Back in the office, Alaric finished signing the last piece of paper and left the pen on the desk with a sigh.
— I was going to ask Hope to show you around the school — he said, rubbing his eyes. — She knows the place better than I do, and it would have been ideal. But, judging by the way she left, she doesn't seem very available right now. — He looked at Ethan and scratched the back of his neck. — Why don't you take a walk? Just don't go too far, I'm really busy right now, kid.
Ethan nodded.
— No problem.
— Go look around, check out the building, the grounds. If you need anything, just find me.
Ethan thanked him with a nod and left the room, closing the door behind him.
The hallway was emptier now; after the meeting, people had left the school and gone somewhere else. He walked slowly, hands in his pockets, looking at the paintings, the classroom doors, the faces passing him by. Some stared, others pretended not to look. It was like walking through a museum of a life that was no longer his.
It was near the inner courtyard that he saw a group.
There were about six or seven guys gathered in a corner near a stone bench, laughing and talking loudly. Ethan didn't even need to get closer. Even from twenty meters away, his sharp werewolf sense of smell identified it. It was the scent of his own kind, mixed with leather, earth, and sweat.
Werewolves.
An involuntary smile appeared on his lips, only to fade away just as quickly. He searched among the faces, looking from one to the other, searching for one particular figure—tall, elegant, with a calm gaze and a deep voice—but he didn't find him.
Where is Lucien?
He had barely spent any time with that guy, but it had been enough to exchange a few words, to hear some advice, to feel that, in the middle of that confusing school, there was someone he could trust. Still, he liked the guy, and his absence there, in that courtyard, left a strange sense of emptiness.
Ethan took a deep breath and walked over.
— Hey.
The group turned. The conversations stopped, and half a dozen pairs of eyes stared at him in surprise. None of them knew him. For anyone used to seeing the same faces every day, the stranger in the leather jacket approaching so casually was a novelty.
— I'm new around here — Ethan said with a subtle smile. — Ethan.
He reached out his hand to the nearest guy, a dark-haired fellow with strong arms and a friendly face. The boy hesitated for a second, then shook his hand.
— Mike.
— Ethan — Ethan let go of his hand and swept his eyes over the group. — I need some information. Who is your alpha?
Mike raised an eyebrow. Then, with a nod of his head, he pointed toward the back of the courtyard.
A broad-shouldered guy with short hair and an easy smile was talking to other students, laughing loudly at something. He had the air of someone who felt like he owned everything around him, and a posture Ethan recognized instantly: that of someone who expected to be obeyed.
— That's Jed — Mike explained.
Hnm, Ethan thought. So Lucien really did leave.
The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. He thanked them with a nod and walked across the courtyard.
— Hey — he called out as he approached. — My name is Ethan.
Jed cut off his conversation and turned to him, his face tightening. He looked the newcomer up and down, making no effort to hide his distrust.
— Jed — he replied, dryly. — What do you want?
— I knew the old alpha around here. Lucien. — Ethan kept his voice neutral. — What happened to him?
— Lucien? — Jed let out a short, humorless laugh. — Oh, right. There was a guy like that around here, a while ago. About a year ago. Finished school and left.
— Hnm. — Ethan nodded slowly. — Got it.
Jed's smile changed. It grew narrower, more alert.
— If you knew him, that means you're a werewolf too, right?
— I am — Ethan answered without beating around the bush.
— Then you know how it works. — Jed took a step forward, and the other guys in the group moved closer, forming a semicircle around them. — I'm the alpha. Every werewolf in this school obeys me, and you have to submit to me. That's the rule. So do it.
Ethan scowled.
— I'm not going to do that.
The courtyard fell silent. The guys exchanged nervous glances. Jed stood still for a fraction of a second, and something dark flickered behind his eyes.
— What did you say?
— I said I'm not submitting.
— Then I'll force you — Jed growled.
His eyes flashed a wild yellow, veins bulged on his neck, and without any further warning, he lunged forward with his fist already raised.
Is this for real? Ethan thought, watching the punch come with an almost amused disbelief. He's just going to attack me out of nowhere? What happened to these kids?
He sidestepped with a lateral movement so simple it barely looked like he moved at all. Jed's fist cut through empty air, and, carried by his own momentum, the boy overshot, tripped over his own feet, and nearly fell face-first onto the ground.
Someone let out a low chuckle. Jed straightened up, red with rage, and attacked again.
Ethan dodged once more. And again. Each of Jed's strikes was more reckless than the last, and every single one hit nothing but air. He wasn't even trying. He took a step, tilted his body, let the other guy pass, like someone dodging an agitated dog.
By this point, the courtyard had already drawn a small crowd. Students walking through the corridors stopped at the doors, others arrived at the windows, and within minutes, dozens of faces were watching, whispering, with wide eyes.
At the edge of the circle, two boys watched in silence: Rafael and Landon. Rafael raised his eyebrows, impressed, with a half-smile on his lips as he watched Jed make a fool of himself against a newcomer. Landon, beside him with his arms crossed, wore a closed expression—though he couldn't deny that watching Jed get humiliated felt pretty good.
Jed charged once more with a roar, and Ethan, his expression unchanged, stepped to the side and stuck out his foot. The alpha crashed to his knees on the ground, hands in the dirt, panting, humiliated in front of everyone.
— You're not an alpha — Ethan said in a calm, almost gentle voice, every word falling over the courtyard like a stone. — You never were.
Jed lifted his head, his face red and his eyes blazing.
— You're just an idiot who found people weaker than you and made them submit. — Ethan took a step forward. — That doesn't make anyone an alpha. It makes you a coward.
Jed growled and hurled himself toward him in one last desperate attack.
Ethan's hand closed around his throat before the strike could land.
It was far too fast for anyone to follow. One second Jed was running, and the next he was suspended in mid-air, his feet dangling a half-meter off the ground and his hands clawing at the arm holding him, trying in vain to break free. Ethan held him up with a single hand, without the slightest sign of effort.
Absolute silence fell over the courtyard.
Everyone stared, open-mouthed. Rafael's smile had dropped right off his face. Landon had uncrossed his arms without realizing it. Mike, in the middle of the werewolf group, took a step back with wide eyes.
A single thought crossed everyone's head at the exact same time.
Was this guy really just a werewolf?
Ethan looked at the kid dangling from the end of his arm, his face purple and his eyes rolling back, and felt a wave of total disinterest take over. It wasn't worth it. He opened his hand.
Actually, he threw him.
Jed flew a few meters and landed squarely on his backside in the dirt with a dull thud that kicked up dust. He stayed there, sitting, panting, with a hand to his neck and coughing, lacking the courage to stand up or look anyone in the eye.
Ethan shook his hand, as if dusting off dirt, and finally looked around.
The entire courtyard was staring at him. Dozens of students, some with their mouths open, others whispering under their breath, others simply frozen. He had put on quite a show, and the worst part was he hadn't even planned it. He had been looking for an old friend and ended up right in the middle of a brawl.
His eyes scanned the crowd and stopped on two faces at the edge of the circle: Rafael, with raised eyebrows and an impressed half-smile, and beside him, arms crossed, the guy with the zoned-out face.
Landon.
Ethan frowned.
The boy stared back at him with a strange expression, a mix of curiosity and distrust, and for a fleeting moment they locked eyes across the distance without saying a word. Ethan felt an inexplicable urge to spit on the ground.
— Tch — he muttered under his breath, looking away.
He shoved his hands into his jacket pockets, turned his back on everyone, and crossed the courtyard at a leisurely pace as the crowd parted to let him pass. Not a single word was spoken. He walked past the hallway, out the main door, and into the daylight.
The school gates faded behind him.
Ethan walked through town aimlessly, his head down and his hands in his pockets. He had quite a first day: he'd found Alaric, Dorian, and Lizzie; seen that the world had forgotten him; faced a kid who fancied himself an alpha; and, right in the middle of all that, come face-to-face with the only person he couldn't get out of his head. It was too much for one day. He needed air.
There was anger inside him, and there was no use denying it. Anger at Hope for not remembering, even knowing it wasn't her fault. Anger at that cursed place where he'd been trapped for years, at himself, at the whole world. It was a tired anger, one that didn't burn like before, but dragged at the bottom of his chest, heavy and constant.
Yet, as he walked, something else began to rise through that anger. A small, stubborn idea that he scarcely dared to think.
Maybe I did leave something behind after all.
He remembered the way Hope had acted when she stood before him. Her faltering breath, her flushed face, the eyes that couldn't hold his gaze and yet kept coming back. The way she had squeezed his hand as if she couldn't let go. Her desperate escape through the door without even finishing her sentence.
She didn't remember him. That was a fact. Her memories had been wiped, taken away by the darkness along with everything else. But whatever existed between them—something that went beyond any memory—seemed to have survived. It was there, intact, too deep for any curse to reach.
A word surfaced in his mind, a word he hadn't spoken or even thought of in many years.
Imprint.
The exact same desire to be with her, to hold her, to protect her, and also to kiss her was right there inside him.
However, unlike before, he wasn't going to practically force his presence on her because of the imprint; no. I'm going to win her back, and this time, I won't let her slip through my fingers...
Ethan stopped walking for a moment, eyes fixed on the ground, squeezed his fist tightly, and felt a determination he had never felt before.
Maybe she had lost her memories, but not the bond. Whatever he had to do, whoever he had to make cry for her to stay with him, he didn't care. He was tired of putting everyone else's well-being above his own; twenty years trapped in a place will do that to a person.
Pushing that aside, out in the dark, he had made a silly little promise to keep himself going if he ever got out of that place: he was going to drink a real drink. He'd never tasted alcohol before, and the idea of sitting somewhere with a glass in his hand felt like the ultimate symbol that he had survived.
He headed through town toward a remote bar far from the center, a low building of dark wood with a neon sign blinking in the window. The door creaked when he pushed it open. Inside, the smell of stale beer and fried food mixed with the sound of a corner television broadcasting a baseball game. There were few people: some men at the counter, a woman alone at a table, and the bartender—a large, gray-bearded fellow wiping down a glass with a rag.
Ethan took a stool at the counter.
The bartender looked him up and down.
— ID — he said, without raising his voice.
Ethan stared at him. Cold, tired green eyes held the man's gaze for a long moment, and what lay within them—that ancient hardness, that weight of years—made the bartender hesitate.
— Shut up — Ethan replied softly and calmly — and get me a cold one. — Then he dropped a 100-dollar bill onto the counter.
The bartender opened his mouth, closed it, and after a second, shook his head, picked up the bill from the counter, and reached for a bottle from the fridge.
Ethan brought the bottleneck to his lips and took a sip. The ice-cold liquid slid down his throat, bitter and fizzy. He grimaced.
Is this it?
He took another sip, trying to convince himself. It was no use. He pushed the bottle aside.
— Got whiskey? — he asked.
The bartender, now more cautious, poured a shot into a low glass with two ice cubes. Ethan lifted it, sniffed it, and tasted it. The flavor was strong, burning, leaving a trail of warmth that drifted down his chest. He scowled, but this time, he didn't push the glass away.
He took another sip. And another.
This was starting to grow on him.
He stayed there for hours, drinking slowly with his elbow propped on the counter and his eyes fixed on the television, where a team was losing by three points. He wasn't really paying attention to the game. He just let the noise fill the silence, the lights blink, and the time slip away. He ordered another shot, then another, in no rush. It was strange to be there, in such an ordinary place, among people who knew nothing, with a glass in his hand and his head, for the first time in a very long time, completely blank.
When he finally glanced at the wall clock, it was past ten at night.
He left a few more bills on the counter, stood up, and nodded to the bartender, who watched him leave without saying a word.
His money was running low; he needed to get cash—and fast—if he wanted to survive.
The door creaked once more behind him, and Ethan stepped out into the cold night air.
Ethan walked back to the school on foot, hands in his pockets, his steps a little looser than normal. The whiskey was still coursing somewhere in his system, softening the streetlights and slowing his thoughts, but with every block, the feeling began to fade. He noticed this with a certain discomfort. The alcohol was leaving his system, burned away by his blood, leaving behind only a dull, nagging headache throbbing at his temples.
What a waste, he thought, rubbing his forehead.
When he reached the gates of the Salvatore School, he reached out to open them only to find the iron locked, secured with a fresh chain and a thick padlock. He stared at it for a second.
— Of course... — he muttered. — Monsters attacking the school. Of course they locked it.
He looked around. There was no one on the street. He flexed his legs, felt the power surge through his thighs, and leaped.
The jump carried him well above the gate in a clean arc against the moon. He landed soundlessly on the other side, crouching on the grass, then stood up and adjusted his jacket. The front door was ajar. He pushed it open and went inside.
The moment his feet touched the lobby floor, he froze.
There was a smell in the air.
It was a faint scent, but unmistakable, and the memory hit him before he could even name it: sulfur, rotting flesh, wet earth, and something older, damper, like the breath of an endless cave. It was the smell of Malivore.
Is this...?
His heart gave a jolt.
One of the monsters from that place is here?
The smell came from the end of the hall. Ethan followed it silently past the dark paintings and closed doors, his muscles tense and his senses on high alert. With every step, the odor grew stronger. He heard a metallic creak, then a sharp snap of something being ripped apart, and turned the corner.
The creature had its back to him.
It was tall, skinny to the point of looking skeletal, with gray skin stretched tight over bone, overly long arms, and fingers ending in black claws. A pair of torn, membranous wings folded behind its back, and long, curved spikes protruded from its shoulders, ribs, and spine—like an animal that had turned itself into a weapon.
In its hands, it clutched the steel door of a built-in wall safe, which it had just ripped off like a tin can lid.
What the hell is that?
Ethan stood frozen, his mind blank. He had seen plenty of hideous things in that hellhole, but this still managed to give him a chill.
A slight noise from the other end of the corridor made him snap his head around.
Hope was standing there a few meters away, her hair tied back and the firm posture of someone ready to fight. She saw him too. Her eyes widened.
— Ethan? — she whispered. — What are you doing here?
— I should ask you that — he replied in the same tone, pointing his chin at the creature. — What the hell is that?
— It's an oneiroi. — She looked at him with a flash of annoyance. — Where were you all afternoon? Mr. Saltzman talked about this at the meeting.
Ethan remembered the auditorium...
— I have no idea what this thing is — he muttered. — But it smells just like the place I came from...
The last word slipped out almost by accident, and the next second, he realized what he'd said.
— What? — Hope frowned. — Where did you come from?
She didn't get to hear the answer.
The monster had stopped moving. Its elongated head turned slowly in a crooked, sickening way, and its nostrils—or whatever passed for them—flared. Then it let out a piercing shriek that rattled the window glass and lunged straight at them.
Ethan moved before he could think. He took a step forward and placed himself in front of Hope with open arms, blocking her path.
— Get behind me.
— I don't need you to protect me — she snapped, already trying to push past him.
The creature slammed into Ethan with the force of a truck. He planted his feet, and the floor cracked beneath his shoes, but he didn't give an inch. His hands grabbed the monster's wrists, holding its claws inches from his own face, neck muscles straining with the effort.
— Really? — he said through clenched teeth, glancing over his shoulder at Hope with one eyebrow raised.
The monster growled, shook its head, and lifted Ethan right off the ground. It spun its body and hurled him against the wall. Ethan crashed through the drywall, rolled across the floor, got back up, and was thrown again—first against a locker, then through a classroom door that shattered into splinters. His whole body throbbed, but he had only one thing on his mind, and he scrambled up once more, panting.
— Hey! — Hope shouted. — Over here!
The monster whipped its head around. Hope was standing in the middle of the hallway with her hands raised, energy crackling at her fingertips. She fired. The impact hit the creature in the chest and knocked it back, but it recovered instantly, shrieked louder, and charged at her.
Hope ran, and the creature bolted after her. The two vanished down the corridor and, judging by the crash, rounded a corner into a part of the school Ethan didn't know.
— Damn it — he muttered, brushing plaster off his shoulder, and sprinted after them.
The noise led him to a set of double doors swinging wildly on their hinges. Ethan rushed through the opening and stopped.
It was a gym. A massive, high-ceilinged room with mirrored walls, equipment piled in corners, and mats scattered across the floor where some people looked like they'd just been sleeping—Ethan didn't even know a place like this existed in the school. The monster stood in the middle of the hall, and facing it in a combat stance was Hope.
But Ethan saw more people.
Near the back wall among the mats were four guys. Landon with wide eyes, Rafael with clenched fists, and two others Ethan had never seen before: a Black guy with unkempt hair and a shorter one with a round face and big eyes.
Rafael was the first to notice the figure at the door.
— Hey — he said, not taking his eyes off the scene. — That's him.
— Who? — Landon asked, then turned his head. — Oh. — His face tightened. — The newbie.
— Yeah, I see him. — Rafael sighed. — Now we've got something worse.
Before anyone could speak, Hope raised her voice.
— Back off, guys! I've got this.
The monster spread its wings, the stretched membranes covering half the room with spikes bristling as if to show everyone how massive it was. Hope didn't hesitate. She surged forward, ran, and leaped straight at it, landing on the creature's bony shoulders with her arms locked around its neck.
For a second, it looked like it would work. But the monster thrashed, grabbed her arm with a claw, and jerked her forward, pressing her hard against its own body. Long, dry fingers closed around Hope's throat and squeezed.
Hope let out a choked sound, trying to pry the creature's hand away while her legs kicked wildly in the air.
Ethan saw it, and the world went silent.
There was no thought at all. Just a blind, white fury so immense it made the hairs on his arms stand on end. He crossed the gym in a fraction of a millisecond.
He reached the monster and grabbed the arm choking Hope. He squeezed. The dry bones snapped beneath his hand like twigs, and the creature shrieked in pain, loosening its grip. Ethan tossed Hope safely a few meters away using his magic.
His eyes had changed. The green had grown brighter, deeper, glowing in the dim light like twin flames.
The monster tried to strike back. Ethan grabbed the creature with both hands, one on either side of its body, and pulled without the slightest visible effort.
A dry, wet snap echoed out. The monster was ripped right down the middle from the neck and collarbone in a clean tear that split it into two halves. For a heartbeat, the two halves hung suspended in the air as if failing to comprehend what had happened. Then they dissolved into black smoke that drifted up to the ceiling and vanished.
The silence that followed was total.
Hope, who had landed on her backside, was coughing with a hand to her throat and a flushed face. Ethan knelt beside her slowly, with a concern he couldn't mask.
— Are you okay? — he asked, his voice lower and gentler than anything that had left his mouth since he returned. — Are you hurt?
Hope looked up at him, still gasping.
— I... I'm fine — she rasped out.
Behind them, no one moved.
Landon and Rafael stood with wide eyes and slightly parted mouths. The taller Black guy's mouth was half open, and the shorter, round-faced boy standing with his hands on his head was the first to speak.
— Caleb, did you see that? — the shorter one asked the guy beside him. — Did the newbie just pull off a fatality on that monster, or was that just in my head?
— No, man, that looked more like a brutality, didn't it? — Caleb said.
The silence in the gym didn't last.
Rapid footsteps echoed in the hallway, and seconds later the double doors burst open again. Alaric rushed in with a wrinkled shirt, messy hair, and the tense face of a man who had sprinted across the entire school. In one hand he held a crossbow; in the other, a wooden-tipped bolt already loaded and ready to fire.
He stopped in the middle of the hall, pointing the weapon forward, and swept his eyes over the room looking for the threat.
— Guys, what is it? What was that noise?
There was no monster. There was only a group of wide-eyed teenagers, a girl sitting on the floor, and a boy in a leather jacket standing in front of her with an outstretched hand. Alaric slowly lowered the crossbow, confused.
— The monster's beaten — MG said, still with his hands on his head. — It's over, Mr. Saltzman.
— Beaten? — Alaric blinked. — By whom?
None of the kids answered, but all of them looked in the same direction.
Ethan had crouched down next to Hope and was offering his hand with the naturalness of someone who'd done it a thousand times. Hope hesitated for a second, then took it, and he pulled her up firmly and carefully until she was on her feet. He held her elbow for an extra second just to make sure she wouldn't fall.
— Thanks — Hope murmured, not looking at him.
— You're welcome.
Her face flushed. She had no control over it and tried to hide behind her hair, without success. It was just a hand on her elbow, for God's sake, and yet she could feel the heat of his palm right through her shirt fabric spreading up her arm.
Near the wall, Landon watched the scene in silence.
His arms were crossed, his jaw tight, and something twisted in his stomach seeing the way Hope blushed, the way Ethan held her, the ease with which this guy—whom nobody knew—had waded in and done in a single day what Landon hadn't managed to do the entire time he'd been at the school. It was jealousy. He knew it, and he hated knowing it. He cast his eyes down to the floor, pressing his lips together.
Rafael, beside him, noticed and said nothing.
— It was him, Mr. Saltzman — Caleb said, pointing at Ethan with a trembling finger. — The newbie. He grabbed the monster with both hands and tore it right in half.
— That's right — MG confirmed, nodding enthusiastically. — It was a fatality. And the thing turned into smoke! Poof! Out of nowhere!
Alaric looked from one kid to the other, then down at the gym floor where a few wisps of black smoke were still dissolving into the air. Finally, he turned his gaze back to Ethan.
For a long moment, he said nothing. He just stood there, the crossbow dangling by his side, studying the boy as if seeing him for the first time. There were a number of things he should have asked from the beginning: when the boy appeared at the gate, when he'd performed that display of magic, when he signed the papers. And only now, with his mind finally clear of shock, did he realize he hadn't asked any of them.
— Ethan — he said slowly. — I heard about the fight you had with Jed. They say you lifted the kid with one hand. And now this. — He paused. — I need to ask you something, and I should've asked it before.
Ethan, who already suspected what was coming, stood still.
— What are you?
The question dropped into the gym like a stone into a lake.
Every pair of eyes turned to Ethan. Landon, Rafael, MG, the blond kid, the students who had taken refuge on the mats, Alaric himself. Everyone waited in silence for an answer nobody knew.
Hope, standing beside him, said nothing. But in her head, the words he'd spoken in the hallway echoed back over and over.
It smells just like the place I came from.
The place he came from.
Hope felt a chill run down her spine. The oneiroi came from somewhere. A hell, the stories said—a prison of monsters, darkness, and rotting flesh. And he had said, without thinking, without even realizing, that he'd come from that exact same place.
Does that mean Ethan... was in Malivore?
Her heart hammered. She glanced sideways at him, at his serious profile, his fixed gaze on Alaric, and a freezing sensation spread through her chest.