CHAPTER THREE: SHADOWS WITHIN

PROXY'S POV:

"I heard you were late again today," Brian said, looking down at me with that signature smile. We walked side-by-side through the hallway, the day's classes finally over. "You know I can pick you up for school every morning, right? It's nothing for me."

The concern in his piercing green eyes was undeniable.

God, he really is a masterpiece.

At least 6'2", with a frame that practically radiated strength—broad shoulders, thick arms with veins that seemed ready to burst through his skin. His jawline was sharp, giving his face a perfectly chiseled, square look. And that hair… long, wavy, and effortlessly falling just right every single time. He was captain of the basketball team, a regular in the school gym, and somehow always managed to look like he just stepped out of a magazine.

And he was mine. My boyfriend.

"Yeah, I know you could," I replied when I finally snapped out of my daze. I hoped he hadn't noticed me zoning out, completely mesmerized by him.

"My dad might just skin me alive if he finds out you're driving all the way from New Castle to Smyrna just to pick me up—especially after I told him I didn't need his help."

Brian's smile faltered slightly. "Yeah, fair," he said with a shrug. "Still, it wouldn't be a big deal. I want to do this for you, babe."

He stopped walking, his brows knitting together in that way that always made my heart clench. His voice, deep and rich, sent familiar chills skittering down my spine.

I squeezed his hand and leaned up to press a soft kiss to his lips. "You really don't have to, love."

The moment I pulled back, that devastating smile returned, lighting up his face.

"If you insist, I won't," he said, his thumb absentmindedly brushing across my knuckles.

God, that smile. No dimples, no effort—just pure, unfiltered charm.

"So," he added, voice softening as he intertwined his fingers with mine. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Yeah, sure. Shoot," I said, curious about what he wanted to ask.

Brian's lips curved into a teasing grin. "Would my lady do me the honor of gracing our basketball game against the New Jersey team this Friday with her most esteemed presence?" He gave a mock bow, mimicking the old-fashioned gestures straight out of Bridgerton.

I burst out laughing. "Of course, my lord. How could I possibly refuse?" I answered with an exaggerated curtsy.

Naturally, I was going to be there. I never missed his games, just like he always showed up to cheer me on during my track events. Yep, you guessed right—I'm part of the school's female track and field team. I'm not exactly the best on the squad, but I give it my all every time I step on that track.

Brian pulled me close, his strong arms wrapping around me as we stepped outside. His eyes locked onto mine for a moment before he leaned in and kissed me softly. My smile mirrored his when he pulled back, though his hands lingered on my waist.

He was about to say something when—

"Awwwn, lovebirds!"

Brian barely had time to turn around before Chris and the rest of the boys grabbed him, pulling him away like a pack of wolves.

"Sorry, mademoiselle Proxy," Chris said with an exaggerated French accent, flashing me a cheeky grin. "Coach needs the star player. Duty calls."

I shook my head and smiled as they dragged Brian toward the locker room.

Before disappearing through the door, Brian glanced back, mouthing the words, I. Love. You… Bye.

My cheeks flushed instantly, and I bit my lower lip to stop the ridiculous smile spreading across my face. God, I'm such a goner.

From the corner of my eye, I caught movement. I didn't even need to turn fully before hearing an exasperated sigh.

"Damn, girl! How do you always catch me sneaking up on you?" Frannah pouted as she came to stand beside me. "You sure you don't have eyes in the back of your head?"

I laughed as she ruffled my hair. "Years of training, babe. Years. I have a little brother you know?"

She smoothed my hair back into place. "You got any after-school stuff today?"

"Nah, but I have to stop by Miss Ellen's office before she leaves." I grimaced slightly as I said it.

"Ugh." She rolled her eyes dramatically. "Should I wait for you?"

"Nah, it might take a while."

"I don't mind waiting, baby girl." She crossed her arms, tilting her head with mock seriousness.

"I'm sure you don't," I said, nudging her with my elbow, "but I don't think Drew over there has that kind of patience."

Frannah's eyes widened, and she whipped around to spot Drew, leaning against a nearby wall and pretending not to be staring. "Crap! I forgot he was even there."

I burst into laughter. Of course she'd forgotten.

She gave me a quick hug. "If that witch stresses you out, don't forget to call me."

"I will. Go have fun."

Frannah hurried off toward Drew, who straightened up like he hadn't just been gawking at her the entire time.

As I watched her go, I chuckled to myself. Frannah and relationships—an ever-spinning carousel.

"They're all crazy, but they're fun and vital," she'd always say. And when things went south? "He was nice while it lasted, but we're done. Time to move on."

Wild as she was, I admired her. She knew her worth and never let anyone—especially some cocky high school boy—treat her like less.

To my surprise, Miss Ellen didn't take much of my time. She mainly wanted to check in, asking if everything was okay since she wasn't exactly thrilled about my recent habit of showing up late.

"If it happens again," she warned, adjusting her glasses, "you'll need to bring your dad along."

Great. Nothing like dragging my dad to school like I'm five.

I apologized for the umpteenth time, promised to do better, and she finally let me go—after casually sending her regards to my mom and dad.

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I creaked the door open slowly, hoping to sneak in and catch Dad off guard. I knew my brother would be upstairs in his room.

The moment I stepped inside, the mouthwatering aroma of spaghetti Bolognese wrapped around me, instantly derailing my plan. My mission to startle Dad was forgotten as my feet carried me straight to the kitchen—naturally, the source of such deliciousness. I knew my dad was a great cook, but damn, he really had a gift. If we're being honest, maybe—just maybe—he was better than Mom. Not that we'd ever say it out loud.

"Dad, seriously, you could've ended World War II just by feeding Hitler one of your meals." I inhaled deeply, filling my lungs with the rich, savory scent.

"You got jokes, gummy bear," he said, chuckling as he expertly diced an onion. "Go freshen up. Dinner'll be ready soon."

I glanced out the window and noticed his car parked back in the driveway. That meant Mom was home.

"Is she asleep?" I asked.

"Yeah. She came in exhausted, so I figured I'd handle dinner while she catches a nap." He smiled softly as he stirred the simmering sauce.

Just as he said that, my stomach let out a deep, rumbling growl—like a miniature earthquake was unfolding right there in my belly.

Dad froze mid-chop, knife hovering above the cutting board. I glanced down at my stomach, then back at him. Our eyes met, and we both burst into laughter.

Shaking my head, I turned toward the stairs when I spotted Allen—my little brother—coming down. I smiled and held out my fist. He met it with his own in a smooth, practiced bump.

"Thanks for last night, bro," I said, genuinely grateful for his help.

"Don't sweat it, sis. I got you." He grinned before heading off to help set the table.

I rushed upstairs to freshen up, and when I came back down, the table was already set and the whole gang was gathered around it. Mom's face lit up as she saw me coming down the stairs, her smile warm and welcoming.

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DARREN'S POV

The piercing scream jolted me awake.

I instinctively grabbed the bat beside my bed, heart racing as I leapt to my feet. I didn't want to wake her mom unless it was serious, so I sprinted up the stairs alone.

Robbery? No—that was unlikely. Delaware was too quiet for that kind of chaos. But the sound I'd just heard was raw and real.

Reaching her door, I pushed it open and switched on the lights.

What I saw next made my heart slam against my ribs and sent ice through my veins.

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PROXY'S POV 

I stood in the middle of the forest, surrounded by towering trees with thick trunks and sprawling branches. Bushes dotted the ground, but a carpet of damp grass covered most of it. A dense fog slithered in, swallowing the space around me.

And then, almost instantly, darkness fell.

The moon—full and cold—was the only source of light. A shiver skittered down my spine, and goosebumps prickled my skin. My breath turned shallow as a distant sound reached me.

Howls.

No. That couldn't be right. Wolves hadn't been seen in Delaware since the 19th century. I tried to convince myself it was nothing, but my heart pounded faster.

A soft creak sounded behind me. I spun around.

"Hello? Is…is someone there?" I asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Silence.

I turned and walked in the opposite direction of the noise. My pulse thudded in my ears. What's happening?

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement. I whipped my head around. Nothing. But I knew I'd seen something. Something fast.

Panic surged through me, and instinct took over. I ran. Hard. The ground blurred beneath me. My chest burned.

Ahead, a faint light pierced the fog—a way out. I pushed toward it with everything I had.

A sharp crack sounded. And then—thwack.

Something hit me hard on the side of the head. Pain exploded across my skull, and I crumpled to the ground with a scream. Warm, sticky blood trickled down my forehead. I tried to stand, staggering back toward the light.

Then came the growl. Deep. Low. Predatory.

I froze. The ground ahead lit up faintly, and a massive shadow stretched across it. I didn't need to turn around to know what it was.

But I did. Slowly.

The creature lunged, claws bared, and then—

"Proxy. Proxy."

The voice cut through the darkness. I opened my eyes and gasped. I was in my room. My dad's arms cradled me.

My body sagged with relief, but a sharp pain flared in my head.

"Aah!" I winced and let my head fall back against him. My nightshirt clung to me, drenched in cold sweat. The room itself was chilly, but I was burning.

"It's okay, bear. It's okay," Dad whispered, his hand rubbing my back. "Talk to me. Are you alright?"

I met his eyes. The fear there was raw—he looked more scared than I felt.

"I'm okay," I whispered. "Just a nightmare. My head really hurts, though."

He nodded quickly and hurried away, returning moments later with NSAIDs and a glass of water. As he handed them to me, I noticed his hands were trembling.

After I calmed down, he said he'd heard my scream and had rushed to my room. Oh! No wonder he looked so worried.

I told him about the nightmare, and when I mentioned the wolves, I noticed his expression shift. His brows knitted together, and his hands clenched into fists. His gaze drifted, lost in thought.

"Dad?" I called softly, pulling him back to the present.

"I'm sorry, bear," he said, blinking rapidly and forcing a shaky smile.

"Are you sure you're okay?" He asked, his fists had relaxed, but the worry lingered in his eyes.

"The nightmare felt so real, Dad," I admitted, the memory tightening its grip on me. My heart stuttered as the fear crept back in, icy and relentless, raising goosebumps on my skin. "I felt disconnected from reality. I was terrified." My voice cracked as slow tears escaped.

He pulled me into his arms, and we lay there together. I heard him sniff quietly, though he kept his face turned away. I could feel his fear, but he was trying to shield me from it, trying to be strong for me.

"It's alright, gummy bear," he murmured, voice thick with worry despite the reassurance. "It was just a bad dream."

He stayed with me the rest of the night. I rested my head on his chest, feeling his heartbeat steady and sure, while he held me close and kissed my hair. My eyelids grew heavier and heavier until I drifted into sleep.

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The sound of voices woke me. I opened my eyes and realized my dad was no longer beside me. Slowly, I sat up and paused. The headache was gone. Oh wow.

Sliding my feet into my slippers, I made my way to the bathroom to freshen up. My mind still felt a bit foggy, and as I brushed my teeth, the memory of the nightmare returned, sending another shiver down my spine.

I turned on the bath and locked the door, just in case my dad or brother barged in and gave themselves PTSD. If you know what I mean.

The voices downstairs continued. Who was Dad talking to? I heard multiple male voices—and my mom's.

As I stepped back into my room, my eyes landed on the calendar by the bathroom door, and I couldn't help but smile. Two days until my eighteenth birthday. The thought warmed me, pushing away the last remnants of dread.

I headed downstairs, curious. But when I saw who Dad was speaking to, I froze. My heart leapt in surprise.

What was he doing here? Who had called him? Because I sure didn't.

And why was Dad being so chatty with him?