couldn’t stop himself.
He needed to see her, to reassure himself that she was real, alive, still hers.

He climbed the old spiral stair that led to the observatory. The doors were half-open, the moonlight cutting a cold line through the dust. Iria stood near the telescope, her hair catching the faint glow of the city lights below. Her fingers traced the window frame absently, and every spot she touched hummed faintly, reacting to her energy.

When she turned, her eyes were red-rimmed but steady.

“Grey,” she whispered.

He froze at the sound of his name. That single word was enough to still the storm in him for a heartbeat.

“I just wanted to see you,” he said quietly.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

“I had to make sure you were….”

“...not a danger?” Her voice cracked. “Because that’s what they think now. That I’m some weapon waiting to go off.”

“I don’t care what they think,” he said fiercely. “I care what you feel.”

“Then you shouldn’t look at me like that,” she whispered. “Like I’ll break or explode or vanish.”

He took a slow step closer. “Then tell me how to look at you.”

She didn’t answer, but her power flickered, the air around her shimmering, the faint scent of metal in the room. Grey felt it crawl across his skin like static, tasting the danger and beauty of her all at once.

He reached out, stopped just before touching her cheek. “You think I’m afraid of you,” he murmured. “I’m not. I’m afraid of losing you.”

She exhaled sharply, and something inside her responded, a ripple of power that made the glass in the dome tremble.
Grey closed the distance before he could think better of it, catching her wrist gently, grounding her with touch.

Her breath hitched.
His heart did too.

“I’m not good at control,” he admitted. “But I’ll learn. For you.”

“Grey…”

He leaned closer, his forehead almost touching hers. “Let them try to cage you,” he said softly. “Let them whisper and plot. I’ll break every one of them if I have to.”

“Even Brian?” she asked, voice trembling.

His jaw clenched. “Even Brian.”

The silence stretched. The storm outside beat against the dome, wind howling like a living thing. Iria’s pulse flickered visibly beneath her skin, matching his. She looked up at him, part fear, part longing. And he knew she could feel it too: that tether between them, fragile but burning bright.

Then she stepped back, her power dimming. “You can’t keep saving me, Grey,” she said. “Sometimes saving someone means letting them fall.”

He couldn’t answer that.
He only watched her leave, watched her disappear into the dark corridor below while the air still hummed where she had been.

By dawn, Grey’s resolve hardened into something unrecognizable.

He stood alone by the academy’s eastern gates as the first light cracked over the city’s spires. The mist curled around him, pale and heavy, wrapping the world in silence.

He thought of Clara, her fake kindness, her easy smile, the way she’d sat beside Iria in the dining hall and whispered poison in her ear. He thought of Kael, unseen, unpunished. And he thought of Brian, calculating his next move, already planning how to “contain” the situation.

Grey didn’t want containment.
He wanted retribution.

The Blood Moon inside him pulsed again, faint but rhythmic, like a call.
He let it.
He opened himself to it, not to destroy, but to claim the strength it offered.

His hands burned, faint sigils forming along his skin, the ancient mark of Lunar blood, the same symbol that had once terrified generations. It shimmered red for a heartbeat, then faded under his skin. He could feel it connecting him to Iria, a thread of shared fate neither of them asked for.

He looked out over the city, his voice low and certain.

> “No one touches her again,” he said to the wind.
“Not the professors. Not the whispers. Not Clara.
And if fate itself tries, then I’ll burn fate.”

The mist swallowed his words, carrying them through the dawn.

Somewhere far below, Iria stirred in her sleep, and the air around her trembled as if the world had just made a promise it could never take back.