The Cursed Outcast

(Neva’s POV)

Locker doors slammed in uneven rhythm, the sharp metallic bangs echoing against the polished linoleum floor. Every step I took down the crowded corridor felt like walking toward an executioner's block. My fingers gripped the worn strap of my bag until my knuckles turned white, the rough canvas cutting into my skin. It was senior year, and today marked my eighteenth birthday.

For ordinary werewolves, turning eighteen was a sacred milestone. It was the long-awaited dawn of finding a fated mate, gaining full acceptance into the pack, and stepping into adulthood wrapped in the warmth of family and community. I had spent years watching other wolves reach this day, showered with gifts, celebratory howls, and genuine smiles. But nothing in my life followed that gentle path. For me, the school hallway remained the same walk of shame it had been for the past two years.

The whispers crawled across the air, sharp and poisonous.

“Look at the monster.”

“Cursed blood.”

“Daughter of a traitor. She should hang from the gallows.”

I kept my eyes fixed on the floor ahead, refusing to grant them the satisfaction of a flinch. Inside my skull, the two halves of my soul fought for control, pulling my sanity in opposite directions.

Lyra, my wolf, pressed her gentle warmth against my racing pulse. “Hold on, Neva. Endure their stares. Today is our eighteenth birthday, and our true mate could be waiting for us.”

Xylia, my demon, snapped her jaws with pure venom. “Forget endurance. Let me rip their throats open. Let me tear their beating hearts out for daring to look at us.”

Living with two conflicting entities inside my mind was an endless war. Lyra clung to hope, soft and naive, dreaming of redemption and a mate who would look past my cursed blood. Xylia thrived on rage and darkness, whispering promises of carnage whenever someone sneered in my direction.

Before I turned sixteen, my head had been quiet. I had known safety and belonging within the royal palace walls, believing I was an adopted daughter worthy of love. But the night of my first shift had shattered everything. Instead of a pure silver wolf, a creature of darkness had broken through my skin alongside Lyra. An abomination. A half-wolf, half-demon hybrid that terrified the kingdom. That same night, the truth of my bloodline was dragged into the open, branding me as the spawn of a monster who had betrayed the realm. In a single evening, I lost my home, my status, and my peace. Ever since, I had lived with two warring spirits clawing inside my chest, neither willing to yield.

A sickeningly heavy cloud of artificial vanilla cut through the scent of floor wax and old books. The perfume was mixed with the unmistakable musk of an aggressive wolf.

Sloane.

Before I could step aside, a pair of manicured hands slammed into my shoulder. The force drove me sideways into the lockers with a hollow crash. Pain flared down my spine as my knees buckled, sending me hard onto the cold floor. The impact jarred my teeth, and my canvas bag slipped from my grip, its contents scattering across the dirty tiles.

Sloane clapped a hand over her mouth in mock surprise. “Whoops! Didn’t see that ugly thing there.”

Laughter erupted down the hall. Sloane's followers clustered around her like hyenas circling fresh carrion, their sneers sharp and vicious. Every snicker landed like a slap against my face. They fed on my humiliation, grinning as I pushed my palms against the linoleum to keep from trembling.

Xylia’s fury spiked through my veins, hot and thick like molten rock. “Enough. Lyra, stop preaching peace. It is time to mess these kids up.”

Red bled into my field of vision. The spark of irritation detonated into raw, unbridled wrath. I pushed myself up, and a sudden chill swept through the hallway, dropping the temperature until breath plumed in white clouds. Dark mist rolled off my skin in thick waves, spilling over the floor tiles. Shadows crept out from beneath the lockers, twisting across the floor like living serpents with razor edges.

The air crackled with heavy, suffocating energy. The mocking laughter choked off into strangled gasps. One by one, the students around me collapsed to their knees. Their hands flew to their throats, fingernails tearing at their skin as they fought for air in the crushing dark. Sloane dropped before me, her arrogant sneer twisting into sheer terror as the shadows wrapped tight around her neck.

A feral grin pulled at my lips.

Xylia purred in deep satisfaction. “Yes. This is what they deserve. Let them have a taste of death.”

A sharp snap sounded right in front of my face.

In an instant, the shadows collapsed into nothing. The frost melted away. The dark mist dissolved into the stale air of the crowded school hallway.

I blinked, my breath catching in my throat. I was still down on the dirty linoleum, bruised and pathetic, looking up at Sloane. The choking students, the darkness, the slaughter—it was all an illusion woven by my demon's bloodlust. But the wicked smile Xylia had planted on my face remained, frozen and unmistakable.

Lyra whispered softly in the quiet corner of my mind. “You are not him. You are different from your birth father. Always remember that.”

Her reminder did little to cool the sting of reality.

Sloane looked down at my face with narrowing eyes. “Did you just laugh? You must think this is a joke. You are still smiling.”

Her face twisted with pure disgust. The amusement drained from her features, replaced by a vicious glare. She raised her right hand, her fingers curling as razor-sharp claws slid out from her manicured fingertips. She drew her arm back, aiming the strike directly at my eyes.

I shut my eyes and leaned back against the dented locker, bracing for the sting of tearing flesh.

A deep voice tore through the corridor. “Sloane!”

The entire hallway froze. The hushed chatter, the jeers, and the shifting feet died out in a heartbeat. I opened my eyes, the familiar weight of that voice sending a tremor straight through my core.

Kaelen.

He strode down the center of the hall, flanked by Silas and Ryker. Silas walked with quiet calculation, his dark eyes scanning the crowd, while Ryker stood broad-shouldered and imposing, radiating pure warrior strength. But it was Kaelen who commanded every ounce of air in the building. At six foot five, he moved with the lethal grace of a predator who ruled everything in his sight. His dark hair fell across a brow carved from marble, and his ocean-blue eyes held the cold depth of an abyss. The student body parted before him like water before a bow, girls frantically smoothing their hair and tucking stray strands behind their ears. Some could hardly hold in their excited squeals as the future king passed them.

He was perfection, dangerous and untouchable.

Xylia and Lyra stirred together, their usual hatred forgotten for a fleeting breath. “Damn. He keeps getting finer.”

A fragile wish tugged at the bottom of my heart. In secret, both my wolf and my demon yearned for him to be our mate. We wanted the impossible: to belong to the prince who held the realm in his hands.

Sloane dropped her hand, her claws retracting into soft skin in the blink of an eye. She stepped close to his side, hooking her fingers into his jacket with a sugary pout. “Poor Neva tripped over her feet and fell to the floor. I was just helping her up.”

A few students exchanged glances at the blatant lie, but none possessed the courage to contradict her. No one here would ever stand up for an outcast like me.

Kaelen stopped two paces away, looking down at my crumpled frame against the lockers. His expression remained distant and unreadable, carrying no trace of the boy who used to share his secrets with me under the palace gardens.

He asked with formal detachment. “Are you okay?”

The words were empty, offered out of sterile obligation rather than genuine care.

I nodded once, pressing my lips into a tight line.

He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets, staring past my shoulder. “Happy birthday. You should come to my ball this evening, to celebrate.”

A spark flared in my chest, warm and sudden. He remembered. We shared the same birth date, a bond that time and distance had not entirely erased. For a brief second, the humiliation of sitting on the filthy floor faded under the light of his invitation.

I looked up, clutching my bruised arm. “Thank you, and happy birthday to you.”

Before the sentence left my lips, Kaelen had already turned on his heel. He did not wait for my response, nor did he look back. Silas and Ryker fell into step behind him, followed closely by Sloane, who looped her arm through his as if she owned him.

Sloane kept pace beside him, her voice dripping with irritation. “Why would you invite her?”

Kaelen shrugged without breaking his stride. “I had no choice. I couldn't care less if she came or not, I only did it because my parents wanted me to.”

Those words drifted over his shoulder, striking me with the force of an iron blade. The hallway noise slowly returned, but all I could hear was the cold detachment in his voice. The spark of hope in my chest died instantly, leaving my heart shattered.