Chapter 17 - Avilyna
Avilyna
WAFFLES AND PROTEIN
I’m honestly shocked I didn’t wake up as an ice sculpture.
Mental note: never fall asleep with the balcony doors wide open unless I want to freeze to death in my own bed.
Reluctantly, I peel myself out of my bed, cocooned in my sheets, dragging them with me like some kind of reluctant burrito.
First mission of the morning: close the damn doors and stop the arctic breeze from turning my room into a walk-in freezer.
Shuffling toward the doors, only to trip over something that was definitely not there last night.
“Great”. I grunt from the floor. Trying to untangle myself from the bedding wrapped around my legs like a vengeful snake. And then I see it, my gym bag.
Wait...
What?
Why is it here?
Kai, he must’ve come back.
But how? I warded the doors. I know I did, ugh. Obviously, I messed it up again. At least I got my stuff back. Small victories, right? And maybe today I’ll actually get to take a hot shower without feeling like I’m being punished by the universe.
After trying to wash away all my worries, I start working the moisturizer into my damp hair, trying to ignore the growing ache in my chest. It’s a small task, rhythmic, grounding, one knot at a time.
Then comes the curl cream. A familiar ritual, comforting, even in its simplicity.
I flip my head to the side and run my fingers through my curls, trying not to let my thoughts spiral.
But they do.
Of course they do.
I don’t know when, or if, I’ll be back. The realization guts me.
Vanessa’s laugh flashes through my mind, that rare but contagious kind of joy that made everything feel lighter.
Aaron’s sassiness always pushes me to try new things.
I love them both, but Van… There's just something different about her. That rare kind of female friendship, honest, protective, full of love. We held each other up through things no one else ever saw. The idea that I might never see her again is unbearable. It feels like someone’s pressing a hand to my chest, slowly, relentlessly.
And then there’s Dad.
I pause, hands in my wet hair, staring at the foggy mirror as if it might give me an answer. He’s still unconscious, and no spell, no potion, no ancient chant has been enough to reach him. What if he never wakes up?
What if I never get to say goodbye?
Or worse, what if he’s trapped in there, somewhere, waiting for me to save him, and I just... fail?
The walls close in on me, the feeling dizzying, making me reach for the sink. The cold ceramic under my skin grounds me, and I force a breath through my lungs, shaking off the heaviness. Scooping some gel, I try to focus on the present, on something I can actually control.
Of course, there’s no blow dryer. The universe just loves to test me.
Letting my hair air-dry is fine, but fine isn’t going to cut it today.
I can’t afford to feel small or unprepared.
I need to feel like myself, even if I have to fake it.
Because if I don’t, this thing, this chaos, will eat me alive.
A small thug tingle from deep in my belly like the wind brushing over your skin, I shiver. A quiet, ancient hum in my blood, and I lean into it, call upon it.
“Cym Cha,” I whisper.
Warm air swirls from my palm, weaving through my hair, a breath of something old and mine.
The strands lift, dry, and fall perfectly into place.
And for a second, just one, I’m amazed. I did that, me.
No spell book, no potion, no Kai or Nalaka to back me up.
Just instinct, and I let myself smile, really smile.
That rare kind of happiness that bubbles up uninvited, light and unburdened. It feels good, foreign, but good.
Except the moment doesn’t last, it never does.
The weight returns as a heavy tide, crashing in hard and cold.
The storm inside me isn’t gone, not even close, but at least on the outside, I look somewhat ready.
And sometimes, that’s all the armour you’ll need.
Good thing my original wardrobe is basically a tribute to black.
Makes dressing for surprise monster attacks conveniently simple.
As I look through the clothes, something hard knocks against my hand: my phone.
Hope sparks for half a second, then dies just as fast. I turn it on, only to watch the screen glitch.
Flickering, green static bubbles across it.
I manage to catch a few messages before the screen fades completely, dying with a lovely blue tinge.
Van : Girl, wtf, you better call me or I’ll be at your house in an hour.
Aaron : You think you can go on a date for the first time in forever and not give us updates?!
5 MISSED CALLS — Aaron
20 MISSED CALLS — Van
Aaron : Lyna, answer the damn phone!
Van : FYI I called the poli—
Fucking fantastic.
My life’s a complete shit show, I grunt into my hands, refusing to let dread take the wheel or worse, let my bestie, panic attack, show up uninvited.
Kai wasn’t lying about the electronics either.
One more thing he’s right about, and I’m really starting to resent that.
Today’s non-negotiable: I am getting answers.
Half-truths and cryptic answers aren’t going to cut it anymore.
This time, I turn to the closet and dig through the back.
And that’s when I find it. Not just a wardrobe, but a small armoury like in the Institute dorms. It seems black and weaponry are the dress code here.
It should probably make me want to run screaming from this place, but with dad still unconscious, leaving isn’t even an option, not until I know he’s safe.
That thought is the anchor. The reason I keep moving, keep trying, even when everything in me wants to fall apart.
I take two blades, one strapped against my thigh and the other slipping neatly into my boot.
I ignore the guns; I wouldn’t even know where to start.
Nope, no chanting, no glowing hands, no risk of misfiring energy.
I want the kind of power I can feel and control, the way I like it.
But something does catch my eye, in the top corner of the closet, a black bandana, tucked between folded gear.
I pick it up and twirl it between my fingers, simple, tactical—perfect.
I might still be new to this whole spell-casting thing, and obviously, it’s still weird having power run through me like a live wire, but I’ve figured out at least one thing.
To cast, you have to speak it out loud, which means every word is a warning shot, so why will you give the enemy a heads-up?
I tie the fabric around my neck.
The scent of breakfast pulls me down the stairs.
Warm, sweet, and just tempting enough to make me forget how exhausted I am.
I follow it through a narrow, shadowy hallway until I step into a sleek black kitchen, sunlight filtering in through a wall of windows that overlook the yard.
The place has been remodelled, with modern fixtures and clean lines, but the bones of the house still whisper its age.
You can feel it in the floorboards, the corners, the silence between sounds.
“Looks like someone hit the snooze button a few too many times,” Wyll greets me from the stove, wearing his signature hat and, of all things, an apron.
But no shirt, which I am definitely not mad about.
He’s back to me, tattooed and broad, as he attends the waffles, stacking them neatly on a plate already full of them.
At least he has pants on, small mercies.
He turns just enough to flash a grin with full canines on display, and sets down a mountain of bacon, followed by ham like he’s hosting some kind of protein-fueled contest.
That’s when I feel it, the shift. A calm presence behind me, radiating confidence. I don’t need to turn around to know who it is. His scent always hits me first: cedarwood, mint, and just the faintest trace of tobacco. It wraps around me before I even have a chance to brace myself, my pulse spikes.
My body tenses because, of course, he’d show up just when I’m letting my guard down.
It’s like he knows, waiting for his prey to be defenceless.
Kai brushes past me, all casual control, and heads for the plates without saying a word.
Wyll adds a swirl of whipped cream and syrup to the waffles stack as if we’re all just one big, happy, not-at-all-complicated breakfast club, and I just stand there, trying to keep it cool.
“Avilyna, care for some waffles? Nothing like protein and sugar to fuel our day in this wild world, right?”
Kai grabs his plate and strolls to the wooden table, owning the place, his presence already thickening the air. I glance at Wyll’s overloaded plate.
“Well, it looks like your goal is to become diabetic.”
He smirks without missing a beat. “Nah, darling. You’ll learn fast. Lycans are built differently. And with all the training ahead of you, trust me, you’ll need every bite.”
I arch a brow. Unimpressed, but too tired to argue about metabolism.
“Mmm. I’ll take your word for it. But what I really need is a big-ass iced caramel latte and two waffles, please.
” Wyll looks at me like I just spoke another language.
I wait a minute, but the clueless look he keeps showing me tells me that there’s no hope.
“Coffee,” I clarify.
“Ah! That I can do. What’s that latte? Milk? That sounds horrible.” He says it with every ounce of disgust.
“Don’t yuck someone else’s yum, especially when you don’t even know what it is, Wyll Lindir.”
The cowboy raises both hands in surrender. “Yes, ma’am. One suspicious sugar potion coming right up.”