Chapter Thirty-Four: Carol's POV
"I've had enough." She began, words pouring out like Emma's confession last night, but this wasn't forced—she was genuinely distressed.
"I'm tired of Seraphina. She orders me around, treats me like a servant, not a friend. She's been using me for years, and I just... I can't do this anymore. I can't keep pretending what she's doing is okay, can't pretend I'm happy being part of it."
She was crying now, tears streaming down her face.
I actually felt a bit of sympathy for her, even though I knew this might be an act, might be trying to trick me.
Because I understood too well what it felt like to be used—to be kept around not because someone cared about you, but because you were useful to their plans.
I'd lived with Simon for eight years and still couldn't tell if his protection came from actually caring about me or from some other agenda.
"I know who did the gymnasium thing," Caitlin's voice got lower. "I know who was behind it and why. I can't hide it anymore. You deserve to know the truth."
My heart raced, that anticipatory flutter in my chest intensifying into something almost painful.
I was finally getting close to the answer I'd been seeking.
"Tell me." My voice sounded strange even to myself, tight, like I was holding back from shouting. "Who attacked me?"
"The Andreas family," she said.
My eyes widened in genuine surprise—this wasn't the answer I'd expected at all.
I'd thought it was the Carter family, thought it was those ancient family grudges, territorial disputes, all that werewolf political stuff.
But the Andreas Pack was Simon's enemy for years, the family suspected of killing my father.
If this attack was their doing, it meant their actions were bolder and more reckless than before, unlike their usual cautious style. Unless...
I didn't get to finish that thought because Caitlin was still talking.
Her words came faster and faster, more agitated, her whole body trembling, like words she'd held back too long were finally bursting out.
"It's not fair!"
I nervously looked around, making sure no one was there.
"Why does Simon get to randomly adopt a human girl and make her part of the Valodin family? Why does he give all the protection and resources to you? What about us? Those of us who are pureblooded werewolves, generations loyal to the pack, can't even get close to him. What's so special about you that makes you worthy of his treatment? Why can't we have it?"
The jealousy in her voice was bitter and harsh. Whatever sympathy I'd had was gone now, leaving only the cold anger I'd grown familiar with over the years.
It was always like this. People in Seraphina's circle never really cared about fairness—they just hated someone they thought didn't deserve it getting something they wanted.
They never thought about how I was sold to a casino by my own family, how Simon's protection came with surveillance and control, how being his ward brought me as much pain as safety.
All they saw was the surface—resources, connections—and decided I'd gotten an unfair advantage through shady means.
"So you attacked me because of jealousy?" My voice was flat.
Caitlin's face changed. She realized she'd said too much.
"You and Seraphina figured if you couldn't get Simon's attention, I shouldn't have it either."
"No!" She shook her head desperately, real panic flashing across her face. "That's not—I didn't say—"
Her hand moved to her jacket pocket. I tensed, ready to defend myself,
But I wasn't prepared for what she pulled out: a small silver dagger.
I smiled slightly. After all Marcus's training, I'd taken harder punches, suffered worse injuries, bled countless times on that training ground.
She thought a little dagger would scare me? Really underestimating me.
She was no match for me.
As Caitlin came at me, I didn't reach out to block, didn't call for help, didn't dodge.
I wanted to use that ability. I tried hard to recall last night's feeling, that warmth rising from deep inside my body, that power that could change the air and press down on someone's will.
This time, I was doing it consciously, deliberately reaching out with that ability, like invisible fingers wrapping around Caitlin's mind, gentle but irresistibly forcing her to do what I wanted.
Her eyes went blank, pupils dilating, her arm holding the dagger suspended in mid-air, no longer moving, as if she'd been frozen to stone halfway through the motion.
"Tell me the truth." My voice sounded strange even to myself, with an indescribable layering, like two of me speaking at once. "Who really ordered the gymnasium attack?"
She tried to resist. I could see that struggle happening behind those vacant eyes, could feel her will pushing back, but it was useless.
Like a mouse trying to escape a cat's claws—all in vain.
Words came out of her mouth mechanically, emotionless. "The Andreas family is a scapegoat. The real attackers came from the Carter Pack."
I wasn't surprised—I'd suspected part of it all along. The Carter family, Simon's supposed allies, the people who did business with him, who came to dinner and made polite conversation while plotting to kill me.
I wanted to keep asking, to question their entire plan, but movement at the edge of my vision distracted me.
I turned my head and saw Professor Maurice St. Claire crossing the courtyard at a speed no human could achieve.
Before I could react, he'd already grabbed Caitlin's wrist with one hand.
But Caitlin was still stuck in the state I'd controlled her into. She wouldn't let go, still trying to thrust that knife.
During the disarming, the blade sliced across Maurice's forearm, easily cutting through his sleeve and his skin.
Blood immediately welled up, particularly vivid against his pale skin.
I saw his face twist with pain for a moment before he suppressed the expression.
Caitlin blinked. My control broke, interrupted by his sudden intervention.
Consciousness returned to her eyes. When she saw what she'd done, saw the blood dripping from his arm, her face went deathly pale.
She said nothing—no explanation, no apology—just turned and ran.
I rushed to Maurice's side, reaching toward his injured arm. "Let me see."
He gently pushed me away, holding his injured arm against his chest. "I'm fine. You need to get back to your dorm, Carol. Right now. Before anyone sees us here."
"But you're hurt."
"No." The word was sharper than I'd ever heard him speak, almost commanding. I saw something flash in his eyes—real alarm, maybe even fear.
"Go back to your dorm. Lock the door. Don't tell anyone what happened here. I'll handle this."
He turned and left before I could say more, moving very fast, abnormally fast, one hand pressed against the wound to stop the bleeding.
The next morning when I went to biochemistry class, I saw a note taped to the door: Professor St. Claire is taking medical leave for a week due to injury. Classes will be covered by Dr. Helena Winters. All assignments and office hours remain unchanged.
I stared at that notice for a long time. Students pushed past me into the classroom, and I read it again and again, trying to figure out what it meant.
A vampire, taking sick leave for a relatively minor knife wound. A being with supernatural healing abilities, apparently unable to recover from an injury that should have healed within hours.
Either he was hiding something about the severity of the wound, or there was something about that silver blade I didn't understand, some quality that made it more dangerous to vampires than I'd realized.
And either way, it meant that Professor Maurice St. Claire—the man who'd saved me from attack, who'd let himself be injured rather than let that blade reach me—was somewhere recovering from wounds that shouldn't have required recovery at all.
I slid into my usual seat and pulled out my notebook, but I didn't hear a single word of Dr. Winters's lecture.
My mind was too full of Maurice stepping in front of me when the blade sliced his arm—he didn't have to come.
But he came, and took that cut for me.
Simon's care was control. Leon's care was duty. Emma's care was friendship.
But Maurice... what was he to me?
Thinking this, I stuffed my pencil case into my bag, stood up, and walked out of the classroom.
Sunlight hit my face, a bit dazzling. I took a deep breath, letting my heartbeat slow, then walked toward the cafeteria.