I am 15 chapters ahead on my patreón, check it out if you are interested.

https://www.patréon.com/emperordragon

________________________________________

Lucas's Perspective

I woke up at exactly 7:00 a.m.—no alarm, no sunlight in my eyes, just habit and muscle memory doing what they do best.

I stretched lazily, rolling my shoulders and letting my senses wake before the rest of me did. I tuned in to the hum of the estate.

Jenny was still fast asleep in the room next to mine. Her breathing was slow, deep. Probably dreaming about something or annoying me with more "Aunt Jenny" jokes.

Susan was downstairs in one of the side rooms. Her breathing pattern was rhythmic and controlled—probably doing yoga or pilates or one of those oddly calming punishments people with free time inflict on themselves.

The staff were already moving through the halls. Footsteps. Whispered exchanges. Clinking china and sizzling bacon. Funny thing though—almost all of them were old. Not frail, but definitely seasoned. Fifties, maybe older. It wasn't the usual polished parade of young, discreet help you'd expect in a place like this. I didn't think much of it.

Time to stretch the legs.

I stood up, took a deep breath—and shifted.

Bones cracked, tendons snapped and stretched, skin rippled as black fur burst from beneath. In less than a second, the boy was gone and the wolf stood in his place—dark, lean, silent.

I padded to the window, nudged the latch open with my snout, and leapt.

The wind caught my fur mid-air, a cold whip across my face as I landed on the soft, damp earth below. Without missing a beat, I ran.

Forty-five minutes. That's all I needed.

Through the hills. Past the tree lines. Around the edges of town where the morning air still smelled like last night's rain. I kept low, fast, quiet—an ink-black blur weaving through the landscape.

Beacon Hills.

The name had tugged at something in my brain since the second I heard it, like a thread I couldn't quite pull free. Now, seeing it with my own eyes—the town nestled between the woods and ridges, quiet streets that probably didn't stay quiet for long—I still couldn't place why it felt so familiar.

But the land itself… I could feel it humming.

Something lived here. Something old.

It wasn't just me.

By the time I got back, the sun had finally broken through the clouds.

I slipped back through the window, shifted to human form mid-stride, and grabbed a towel from my duffel. My hair was a mess, I smelled like pine and creek water, and I was still naked.

So, shower first.

At 8:00 sharp, there was a knock on the door.

I had just finished pulling on a shirt when the door creaked open and one of the house staff stepped in—a short, stooped woman with a spine like a question mark and eyes that had seen too many winters.

"Breakfast is ready," she said in a thick Russian accent. "Miss Lockwood and little miss are waiting for you."

"Thanks," I nodded.

She shuffled away like she'd been working this job since the Cold War.

I made my way downstairs, barefoot and still toweling my hair. The scent of eggs, toast, and fresh herbs hit me before I turned the corner.

Susan and Jenny were already seated at the long, polished mahogany dining table. Jenny waved when she saw me, her smile too big for this early in the morning.

"There he is! Come on, sit. You'll need energy for your first day."

"Day one of government-mandated 'education'. Can't wait," I muttered, sliding into the seat across from her.

Susan passed me a plate already loaded with food, like she'd anticipated my reluctance and knew the only way to fight it was with scrambled eggs and perfectly crisp bacon.

"Beacon Hills High isn't that bad," Jenny said between bites. "I mean, okay, yeah, the vending machines are rigged and some of the teachers are like really weird, but you'll get used to it."

"Uh-huh."

"I told all my friends I have a nephew. They think it's cool. Well, one of them asked if you were hot, but I told her to back off. You're family."

I snorted. "That's... both disturbing and vaguely flattering."

Susan, for once, didn't try to push the conversation. She just smiled quietly and kept eating, clearly content that we were all sitting at the same table—even if it was awkward, even if the air between us still felt like it needed cutting with a butter knife.

"You know," Jenny said, pointing her fork at me, "not every sophomore gets accepted into school halfway through January with zero records."

I raised an eyebrow.

She shrugged. "It's sure is nice being a Lockwood."

Right. The Lockwoods.

Founders of Beacon Hills. Power, privilege, and enough pull to bend bureaucracy backwards. I wasn't stupid—I knew the only reason I got a free pass into Beacon Hills High without transcripts or a history was because of Susan. She hadn't just pulled strings; she'd tied them into a noose and handed it to the school board.

I didn't want high school.

But seeing Jenny's excitement, seeing how she clearly looked forward to me being there, it was… grounding.

"I'm just glad it starts at nine," I said.

Jenny nodded. "Right? It's the one good thing about this town. They understand that teenagers are barely human before 8:30."

I gave her a small smile. A real one.

Maybe this wouldn't be complete hell.

Still—there was that buzz in the back of my skull again. The tug. The itch.

Beacon Hills.

Something was here.

Something familiar.

And I was about to find out what.