Chapter 6

Nate woke to the sharp tang of antiseptic and leather, his head pounding like someone had split it open with a hammer. The ache was a deep, nauseating throb that pulsed behind his eyes. For a moment, he kept them shut, clinging to the hope that when he opened them, he’d see the familiar cracked ceiling of his dorm room.

But the ceiling above him was wrong ,smooth, painted a dark gray that looked expensive. The sheets beneath him were too soft, a plush weight that sank beneath his body instead of the scratchy college-issued mattress he was used to. His chest tightened with the realization that this wasn’t his dorm.

He sat up too quickly and immediately regretted it. The room tilted, his stomach lurched, and the world came back into focus in sharp, overwhelming detail. The air smelled clean but heavy, tinged with the faint spice of cologne; sharp, masculine, and hauntingly familiar.

His mouth was dry, his knuckles ached. He swallowed hard, heart stuttering in his chest.

This wasn’t a campus dorm. Hell, this wasn’t anywhere he recognized. The walls were lined with sleek black shelves filled with books and records, a glass desk gleaming under the dim light of a lamp.

He pressed a hand to his head, wincing at the soreness. The memory of Felix slamming his skull against his own came back in a flash, and Nate scowled. What the hell was that guy’s head made of—steel?

The anger burned hot for a moment before reality slammed into him. He had been angry a lot lately, too angry. Losing control with Erwin had proved it. Sure, the guy was a prick, but Nate wasn’t the type to nearly beat someone half to death. That wasn’t him.

Panic crept in as the rest of it sank down like a stone in his gut. Erwin’s parents weren’t just rich, they were powerful, and there was no way they would let something like this slide. His scholarship could be gone, his future ruined, his chances at a real career down the drain. And then there was Kieran. Nate squeezed his eyes shut at the memory of almost swinging at him. God, he was screwed.

His chest tightened, breath hitching until he was nearly hyperventilating. He forced himself to his feet, legs unsteady, and staggered toward a door that he prayed would lead to a bathroom.

After splashing cold water on his face and taking a piss, he felt a little more human, though the dull ache in his head lingered. He braced himself on the sink, staring into the mirror. His reflection looked the same: messy brown hair, hazel eyes, a face that should have been familiar but didn’t feel like him anymore.

The sound of footsteps made his ears perk up before he even realized it. Someone was coming.

He turned just as the door opened to reveal Celeste, gliding into the room with a silver tray balanced in her hands. Without a word, she set it on the bed, then turned her bright green eyes on him.

“How are you feeling?” she asked smoothly, her voice carrying the kind of calm that made his skin prickle. “You lost control. It must be hard for you, as a newly turned wolf, to rein in your aggression.” Her lips curved faintly. “Come eat. You’ll feel better once you’ve had something in your system.”

Nate hesitated, then padded toward the bed. The tray was piled with food—toast, scrambled eggs, sausages, and bacon, with a pitcher of orange juice sweating at the side. His stomach growled like he hadn’t eaten in days.

“Thanks,” Nate muttered, already shoving food into his mouth. He hadn’t realized how ravenous he was until the first bite hit his tongue. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Celeste watching him closely, studying every move like he was part of some experiment.

Celeste Deveraux was stunning in a way that was almost unfair, fiery red hair falling in waves over her shoulders, sharp cheekbones, and those striking green eyes that seemed to see through him. She held herself like she owned the air around her. And in a way, she did. Her family had been part of Blackbridge since the beginning. In this place, that made her royalty.

Nate swallowed hard, guilt gnawing at his gut. “I’m… I’m sorry for what I did,” he said, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. “How’s Erwin? He’s fine, right? I’m probably getting expelled anyway. Where even am I?”

His shoulders sagged, the weight of it all crashing down. There was no way he was walking away from this. All his hard work, years of grinding just to get into Blackbridge, would go down the drain like it had never mattered. His mom would kill him.

Celeste tilted her head, her fiery hair catching the light as she studied him. “The douchebag is fine,” she said smoothly, almost dismissively. “And no, you’re not getting expelled. Kieran took care of it. You’re in Kieran’s place Silver Estate.”

Nate blinked. Then blinked again. There was no way he’d heard that right. “Wait. What? Kieran did what?”

Her lips curved, not quite a smile. “You’re his responsibility now. That’s how it works with a new wolf. We can’t have a rogue rampaging around campus, so we keep you close. We keep an eye on you.” She stood gracefully, straightening the hem of her blazer. “You should rest. Kieran will explain the rest later.”

And just like that, she was gone, the door closing softly behind her.

Nate stared after her, his mind a tangled mess. Kieran had covered for him? The same Kieran Drew he’d nearly tried to punch out in front of half the school? None of this made sense.

He glanced down at the tray, shoving the last of the food into his mouth. He had to admit, though, Celeste hadn’t been lying. The headache that had been drilling into his skull had dulled, almost gone. Wolf healing. Great. Another reminder he wasn’t normal anymore.

After a restless nap, Nate decided he’d had enough of sitting around waiting. If Kieran wanted to babysit him, fine, but he wasn’t going to rot in some gilded cage. He pushed to his feet, padded over to the door, and braced himself for the click of a lock.

It turned easily under his hand.

Wide open.

The hallway beyond the door stretched long and sleek, lined with dark wood panels and glass sconces that gave off a warm glow. Nate hesitated, his pulse thumping in his throat, before slipping out.

Silver Estate. He’d heard about the place before; it was practically a campus legend. Everyone knew it was where Kieran and his crew lived, a fortress of wealth and power tucked away from the rest of the students. And now here he was, walking through it like some idiot tourist.

He drifted past a library with shelves that climbed all the way to the ceiling, a music room with a grand piano sitting under a chandelier, and even a training room that smelled faintly of sweat and sharpened steel. The sheer size of it left him dizzy. 

Eventually, Nate found himself at the threshold of another room. He slipped inside before he could think twice.

The air hit him instantly—cedarwood and spice, sharp and warm. His chest tightened. He knew that scent. Kieran.

This had to be Kieran's room.

The walls were painted a deep shade of green, trimmed with black, giving the space a warmth that somehow still felt dangerous. Sleek furniture sat in perfect order, not a single thing out of place. 

Nate knew he shouldn’t be snooping, but curiosity dragged him deeper. For someone like Kieran Drew, he expected something… darker, maybe. A dungeon, or a wall of weapons. Not this. Not something that looked normal.

He took a breath, inhaling again despite himself. God, he hated that he liked the scent.

That was when his eyes landed on the painting.

A massive portrait dominated the far wall, and it was impossible to look away. Kieran stared out from the canvas like he owned whoever dared meet his gaze icy blue eyes, lips curved in the ghost of a smirk that promised trouble. He wore a tailored three-piece suit, the jacket draped across his shoulders in a way that made it look like armor. His shirt hung open just enough to reveal the ink curling across his chest: a dark flower twisting into thorns before disappearing over his shoulder.

Handsome didn’t even begin to cover it. Predatory. That was the word. Even in paint, he radiated the same danger as the real thing.

Nate’s throat went dry. He couldn’t stop staring, like if he looked long enough, the man in the portrait might blink.

Then—footsteps.

They were close, steady, moving straight toward the room.

Panic flared hot in Nate’s chest. Without thinking, he darted across the floor and slipped behind the heavy black curtains by the window, pressing himself flat against the wall. His heart pounded so hard it was all he could hear as the doorknob turned.

Someone was coming in.