Chapter Thirty-One: Carol's POV
I opened my mouth, just beginning to say "Mr. Simon, last night—"
Those few words, and he cut me off.
"Where were you?"
My breath caught in my chest. The reasons I'd felt I could explain just seconds ago all scattered under his gaze.
If I told Simon where I'd really been—at Maurice's place, under his care, transformed by his blood—the consequences would be severe.
Simon's hatred for vampires ran too deep, deep into his bones—centuries of species conflict, plus some personal grudges I only half understood.
What if Simon knew Maurice saved my life?
Knew he'd fed his own blood into my wounds, binding me to him in some way I didn't fully understand yet?
Knew that when I woke up I'd changed, become wrong, stuck somewhere between werewolf, vampire, and whatever other mess?
Just thinking about it made my stomach churn.
My brain raced, looking for an explanation—couldn't be all lies, but couldn't tell the real truth either.
"I was—" I'd just started when I saw Isabella walking over from the teaching building.
She was carrying a pile of textbooks, her posture still perfect even with books weighing down her hair.
Isabella Carter. Simon's fiancée.
Soon she'd be able to become part of his life in a way I never could, with perfect legitimacy.
She spotted us right away—her beta instincts were always sharp.
She quickened her pace, her heels clicking.
When she reached us, she smiled at me. I swallowed the bitterness in my mouth and forced myself to nod politely at her.
"Isabella," I said, trying to keep any emotion out of my voice, just polite. No matter what I personally thought, she was Simon's choice, his future wife—that weight deserved respect. "Good to see you."
"Carol." Her voice was warm, using her hand to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. "I'm glad I ran into both of you. Honestly, the timing is perfect—I have news to announce."
She turned slightly toward Simon, her body language both drawing him into the conversation and asserting a kind of intimacy, even possessiveness. "The wedding date is set. March fifteenth. A spring wedding, just like we discussed."
The words hit my chest like lead weights. March fifteenth. Less than a year away. I'd known this day would come—knew it from the moment he announced the engagement.
But actually hearing a specific date felt different, not like that vague, distant future I could pretend not to think about.
By March fifteenth, Isabella would become Mrs. Simon Volkov.
She'd have legal status, pack-recognized standing, an identity that counted in both human and werewolf worlds.
And me? I was nothing.
Then Isabella turned to me, her smile deepening slightly, carrying a meaning I couldn't quite articulate.
"Also, Carol, since Simon is your guardian—" she paused, "—that makes us family in a way, doesn't it? So I think you could start using a different form of address. Calling me 'Mom' would be appropriate, don't you think?"
The words hit like a sucker punch, sudden and vicious.
My jaw tightened, teeth clenched, struggling not to let my expression collapse.
Mom. She wanted me to call her Mom. This woman who was only one grade above me, twenty-two or twenty-three at most, who'd known Simon for less time than I had.
If this wasn't deliberately disgusting, I'd find it funny—this trick of packaging power as family affection was too obvious.
Heat surged up in my chest, that thing I'd just acquired and couldn't quite control yet, getting heated by her provocation.
My senses were sharper than before, catching details I would have missed—Isabella's heartbeat had quickened a bit, her shoulders were unconsciously tense, her fingers pressing slightly harder on her textbooks.
She knew exactly what she was doing. She was asserting dominance, marking territory, making it crystal clear: she would soon occupy that position by Simon's side that I could never reach.
"Congratulations on setting a date," I said, my voice surprisingly steady despite my roiling stomach.
"The wedding will be beautiful. As for what to call you," I paused, looking directly into her eyes, letting her see I wouldn't be crushed, "I'll still call you Isabella, if that's alright. And Simon will still be Simon, or Mr. Volkov in formal settings. I think that better suits our actual relationship."
Isabella's smile cooled several degrees, her eyes sharpening, though her lips maintained that curve.
Simon hadn't spoken the whole time, wearing that expressionless face I'd seen in pack politics.
When he finally spoke, his voice was flat. "The wedding plans are progressing," he said, then his gaze turned to me like a laser, and my heartbeat immediately quickened. "But that's not what we need to discuss right now."
Before I could prepare for what he was about to say, before I could come up with another excuse or half-truth, he'd already said it. His words scattered every thought in my head.
"Leon is awake. He's at the hospital. I'm taking you to see him."
I felt the world tilt. Leon is awake. Leon is alive.
This couldn't be—I'd seen him die. I'd seen silver claws pierce his chest, seen the gymnasium floor covered in blood, seen the light fade from his eyes bit by bit as he told me to run.
This morning I'd stood in that cleaned gymnasium grieving for him, every step back to the dorm weighted with guilt over him.
But Simon said he was alive. Awake. In the hospital.
My knees started to weaken. I clenched my jaw to hold myself up, not letting myself sway. "He..." My voice was hoarse. "Leon is alive?"
"Yes." Simon's tone softened a bit. "He was severely injured, but he survived. I transferred him to a place with professional werewolf care. He was unconscious for two days and woke up this morning asking about you."
All thoughts about Isabella and her wedding, about Simon's unanswered questions, about the secrets I was hiding and the lies I'd told—in that moment, none of it mattered.
Only one thought was clear: Leon was alive, and I had to see him.
"Can we go now?" My words carried urgency I couldn't suppress, but I didn't care anymore. "Please, I have to see him."
Simon stared at me for a while, those golden eyes scanning my face, not missing any subtle expression.
I didn't know what he saw. Did he notice the small changes in me?
My metabolism had changed, my scent had changed, even at the cellular level everything was different.
His nose was that sharp—he could smell anything.
But if he did sense something wrong, his face showed nothing.
"The car is out front," he finally said, then nodded to Isabella with that polite but distant manner. "We'll discuss the wedding later."
Isabella pulled out a smile and nodded back at him.
Her eyes swept back and forth between me and Simon a few times. "Of course. Give my regards to Leon. Hope he recovers soon."
Very polite words, very appropriate.
But when Simon turned toward the parking lot, I couldn't help watching her. Watching her walk back to the teaching building with that same unhurried, precise gait.
That's when I smelled it.
Just a trace, hidden beneath her scent as a beta wolf—laundry detergent, expensive perfume, the pack's faint musk.
But underneath all those scents, there was something else.
Very faint, so faint I almost missed it. But it made my new senses immediately tense.
This scent was similar to what I'd smelled in the gymnasium that night.