Chapter 2

My eyes follow Chloe’s gaze toward the doorway, cutting through the haze of cheap smoke and flashing strobe lights.

A tall figure has just stepped inside, instantly shifting the gravity of the room. Broad shoulders, dark hair falling just past his brow, and an expensive leather jacket that looks entirely out of place among the stained hoodies and frat tees. It’s not a student. Or, if he is, he’s definitely not an undergraduate. There’s a calculated, predatory stillness about him—the way his dark eyes scan the room, taking in every exit, every drunken mistake, like a hunter sizing up a pen of stray sheep.

My breath hitches. The sharp line of his jaw and the cold intensity in his expression flash a sudden, jarring warning through my brain. He looks entirely too much like Professor Black. Not a family resemblance, exactly, but cut from the same terrifying, untouchable cloth.

“Oh, sweet mother of mercy,” Chloe breathes, fanning herself with one hand. “Who is that? Because if he’s a senior, I’m transferring majors tonight.”

“Chlo, wait,” I murmur, my stomach suddenly twisting into a cold, heavy knot. “Something’s... I don’t think he’s here for the party.”

As if he heard me, the stranger’s gaze cuts straight across the crowded room, bypassing Chloe entirely. His dark eyes lock onto mine, a slow, knowing smirk curving the corner of his mouth.

The air between us feels suddenly vacuumed out, leaving me gasping for oxygen that tastes like ash and spilled alcohol.

It’s not just a look. It’s a pull—a physical, invisible tether yanked tight, snapping across the crowded, sweaty expanse of the living room. Every instinct I have screams at me to run, to hide, to dive beneath the floorboards, but my boots are glued to the linoleum.

The stranger starts moving. He doesn’t push his way through the dense cluster of dancing bodies the way everyone else does; people instinctively part for him, shrinking back a fraction of an inch as if sensing the sheer, heavy danger radiating off his frame.

My skin begins to prickle. It starts as a strange, localized heat right over my collarbone, a prickly, feverish burn that rapidly spreads beneath my sweater. My blood runs hot, then freezing, surging through my veins like liquid electricity. My heart stutters, skips a beat, and then drums a frantic, deafening rhythm against my ribs.

What is happening to me?

“Haven?” Chloe blinks, finally tearing her gaze away from him to look at me, her brow furrowing in confusion. “Are you turning red? You look like you’re about to throw up.”

I can’t answer her. My throat feels constricted, choked by a sudden, overwhelming wave of scent cutting through the stench of cheap beer and sweat. It hits me like a physical blow: pine needles, winter frost, rich cedar, and something wild, primal, and electric. It’s an intoxicating aroma that makes every single hair on my arms stand straight up.

The stranger is closing the distance now. Only a few feet away. Up close, he’s towering, massive, his broad chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths.

And then, a bizarre, terrifying sensation hits my skull. A low, vibrating hum echoes inside my mind, brushing against my thoughts like a phantom touch. A voice—not my own, deeper, gravelly, and dripping with an ancient, possessive authority—rumbles in the back of my brain: Mine.

My knees wobble. The room tilts on its axis.

Before I can process the madness of hearing a voice inside my head, the stranger stops right in front of us. He completely ignores Chloe, whose jaw drops in silent indignation. His intense, piercing gaze locks onto my eyes, burning with a terrifying, hungry recognition.

“Found you,” he murmurs, his voice a rich, dark velvet that vibrates straight down to my spine.

“Excuse me?” Chloe snaps, finding her voice and stepping protectively in front of me. “Do we know you, tall, dark, and psycho? Because personal space is a thing—”

The stranger doesn’t even blink at Chloe. His eyes never leave mine. A low, almost imperceptible growl reverberates from deep within his chest, a sound so violently primal that it bypasses my ears and rattles straight through my skeleton.

Suddenly, a blinding flash of white-hot pain explodes behind my eyes. It feels as though my bones are shifting, snapping, and reshaping themselves beneath my skin. My muscles tear and stitch back together in seconds. A horrific, agonizing heat floods my entire body, burning away my humanity piece by piece.

“Run,” my brain screams, but my vocal cords are paralyzed.

The stranger steps closer, closing the final inch, his hand reaching out to gently graze my cheek. His touch is searing hot, sparking a wildfire beneath my skin.

“Don’t fight it, little artist,” he whispers, his smile turning feral as the world around us dissolves into a blur of darkness and howling instinct.