Month: February 2026 Page 2 of 6

Tuesday’s cafeteria was the usual wall of noise — trays clattering, voices overlapping, the smell of fryer oil and something calling itself “beef stew” drifting through the air. Gabriel and I claimed our usual spot near the back, away from the crush, where you could see everything and not get boxed in.

Halfway through my Salisbury steak, I saw him. Mark, tray in both hands, pausing just inside the doorway like he wasn’t sure where to land. He scanned the room, the kind of searching look you give when you don’t know a soul and hope somebody waves you over.

Two kids at a nearby table smirked at each other, whispering. One of them muttered loud enough for me to catch it: “Pastor’s kid. Easy pickings.” He half-pushed his chair back like he was ready to intercept.

Then his eyes flicked past Mark… and landed on us.

Me, leaning back with a fork in hand. Gabriel, quiet but coiled, blue eyes cutting sharper than any blade.

That chair never moved another inch. The smirk cracked, and suddenly those two found their mashed potatoes very interesting.

Mark noticed. I saw his brow furrow, just a little, before he tightened his grip on the tray and started walking toward us.

“Uh—hey,” he said, voice quiet but steady when he reached the table. “Mind if I sit?”

Gabriel shrugged. “Go ahead.”

Mark slid into the seat, careful with his tray, like he was trying not to spill on anyone. He glanced between us, clearly aware of what just happened.

“So…” he started, a faint smile tugging his lips. “Do people usually… scatter like that when you’re around?”

Gabriel smirked faintly. “Sometimes.”

Mark blinked, clearly unsure if that was a joke. “I mean, I swear that guy was about to—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “Never mind.”

I leaned in a little. “You’re not imagining it. They thought about it. Then they thought better.”

Mark’s eyes narrowed with curiosity, not suspicion. “Because of you two.”

“Maybe,” I said, keeping it casual.

For a few beats he just studied us, like he was trying to understand a puzzle no one had given him the pieces to. Then he cleared his throat, soft smile returning. “So, introductions — again. I’m Mark Harcourt. We just moved here from Titusville, Pennsylvania. My dad’s Philip. He’s a Lutheran pastor — just took the call to First Lutheran over in West Barnstable. Mom’s Betty. I’ve got four siblings — Miranda, Andrew, Linda, Chris. Big family.”

Gabriel gave a low whistle. “Five kids. That’s a lot of names to keep straight.”

Mark chuckled, sheepish but proud. “Yeah, it’s… loud at home. But it’s good. My family’s… close. We kind of have to be.”

I tilted my head. “And you? What do you do besides survive your brothers and sisters?”

That earned me his first real grin. “I play trumpet. Concert band, marching, jazz — pretty much anything with brass, I’m in. And I’m decent with computers. Okay, more than decent.”

Gabriel raised an eyebrow. “Music and tech? Not a bad combo.”

Mark shrugged modestly. “Keeps me busy. Keeps me… me, I guess.”

The three of us fell into a rhythm after that — trading questions, half-jokes, and the kind of easy conversation that usually takes weeks to build but somehow clicked in an hour. Mark wasn’t flashy, wasn’t tough, but there was something solid under the quiet.

When the bell rang and trays started scraping, Mark looked at us again, still thoughtful. “So… I gotta ask. Why do people back down when you’re around?”

Gabriel smirked without answering, slinging his case over his shoulder.

I gave Mark a small, knowing smile. “Guess you’ll find out sooner or later.”

The confusion on his face was almost enough to make me laugh. Almost.

But the wolf in me already knew: sooner or later, he’d understand exactly why.

The Humvee’s diesel rumble turned heads in the lot the way it always did, black and heavy against the rows of tired sedans and hand-me-down SUVs. Gabriel climbed out with his guitar case, I followed, and already half the crowd was parting wide. Word had gotten around about earlier.

That’s when I noticed him.

Shorter than us — maybe 5’11” — with black hair that fell neatly across his forehead and a backpack slung too tight, straps still stiff from the store. His eyes kept darting everywhere like he was trying to memorize the entire school in one breath. New kid. He looked soft-spoken even before he said anything — the kind of person who didn’t push into a room, just sort of stepped carefully into it.

And of course, the bullies smelled it first.

“Well, well,” one of them drawled, swaggering across the asphalt. “Look what wandered in.”

Another cut him off on the other side. “Hey, newbie, got your lunch money ready? Or do we gotta shake it out of you?”

The kid froze mid-step, color draining from his face. His hands fumbled at the strap of his backpack like he couldn’t decide whether to hold onto it or drop it and run. He tried to answer — his lips parted — but no sound came out.

The pack of hyenas closed in.

That’s when Gabriel and I moved.

We didn’t say a word at first, just stepped between them and the new kid, shoulder to shoulder. The laughter cut short like somebody had pulled the plug on it.

“Back off,” I said, voice flat, low.

The ringleader sneered, but it was thinner this time. “What, you two running a babysitting service now?”

Gabriel didn’t answer. He just leveled that stare of his — sharp, blue, ocean-before-a-storm — and the sneer cracked. I added the weight of mine, letting the wolf edge sharpen it just enough.

The silence dragged until even the dumbest of them felt it in their gut. They peeled away, muttering excuses, pretending they had somewhere better to be.

The new kid exhaled hard, clutching his backpack strap like it was a lifeline. “Um… thanks,” he said, voice quiet but sincere. Kind.

“No problem,” Gabriel said, shifting his case.

I studied him for a moment. Scared, polite, soft around the edges. No street sense at all — but something about him tugged at me anyway. Not recognition, not yet. But the wolf inside me stirred restlessly, pacing.

“Mark,” he offered finally, like it was the only thing he could think to say. “Mark Harcourt. My dad’s the new pastor at First Lutheran, over in West Barnstable. We just moved into the parsonage.”

Gabriel gave a short nod. “Gabriel. That’s Thane.”

“Nice to meet you,” Mark said, his smile tentative but warm — the kind of smile that didn’t know how to fake anything.

We split after that. Gabriel and I climbed back into the Humvee, doors shutting heavy, the engine’s growl covering the silence between us. Mark headed toward the office, probably waiting for his folks.

But before I pulled out of the lot, I glanced back. He was standing there on the curb, shoulders hunched like he was trying to take up less space than he had. He didn’t know it yet, but the wolf in me already did.

He wasn’t just another kid.

As we rolled out, Gabriel tilted his head at me. “You’re thinking hard.”

“Yeah,” I said.

“About him?”

I kept my eyes on the road, the Humvee chewing through gears.

“There’s something about him,” I said quietly. “He’s not just different. He’s wolf.”

The Monday morning hallway was the usual chaos — lockers slamming, sneakers squeaking, voices overlapping in a dozen conversations. Gabriel and I were making our way toward first period, sunglasses on, shoulders squared. The Humvee drop-off still had people talking, and I could feel the ripple of stares trailing behind us like a wake.

We were halfway down the hall when a voice cut through the noise.
“Hey, tough guy!”

We both stopped. The guy striding toward us was tall, broad-shouldered, and had the kind of smirk that usually came stapled to a football jersey. I didn’t recognize him — which meant he was new enough to not know the rules. A couple of the established jocks leaned out from their lockers to watch, and I caught the subtle shake of one’s head. Another muttered, “Don’t,” just loud enough for him to hear.

He ignored them. “You’ve been strutting around like you own the place,” he said to Gabriel, stepping into his space. “Let’s see if you can back it up.”

I didn’t move. Didn’t speak. This was his moment.

Gabriel just tilted his head, reached up, and slid his sunglasses down to the tip of his nose.

Golden light flared in his eyes. Not just yellow — molten amber, alive with that predator’s heat I’d taught him to call on. He didn’t snarl or posture. He just… looked at the guy.

The jock’s smirk faltered. His next word came out a half-octave higher than the last. “What are you—” He stopped. Blinked. Swallowed hard.

The hallway seemed to close in around him. The noise dropped to a low hum, just enough to hear the creak of someone shifting their backpack. A bead of sweat rolled down his temple.

Gabriel didn’t move, didn’t even blink. He just let the silence stretch, the way a wolf lets a stare do the talking.

By the time the guy muttered something about being late for class, his voice was shaky, and he was already backing up. The other jocks parted to let him pass — not a single one meeting his eyes.

We waited until he was gone before Gabriel slid his sunglasses back up and started walking again. His stride had changed — just a touch looser, shoulders just a little higher.

When we were clear of the crowd, he broke into a grin that could’ve lit the hallway. “That was awesome! Did you see his face? He looked like he forgot how to speak English.”

I smirked, giving him a sideways glance. “Not bad for your first time. Keep practicing, and you might even make someone faint.”

He laughed, still riding the high, and for the rest of the morning, there was a subtle shift in the way people looked at him. Respect. Wariness. Recognition.

Gabriel had learned the first rule of a proper wolf stare — you don’t have to bare your teeth to make someone feel the bite.

Dinner at my parents’ table was an exercise in endurance. Gabriel was polite—painfully polite—but every compliment he gave was met with one of my parents’ thin smiles or cutting little remarks. I kept my claws sheathed, but just barely.

When dessert plates were cleared, my mother folded her hands. “Thane, this will be the last overnight guest for a while. We’ve tolerated enough… disruptions to the household.”

A low growl rumbled in my throat before I could stop it. Gabriel stiffened beside me. My father’s gaze sharpened in silent warning, and I forced the sound down. “Understood,” I said through my teeth. They were the alphas here, whether I liked it or not. And in their den, that meant I followed their rules.

We didn’t say much until we were upstairs in my room, door shut. Gabriel flopped into the armchair in the corner. “Guess that’s my last invite for a while,” he said lightly, but I could see the flicker of frustration under it.

I smirked. “They can control the dinner table, but they can’t control this.” I sat on the edge of my bed and leaned forward. “Time to teach you the stare.”

His whole mood lifted. “Alright, sensei. Teach me the way of the wolf eyes.”

I chuckled. “First thing—stop thinking about trying and start thinking about being. It’s not just your eyes changing color; it’s you letting the wolf right up to the surface without crossing over into full shift.”

I stood, pacing slowly. “Find that place inside you—the part that wants to claim space, to make someone back down just by looking at you. Breathe slow. Hold that feeling right behind your eyes.”

Gabriel nodded, closing his eyes, inhaling deep. When he opened them, they were still the same bright blue.

“Better posture,” I said, stepping in to tap his shoulders back. “Think about what happened today with that idiot at school. Don’t just remember it—own it. You had the upper hand before you even moved.”

Something shifted. It wasn’t the color yet, but the air around him tightened. He grinned, feeling it.

“There it is,” I said. “Now—push just a little further.”

This time, there was the faintest gold halo bleeding into the blue before it faded. Gabriel’s eyes went wide, and he laughed. “Oh, I felt that!”

“Yeah, and you’ll feel it even more when you nail it,” I said. “Again.”

We went like that for almost an hour, me correcting his breathing, his stance, his focus. By the time he finally got the full golden flare, his grin was pure wolf pride.

“Damn,” he said, leaning back, chest rising with the satisfied kind of exhaustion. “That’s addicting.”

“Just remember,” I said, leaning against the desk, “this isn’t for showing off to your friends. It’s a tool. Use it like one.”

Gabriel gave me a mock salute. “Yes, sir. But tomorrow… I get to try it at school, right?”

I smirked. “Tomorrow, we roll in with the Humvee. You’ll have plenty of chances.”

The ferry back to the island was almost empty, the Humvee parked down below in the belly of the ship. Gabriel and I had claimed a bench on the top deck, letting the wind slap at our hair and the salt sting our faces. He hadn’t stopped grinning since we left school.

“You’ve gotta teach me that,” he said for the fifth time, turning so I could see the gleam in his eyes. “The stare thing. The… amber wolf eye of doom.”

I chuckled. “It’s not that dramatic.”

“Are you kidding? That guy almost had a religious experience. And I’m pretty sure part of it involved needing new underwear.”

I leaned back, watching the waves peel away from the ferry’s wake. “Alright. I’ll teach you. But it’s not just a party trick—you have to control it. You can’t just go flashing it at random people every time they annoy you.”

He lifted both hands in mock innocence. “Scout’s honor.”

“The trick,” I said, “is finding that thin line between shift and no-shift. You don’t call the whole wolf up—you just let a piece of it surface. Focus it behind the eyes. It’s all in your head and in your breathing.”

Gabriel frowned in concentration. “So… like flexing one muscle at a time?”

“Exactly,” I said, tapping my temple. “It’s like lifting a single claw without moving the rest of your hand. Takes practice. And you have to want it—really feel that predator edge in your chest.”

He tried right there, face scrunching in effort. His irises didn’t change, but something in his posture did—shoulders squaring, gaze sharpening.

“Not bad for a first try,” I said. “We’ll work on it later tonight.”

We docked just as the sun hit the horizon, painting the water in fire. The Humvee’s engine rumbled awake beneath us, low and steady. We rolled off the ferry like we owned the road, the beast’s tires crunching over the dock planks.

Gabriel leaned back in the passenger seat, still buzzing. “Tomorrow’s gonna be amazing.”

I grinned, downshifting as we hit the causeway. “Oh, tomorrow’s just the beginning.”

By the time the lunch bell rang, the Humvee and the parking lot incident had grown fangs, claws, and at least three totally made-up subplots.

As Gabriel and I stepped into the cafeteria, I could feel it—the way conversations hushed just a fraction too long, the way eyes tracked us from table to table. Someone even tried to discreetly snap a picture of us walking in, like we were rockstars strolling into an afterparty.

We grabbed our trays like it was any other day, but the moment we sat down, one of the freshman whispered loud enough for the next table over to hear, “I heard the new guy tried to hit Thane and woke up in the nurse’s office.”

“That’s not what happened,” another cut in. “My cousin said he looked Thane in the eye and just… dropped. Like, fainted.”

“No, no,” a third chimed in, leaning in over their pizza. “He growled at him and the guy’s nose started bleeding. My brother swears he saw it.”

Gabriel had to bite down on his sandwich to keep from laughing, shoulders shaking. “You hear that?” he whispered to me. “We didn’t even need to drive the Humvee in tomorrow—by lunch I’ll bet they’d believe we came in on wolves.”

I smirked. “Let ’em talk. Every good legend grows on its own.”

Halfway through lunch, I spotted the jock in question at a table in the far corner, looking like he wanted to melt into his seat. His buddies weren’t teasing him, though—just stealing glances at me like they’d rather chew glass than cross paths again.

Gabriel noticed too. “He’s not gonna try anything again,” he said under his breath.

“Not unless he wants an encore,” I replied, letting just a hint of a growl thread the words.

It wasn’t long before someone from the sophomore table wandered over—a kid with too much curiosity and zero filter. “Hey, uh… did you really make him… you know…” He trailed off, face reddening.

Gabriel leaned forward, sunglasses still perched perfectly in place, and said with mock seriousness, “You wouldn’t believe it if we told you.”

The kid’s eyes widened, and he scurried back to his table—fuel for another round of embellishments.

By the time the bell rang, I’d heard at least two more versions of the story: one where I supposedly picked the guy up by the throat, and one where the Humvee had a mounted machine gun on top.

Gabriel was still grinning when we stepped into the hallway. “Best. Monday. Ever.”

I couldn’t help but agree. And from the way the hallways parted for us, I had a feeling this little ripple was going to last a long time.

The ferry ride was quiet except for the low rumble of the Humvee’s diesel engine. Gabriel sat in the passenger seat, sunglasses on, trying—and failing—not to grin like a maniac. Even with the windows down, the smell of saltwater clung to the air, the kind that seeps into everything it touches.

“Still think we should’ve kept it low-key?” I asked over the engine’s growl.

“Low-key is for people who don’t have a military Humvee,” he shot back, smirking.

We pulled into the school lot just as the first wave of buses was unloading. The sound of those kids and the usual carpool chatter died off quick when the Humvee’s brakes hissed. Heads turned. Conversations stalled.

I shut off the engine, the sudden quiet almost as loud as the motor had been. Gabriel and I stepped out in sync, sunglasses in place, not rushing, not speaking—just walking like we belonged at the center of this little universe.

And for a moment… no one dared to touch us.

Until the new guy decided to try.

Tall, broad-shouldered, wearing the smugness of someone who thought he owned every room he walked into. I caught the way his fellow jocks eyed him—half warning, half pity—but he either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Well, well,” he said loud enough for the nearest crowd to hear. “Guess the freak bus has a VIP upgrade now.”

Gabriel’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move. I took one slow step toward the guy, tilting my head like I hadn’t heard him right.

“You wanna try that again?” I asked, my voice low but carrying.

He snorted. “What, you gonna bite me?”

The air between us tightened like a wire. My hand went to the bridge of my sunglasses.

“You really want me to?” I said—and slid them down just enough.

The shift was small, controlled, deliberate. Blue bled into gold, bright and molten, catching the morning sun in a way that made the light itself seem sharper. I let the growl rumble low and steady, a sound that didn’t belong in a human throat.

His smirk died. His breathing hitched. The scent of his fear was instant and sharp—followed by the unmistakable realization that he’d just pissed himself.

The crowd around us froze, a ripple of shock rolling outward. Nobody laughed. Nobody spoke. They just… knew.

I pushed the sunglasses back up and stepped past him like he didn’t exist. Gabriel fell into stride beside me, but I could feel the questions radiating off him.

We made it halfway to the doors before he leaned in, voice barely above a whisper. “That… was the coolest thing I’ve ever seen. Can I do that? Tell me I can do that.”

I just grinned. “One day, pup.”

The bell rang, but nobody rushed us. Not after that.

The lunchroom was already loud when we walked in—metal chairs scraping, trays clattering, the low roar of a hundred half-finished conversations. But as soon as we stepped through the doorway, it was like someone dialed the volume down a notch. Not silence—just… awareness.

Gabriel and I didn’t slow. We cut a direct line toward the far table in the back corner, the one with the best sightlines and the wall at our backs. No one ever sat there, not because they couldn’t, but because it was prime territory and unspoken rules kept it open.

Today, we claimed it without asking.

I slid my tray onto the table, sat down facing the room. Gabriel dropped into the seat beside me, draping one arm over the back of his chair like he’d been here his whole life.

The jocks who’d gone quiet in the hallway earlier were sitting three tables over. One of them risked a glance our way, but when our eyes met, he looked down so fast you’d think he’d remembered something urgent in his mashed potatoes.

Two kids from the chess club gave us a cautious nod as they passed. Gabriel returned it without hesitation. Pack wasn’t about labels.

I peeled open my sandwich wrapper, but I wasn’t really watching my food. I was watching the way the room kept bending around us—how the usual troublemakers gave our corner a wide berth, how even the loudest voices dipped a little when we looked in their direction.

Gabriel leaned in, his voice low. “Feels different in here today.”

“Because it is,” I said. “Territory shifts when you take it.”

We ate like that for a while, quiet but aware, a bubble of calm in a place that usually chewed people up. And the whole time, I could feel the stares—curious, wary, a few maybe even impressed.

By the time the bell rang, the message had sunk in: two wolves had walked into their territory, and no one had the teeth to push us out.

The first bell hadn’t even rung, but it felt like the whole school was already watching us. Gabriel and I moved down the main hall side-by-side, our footsteps in sync, still riding that Humvee entrance high. Every few yards, someone turned their head just enough to track us—some whispering, some pretending not to.

Locker doors slammed a little too quickly when we got close. The ones who didn’t know us moved out of the way without realizing it. The ones who did know us didn’t need reminding.

We passed a pair of varsity jackets—guys who normally barked jokes at Gabriel whenever they thought I wasn’t around. Today? They both went quiet, glancing at each other before suddenly finding the floor really interesting.

I leaned just enough toward Gabriel for him to hear without anyone else catching it. “Recognize them?”

“Oh yeah,” he murmured. “They used to think they were hilarious.”

I smirked. “Funny how quick people get polite when the air smells like predator.”

By third period, the word had spread. Kids I barely knew were giving us the nod in the halls like we were part of some exclusive club. We didn’t even have to do anything—just walking together was enough to bend the social current around us.

It wasn’t about looking for trouble. It was about presence. A shared, unspoken understanding: if one of us was in it, we were both in it.

And then it happened—the micro-intervention.

We were heading to lunch when I spotted it: one of the smaller kids, backpack half-unzipped, being corralled into a corner by two meatheads from gym class. Their shoulders were squared, their voices low and sharp.

I didn’t even look at Gabriel. I just angled toward them. He followed without hesitation.

The two bullies looked up when my shadow fell over them. I didn’t stop walking—I just passed close enough for my shoulder to almost brush one of them, my eyes catching his for a heartbeat too long.

The effect was instant. They stepped back, muttering something about “wrong hallway” and disappearing fast.

The kid looked at me like he couldn’t decide if I was real. “Uh… thanks.”

“Eat your lunch,” I said simply, and kept walking.

Gabriel caught up, grinning wide. “We didn’t even touch them.”

“We didn’t have to,” I said. “Wolves don’t growl to scare sheep. They growl to warn other wolves.”

The Humvee’s diesel engine rumbled like distant thunder as I backed it out of the garage, the morning light catching on the matte green paint. Gabriel was already in the passenger seat, wearing a black “TRIVIUM” t-shirt and the kind of aviator sunglasses that could make a traffic cone look dangerous.

I tossed him a pair of mine—polarized, dark enough to hide any expression—and pulled my own on before throwing it into drive.

“Seatbelt,” I said.

“Check,” he replied, grinning like a kid who’d just been handed the keys to Christmas.

The island air was sharp and salty as we rolled down the drive, the wide tires humming over the pavement. By the time we hit the causeway, the morning commuters were already staring. A jogger actually stopped mid-stride to watch us pass.

“People are looking,” Gabriel said, voice low but amused.

“Good,” I said. “Let ’em.”

The school parking lot came into view, and I downshifted just enough for the Humvee’s exhaust to growl low and mean. Heads started to turn before we even crossed the entrance. The line of cars for drop-off split in two as I swung into the main lane, the sheer bulk of the vehicle making compact sedans look like toys.

On the front steps, a cluster of jocks—my favorite peanut gallery—fell silent. One of them, Tyler, squinted behind his sunglasses like he was trying to figure out if he was dreaming.

I brought the Humvee to a stop right at the curb. The brakes hissed, the engine still rumbling. For a moment, nobody moved.

Then Gabriel and I stepped out in perfect sync, both of us in dark jeans, boots, and our shades. The slam of the doors echoed across the lot.

Conversations stalled. Someone near the bike racks muttered, “Holy crap.” Another kid actually fumbled their phone trying to get a picture.

Tyler leaned on his backpack strap and smirked—until I looked right at him over my glasses and gave the smallest, slowest grin. It wasn’t friendly. His smirk vanished.

Gabriel leaned closer as we walked toward the entrance. “You just terrified half the football team without saying a word.”

“Some lessons,” I said, “stick.”

We hit the front doors like we owned them, the Humvee still idling outside like a sentry. Even the teachers at the entrance didn’t say a word—just stepped aside.

By the time we reached our lockers, Gabriel pulled his sunglasses off and grinned. “We’re never taking the bus again.”

I shrugged, spinning my lock. “We’ll see. Sometimes you gotta go loud… but it’s more fun when they never see it coming.”