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The Rescue
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2026-01-27 21:37:48A low, almost imperceptible growl resonated through the back of my mind, primal and deep. My skin tingled. A rush of heat ran down my spine. I knew it before I even looked. From somewhere in the dorm shadows, faint but unmistakable, came the scent of fur strong, metallic, mixed with raw dominance. A wolf which is an alpha.
Kieran Drake didn’t just command attention he marked territory. And me? I had just stepped into it. Westbridge wasn’t just elite as I was told, It wasn’t just dangerous. It was alive and it was hunting. The black card from last night didn’t leave my mind.
Even as Miles shook me awake and I fumbled into my uniform, my thoughts kept circling the sharp silver letters: Dorm 3. Breakfast table. Don’t be late. K.
It wasn’t an invitation, It was a summons.
The dorm was alive with morning chaos. Boys shouted across the hall, doors slammed and shoes scuffed polished floors. Someone blasted music until a prefect yelled and another cursed about missing socks.
Normal, everything seemed too normal. Except for me. I tugged at my blazer, trying to steady my breathing. The binder pressed against my chest like a vice, forcing me to stay tense, careful, aware. Every step felt loud and every shadow looked like it could hide predators.
Earlier, the morning had been a minor battlefield. Miles and I had woken earlier than we liked. The shared bathroom was chaos as boys crammed in, laughter bouncing off the tiles. I slipped in just after him, trying to keep my binder and towel from drawing attention.
The second I turned the shower on, I froze. Someone else had beaten me in. The water hadn’t even run two seconds before a shoulder pressed against mine through the curtain.
“I, I’m in here!” I choked out. Footsteps scuffed, a low, amused chuckle. “Nice timing, new kid,” a voice said.
I yanked the showerhead down again, blasting water in every direction. A muffled yelp and a curse followed, and suddenly I was alone again. My chest heaved, pulse hammering, hands slick on tile.
By the time I slipped out, Miles was at the sink, tying his tie in front of the mirror, muttering under his breath about “never again” and “these freshman schedules.” His hoodie hung at a crooked angle, damp hair plastered to his forehead. He shot me a quick, sympathetic glance. “Don’t let them see you sweat,” he said dryly. I nodded. It was hard to do when Kieran’s presence still hung over me like smoke in the hall, invisible but suffocating.
Miles was already halfway dressed, pulling his tie into something approximating a neat knot. His hoodie hung carelessly over one shoulder. I caught him sniffing subtly, eyes narrowing, like he could sense something I couldn’t yet name.
“You good?” he asked, glancing at me.
“Yeah,” I lied.
He didn’t press. Just tossed me a granola bar, “You’ll want this. Cafeteria food disappears fast if you’re not aggressive.”
I bit it silently, tasting more anxiety than oats.
By the time we joined the flow of students heading to the dining hall, the air had changed. It was heavier, dense with expectation. Westbridge didn’t feed students, it sorted them. Every glance, every step measured.
The dining hall wasn’t a cacophony like the dorms. It was structured and controlled. Every laugh was timed, every table occupied with intention. Three long tables stretched the length of the room, their unwritten rules as rigid as stone.
Athletes clustered on one side loud and brash. Academic elites sat neat, quiet, eyes sharp. Wealth and influence flowed silently, invisible but undeniable and then… that table.
It was far right. Silent, still and seems untouchable. Miles slowed, hand brushing my sleeve. “Anywhere,” he murmured, voice barely audible, “but not there. Ever.”
I didn’t need him to point. I felt it already the air itself bent toward him. At the center sat Kieran Drake. Perfect posture, calm hands and expression neutral, almost bored. He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. Everyone else did it for him laughter timed, glances angled, respect given without question.
Something in my chest pulled sharp and unwanted, like gravity had locked onto him and refused to let go. I looked up, too late.
Kieran’s head lifted. His eyes landed on me and reecognition flared not surprise but expectation. Miles physically turned me by the shoulders. “Nope. Don’t. Ever.”
We slid to the far-left table, the “safe” table. I sat, hands clumsy around my tray, appetite gone. Then someone slid into the seat across from me. Calmly and quietly.
“Mind if I sit?” he asked, warm and ordinary. I looked up. Brown hair, slightly messy, glasses and uniform neat but not tailored perfection. Finn Harper the well liked, popular guy who wasn’t dangerous. We just met yesterday and I was surprised, he still remembers me.
“Yes, no, I mean… sure,” I stammered.
He smiled faintly. “Eli.”
He studied me not like Kieran scanning, measuring, deciding if I belonged but with awareness like he noticed things without trying to own them. “Most people here pretend they already belong,” he said softly.
That landed harder than he probably intended. Miles relaxed slightly beside me. “He’s on scholarship,” he muttered quietly.
Finn nodded knowingly. “I know.”
My stomach tightened. “You sit like someone afraid of breaking something expensive,” Finn said gently. “Trust me. I did that my first year too.”
I glanced toward Kieran’s table across the hall. Chairs shifted subtly. Heads turned, not openly, but the room responded. Pressure radiated from that table like heat. I felt it again. Kieran Drake was standing, watching and waiting for me to honor his invite.
Now, at breakfast, the tension had grown thicker. My senses burned, almost painfully. Every subtle shift in the room a whisper, a glance, a movement felt magnified. I could feel it in the air. That scent again metallic, warm, raw. Primal. Kieran Drake’s presence wasn’t just influence it was alpha energy. A predator’s dominance seeping through the room like gravity, tugging on instinct and I was somehow the prey.
I slid my gaze across the table, watching Finn quietly scan the hall. “He’s marking you,” Finn whispered, not quite meeting my eyes. “It’s subtle, but it’s there. You don’t want him to see you flinch.”
I swallowed, I didn’t flinch and then Kieran’s amber gaze swept over the room again. He didn’t need to move, didn’t need to speak. I could feel him pushing the air toward me, testing boundaries. And somewhere deep inside, I realized this: at Westbridge, the strongest weren’t always the ones with money or influence. Sometimes, they were the ones whose blood, whose power, could bend instinct itself and Kieran Drake was very, very strong.
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A low, almost imperceptible growl resonated through the back of my mind, primal and deep. My skin tingled. A rush of heat ran down my spine. I knew it before I even looked. From somewhere in the dorm shadows, faint but unmistakable, came the scent of fur strong, metallic, mixed with raw dominance. A wolf which is an alpha.Kieran Drake didn’t just command attention he marked territory. And me? I had just stepped into it. Westbridge wasn’t just elite as I was told, It wasn’t just dangerous. It was alive and it was hunting. The black card from last night didn’t leave my mind.Even as Miles shook me awake and I fumbled into my uniform, my thoughts kept circling the sharp silver letters: Dorm 3. Breakfast table. Don’t be late. K.It wasn’t an invitation, It was a summons.The dorm was alive with morning chaos. Boys shouted across the hall, doors slammed and shoes scuffed polished floors. Someone blasted music until a prefect yelled and
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The first time someone almost caught me, I learned a very important truth which is Westbridge Academy didn’t need proof to destroy me, It only needed suspicion.The registrar’s office smelled too clean, paper, polish, and something sharp beneath it, like antiseptic scrubbed over a wound that never healed properly. The kind of place where mistakes were erased before anyone could admit they existed. Framed certificates lined the walls, along with old photographs of boys in dark blazers, standing straight and confident, their eyes full of certainty.They all looked like they belonged but I didn’t.My fingers trembled as I slid the scholarship documents across the desk. The sound of paper scraping against polished wood landed far too loudly in the quiet room. It felt like an announcement and a warning at the same time.At the top of the page, printed in bold, unmistakable letters, was the name I had practiced answering to
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