Chapter 4: Red Beneath The Brown

Hailey.

Rhys's light brown eyes glint in the morning sun. Ordinary and human, but all I see is red.

I swallow hard, my chest rising and falling as I take a few steps back.

Why the hell is he here?

Is he following me?

“Good morning,” I say sharply, my eyes narrowing on him.

He leans against the entrance to the hallway, his arms folded over his chest. His white shirt clings to his broad shoulders and his wavy brown hair falls all over his face as if he'd just stepped out of the shower.

A cocky smirk tugs at his lips and the knot in my chest tightens.

“Slept well?” he asks as though he knows I didn't close my eyes all through the night.

As if last night never happened.

But I remember the glow. The way his eyes feel unnatural. Every memory of last night is etched into my brain.

“You're early,” I manage to say, a forced smile stretching on my lips.

Hockey players don't come to school early. They don't even come anywhere close to the library.

He tilts his head to the side slightly, a grin curling at the corners of his lips. “I could say the same about you, Hailey.”

There's something in the way he says my name that makes my stomach shiver with fear.

Staring closely at him now, I can't shake the feeling that there is something scary about him. For a brief second, the image of a wolf flashes in my mind and I almost scream. Fear crawls over my skin in an instant.

“I have things to do,” I mutter under my breath.

His eyes narrow. “Things like?” he asks.

“Not your business, Rhys,” I snap at him.

It's already enough that he's suddenly been showing up around me since yesterday. I do not need him to know more about me than he already knows.

I clutch my backpack tighter and step to the side, ready to brush past him. However, his arm shoots out, his palm flat against the wall, as he blocks my way.

“Relax, Cole,” he says, my last name rolling off his tongue smoothly, the smug grin still tugging at his lips. “I'm just making conversation.”

The way he casually says it makes my skin prickle. His voice is calm and steady, but there's something flickering in his eyes. Something I can't unsee no matter how much I want to.

I swallow the ball of frustration in my throat. “Move, Rhys.”

For a moment, he doesn't move. He just studies me, tilting his head like I'm some puzzle he's dying to solve. Then, he finally pushes off the wall and steps aside with a lazy half bow.

“After you.”

I hurry past him, my white sneakers echoing on the floor. I don't look back, but I can feel him behind me. His gaze burns into my back, trailing me down the hallway.

My heart pounds heavily like I've just run sprints. Something is wrong with Rhys and I know it.

And the scariest part?

A tiny, reckless part of me wants to know what it is.

---

In the evening, I am sitting in the press box, my eyes fixed on the typewriter before me. However, my mind is somewhere else. On werewolves and what I read about them in the library today.

Werewolves are real!

They live in the midst of humans and can't be differentiated except when they show their true colors.

Is it possible that Rhys is a werewolf?

I shake off the thought in an instant. Rhys wouldn't be in this college if he were a werewolf, I tell myself.

“Hailey,” my father's voice reaches my ears and pulls me out of my spiraling thoughts.

I blink and turn towards him. He stands a few feet away, his hands tucked into his pockets. He watches me with that calm, unreadable expression he always wears.

I force a smile. “Hey, Dad. You are early.”

“Practice ran late, but I thought I'd check in on you,” he says in a steady tone.

His eyes flicker briefly towards the typewriter as if he already knows that I'm not working.

“You look distracted again,” he says, his eyebrows furrowing.

My stomach flips. Distracted is an understatement. I've been sitting here for almost two hours, typing the same sentence, deleting it, then typing it again, because my brain won't stop replaying the way Rhys looked at me this morning. The way he blocked my path and the way his eyes…

I shake it off. “Just tired, Dad,” I mumble, shaking my head.

My dad steps closer, his voice low like he doesn't want someone else to hear him speak. “Hailey, if something is bothering you, you can tell me.”

Something in his tone makes my heart skip. It's not just a fatherly concern. It's heavier and sharper, like he knows more than he's letting on.

I bite my lower lip, hesitating for a moment. “Do you believe in werewolves?” The question rolls off my tongue before I can stop it.

The silence that follows my question is a vacuum. My dad's jaw tightens. His eyes, which are usually soft, go dark and guarded.

“Why would you ask me that?” he asks, his voice too calm.

My pulse spikes up crazily. I do not expect him to laugh it off, but I also do not expect him to be this calm.

“No reason,” my lips lie quickly.

I fumble with my notebook, my eyes not leaving his. “I was just curious. I read some stuff in the library earlier today.”

He studies me for a long, tense moment. Then, he exhales sharply through his nose.

“Stay away from that kind of nonsense, Hailey. Some stories aren't meant to be dug up.” He spits, then turns and walks away hurriedly.

My mouth falls open as I stare at the door my dad just walked through. There's something about the way he said those words. They do not sound like a warning.

They sound like the voice of experience, like there is something he's hiding from me.