Welcome To Veyra

Chapter Four  

Phina’s POV

I strolled into Veyra University like I owned the place. Maybe I was pretending. Maybe I needed to.

Despite everything my mother had said, despite the fear in her eyes and the tremor in her voice, I had come anyway.

She hadn't given me a single coherent reason why I shouldn't accept a full scholarship. All she'd given me were vague warnings about powerful people, buried secrets, and people who weren't human.

I was done living my life according to my mother's fears.

This was my future.

My chance.

My escape from loan sharks, double shifts, and the crumbling apartment that smelled like mildew and despair.

I wasn't throwing that away because my mother refused to tell me the truth.

Besides, if Veyra had chosen me for some reason, I intended to find out what that reason was.

The campus was everything I had imagined and more.

Ancient oak trees stretched across manicured lawns, their branches twisting toward the sky. Gothic buildings rose around me, their dark stone walls covered in ivy. Towers and spires pierced the clouds, while enormous windows reflected the morning sunlight.

Everything about the place screamed money. Power. History.

I felt small here. Insignificant. But somehow, I also felt alive.

I adjusted the strap of my bag against my shoulder. Inside were the broken pieces of my camera, still wrapped in an old shirt. I hadn't been able to throw them away. Maybe I never would. The camera had been the first thing I'd ever bought entirely for myself.

It had captured some of the happiest moments of my life.

And one impossible thing I still couldn't explain. Those blue eyes. That wolf.

I pushed the thought away. I had bigger problems.

I was halfway across the courtyard when I collided with someone. Hard. My bag slipped from my shoulder.

“Watch it, bumblebee.”

The voice was deep. Rough.

I stumbled backward and looked up. And up. And up. He was tall. Six-foot-two, at least.

His shoulders were broad enough to block half the sunlight, and his dark hair fell across his forehead in effortless waves. His jaw was sharp, his expression colder than the morning air.

Then I saw his eyes.

Blue. Not ordinary blue. Not the blue of the sky or the ocean. They were brighter. Stranger. Almost luminous. The same impossible blue from my photograph.

My breath caught.

For one terrifying second, I was back in that storage room, staring at the cracked screen of my camera. Two blue eyes. A wolf.

I blinked.

The memory disappeared.

“Same to you,” I snapped, bending down to pick up my bag.

“Growling six-foot-two haughty man.”

Silence.

I straightened. He was staring at me. Then I heard it.

A low growl. Not from his throat. Inside my head. I froze.

His lips hadn't moved.

You hear me?

My fingers tightened around the strap of my bag. He hadn't spoken. At least, I didn't think he had. My eyes dropped immediately to his mouth.

Still.

“You heard me?” he asked aloud.

I stared at him.

“Erm... Mister, am I not supposed to hear you?”

His eyebrows drew together.

“You're new here?”

“Unfortunately for you.”

A faint twitch appeared at the corner of his mouth.

Almost a smile. Interesting. Mr. Growling Six-Two could actually smile.

“And you're rude,” I added.

“So I've been told.”

“By everyone?”

“Mostly.”

I rolled my eyes.

“We're both making observations. How fun.”

His gaze lingered on me. Too long. There was something strange about the way he looked at me. Not like a man checking out a woman. Like he was trying to solve a problem.

It made me remember Caspian

Then his expression changed.

Barely.

His eyes narrowed.

She can hear me.

I stared at him.

His lips remained closed.

He turned and walked away.

I watched him disappear through the doors of the main building.

What the hell was that?

I shook my head.

No.

I was exhausted.

I'd been betrayed by my boyfriend, humiliated by my best friend, discovered that my mother had been lying to me about my identity, received a suspicious scholarship to a university I had never applied to, and apparently spent the morning hallucinating conversations.

Perfect.

I tightened my grip on my bag.

I needed to find the principal.

Fast.

The woman at the front desk directed me toward the administrative wing.

“Top floor,” she said.

I thanked her and climbed the stairs.

By the time I reached the top, my legs were burning.

I pushed open the heavy oak door. And paused in my tracks. 

Mr. Growling Six-Two was here,  leaning against the wall, arms crossed. His expression unreadable. When he saw me, one eyebrow lifted.

“You again.”

I stared at him.

“Me again.”

“Lovely.”

His mouth twitched.

I ignored it and walked farther into the room.

The principal's office was enormous.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the entire campus. Dark wood lined the walls, and shelves filled with old books stretched toward the ceiling.

Behind a massive mahogany desk sat a silver-haired man in a perfectly tailored suit.

His eyes were sharp.

Too sharp.

“Ms. Delacroix.”

I stopped.

“Welcome to Veyra.”

Something about the way he said my name made my skin prickle.

He gestured toward the chair opposite him.

I sat.

He slid a thick document across the desk.

“This is your scholarship agreement.”

I glanced at it.

“There's a contract?”

“A standard agreement.”

I looked at him.

“You're saying that like there's a non-standard one.”

His mouth curved into a polite smile.

“There are a few additional clauses.”

Of course there were.

I picked up the document.

“What kind of clauses?”

“Nothing unreasonable.”

“That's usually what people say before asking for something unreasonable.”

His eyes flickered with amusement.

Then he glanced toward the man leaning against the wall.

“You've met Leander, I presume.”

I looked over my shoulder.

Leander. So that was his name. It suited him. Sharp. Regal. Annoying.

“Unfortunately.”

Leander's jaw tightened.

The principal continued.

“Leander is one of Veyra's most accomplished students. He's also one of our most visible.”

I looked at him.

“Meaning?”

“He has sponsors. Public appearances. A growing reputation in the arts.”

“Good for him.”

“Not recently.”

I frowned.

The principal folded his hands on the desk.

“His public image has suffered over the last several months. Sponsors are becoming hesitant. The university has invested heavily in his career, and we need to stabilize that investment.”

I stared at him.

“And what does that have to do with me?”

“We believe you can help.”

I almost laughed.

“I'm a photography student.”

“Exactly.”

His answer came too quickly.

I narrowed my eyes.

He continued.

“You already have a growing presence through your photography. Your work is personal, candid, and emotionally driven. You capture people differently.”

I glanced at my bag.

My broken camera suddenly felt heavier.

“And?”

“We want you to work with Leander.”

I blinked.

“Work with him?”

“Public appearances. Photography. Selected university events. Social campaigns where appropriate.”

I stared at the contract again.

“So you want me to fix his reputation?”

“In simple terms.”

“And if I refuse?”

The principal's expression didn't change.

“Your scholarship will be reviewed.”

My eyebrows shot up.

“You're blackmailing me.”

“I'm offering you an opportunity.”

“Those aren't the same thing.”

“No?”

“No.”

I pushed the contract away.

“You gave me a full scholarship. Tuition. Accommodation. Equipment. Studio access. And now you're telling me all of that disappears if I don't help some rich university prodigy repair his reputation?”

Leander shifted against the wall. I glanced at him. He was watching me. Those blue eyes were unreadable. But beneath the arrogance, I saw something I hadn't expected. Fear. It disappeared almost immediately. I frowned. Why would someone like him be afraid?

The principal cleared his throat.

“The terms are clearly outlined.”

I looked down at the contract. Something felt wrong. Very wrong. Maybe mother was right. 

“This isn't a scholarship,” I said quietly.

The principal smiled.

“No.”

I looked up.

“It's a deal.”

For the first time, his smile disappeared.

“Perhaps.”

There was something they weren't telling me. Something about Veyra. Something about Leander. And I had a weird feeling Veyra knew me better than I did myself.

I looked at him again.

Our eyes met.

And suddenly, I heard it. That voice. Not his. Something deeper. Older. A growl vibrating through my skull.

“She's here.”

“If you wanted to fix his reputation,” I said slowly, “why don't you just hire a PR specialist?”

The principal leaned back in his chair.

“Because there are two reasons we chose you, Phina.”

My heart began to pound.

“First, you already have a name in photography.”

He paused. His gaze moved to Leander. Then back to me.

“And second...”

The room suddenly felt colder. His eyes sharpened.

“You can hear his wolf, can't you?”