(Rachelle's POV).
If nerves had a sound, mine would be the steady hum of my aunt's car engine. The hum of the car engine filled the silence between us, broken only by the occasional swoosh of passing trees.
I tucked a strand of my strawberry-blonde waves behind my ear and watched the forested hills roll by, their shadows whispering secrets i couldn't quite hear.
We've been on the road for three hours, the scenery outside shifting from familiar suburbs to misty hills and forests that looked like they belonged in a fantasy movie.
My stomach fluttered every few minutes, and I couldn't decide if it was excitement or full-blown panic.
My aunt Clara tapped the steering wheel, stealing a glance at me. "You're awfully quiet, Elle. Are you nervous?"
"Maybe a little," I admitted. "It's… Westvale. Everything about this place feels different. Like I've been here before—even though I know I haven't."
Aunt Clara chuckled softly, her dark curls bouncing as she turned another curve.
"That's just the excitement talking. New school, new life. You're starting at one of the best universities in the state on a full scholarship. That's something to be proud of."
I smiled faintly but didn't reply. Different was an understatement. Since aunt Clara and I had moved into the little town three days ago, I'd felt a constant thrum beneath her skin, like the pulse of the earth itself calling my name. It felt foreign and familiar at once...it was weird.
The air smelled of pine and something wilder, something ancient. I often caught myself glancing into the woods, half expecting eyes staring back. I even thought I might begin a session in therapy if westvale offers it in our list of courses for the semester.
My thoughts were cut short when Clara cleared her throat in that familiar, ominous way. "Now, before you go off meeting boys and joining clubs, there's something I need to remind you about…"
Here we go....
I sank lower in my seat. "If this is about what I think it is, we've already had that talk. Remember? When I turned thirteen?"
Clara kept her eyes on the road, lips twitching. "That was eight years ago. You're nineteen now. Things… change."
I groaned. "Aunt Clara, please don't—"
"Rachelle, I just want you to be safe. College boys can be—"
"—wolves in sheep clothing?" I cut in dryly. "Yes, Aunt Clara, I'm aware. I promise, no one's getting past a first coffee."
She gave me a look that was part amusement, part worry. "You think you're funny, don't you?"
"I think I'm mortified." i interrupted, my cheeks warming. "You've literally told me details about boys aunt Clara ...like everything. You even made me read pamphlets."
"And you'll hear it again until I'm sure it sticks." Clara's tone softened but stayed firm. "You're beautiful, smart, and a little too trusting for your own good. Promise me you'll be careful."
I sighed, hiding my embarrassed smile. "I promise."
"Good. Because if some smooth-talking hot guy tries to—"
"Aunt Clara!" i laughed, cutting her off. "You're impossible."
Clara joined my laughter, the sound filling the car. But beneath her humor, there was always a trace of worry, that faint maternal protectiveness i had grown used to.
Clara wasn't just my aunt—she was the only family i had ever known. My parents were a blank space in my life, a story half-told that Clara never seemed ready to finish. She never talked much about them.
I learned early on not to ask. Every time I did, her eyes went distant, her smile faltered, and she'd say, "Another time, sweetheart."
Now, with the trees growing taller and the fog thickening, I wondered if that "other time" would ever come. The car slowed as the wrought-iron, elegant gates of Westvale University came into view.
They were tall, elegant, and etched with curling vines of silver and ivy. At the top, the university's crest shimmered in the light—an open book flanked by twin wolves, their heads thrown back in a silent howl.
A strange chill rippled down my spine.
"Here we are," Clara said softly, pulling into the main drive. "Westvale University."
Something stirred deep in my chest at the sight, an odd warmth that spread through my veins like a whisper. It was the strangest sensation—like the air itself knew my name. Guess it's because I've watched too many horror movies.
"Pretty impressive, huh?" Clara said, slowing as the gates opened automatically.
"Yeah," I murmured, unable to tear my eyes away. "It feels… alive."
Clara shot me a quick glance. "Alive?"
I shook my head, embarrassed. "Nothing. Probably just nerves."
The campus unfolded like something out of a dream—red-brick halls cloaked in ivy, towering clock spires, students moving in clusters across manicured lawns. Somewhere in the distance, whistles and shouts echoed from what sounded like a sports field.
Westvale wasn't just any university. It was the university. Getting in on a full scholarship felt surreal, like someone had mailed the letter to the wrong girl.
I'd packed my life into two suitcases, left behind our small apartment, and followed aunt Clara here—into this new chapter that already felt too big for me. And yet… beneath all the awe, that odd tug in my chest lingered. Like invisible strings pulling me toward something I couldn't see.
We parked near the administration building—a sprawling stone structure with ivy creeping up its sides. Aunt Clara popped the trunk, and I jumped out, breathing in the crisp air, the breeze tugging at my hair.
It smelled faintly of pine and rain. My heart beat faster as I took it all in.
"It's… beautiful," I whispered.
"And your new home for the semester," Clara said, trying to sound dramatic and coming around to hug my shoulders.
"Let's get you checked in."
Together, we carried my things toward the entrance and we both walked into the administration building. Inside the administration building, polished floors gleamed under chandeliers.
A woman at the front desk smiled warmly. The woman at the front desk—sharp features, dark hair pinned neatly—looked up as we approached. Her name tag read Ms. Rowan.
"Good afternoon ladies, how may I help you?." the woman named Ms. Rowan smiled at us.
"Hello" my aunt greeted her. "My name is Clara Hale and this is my niece Rachelle Monroe, we're here to inquire about her acceptance and accomodations".
" Miss Monroe." Ms Rowan said.
"That's me," I said, smiling awkwardly.
"Miss Monroe," Ms. Rowan said, studying me briefly. "Welcome to Westvale. You're expected. The Vice-Chancellor would like a word with you before you settle in."
"The Vice-Chancellor?" Clara echoed, surprised. "Well… that's unexpected."
"He likes to personally welcome our scholarship students," Ms. Rowan said, standing smoothly. "Please, follow me."
Clara gave her a reassuring nod, and together we followed the secretary down a hall lined with portraits of stern-faced men and women. They all looked goofy to me and I stiffled a laugh.
The door at the end bore a gold plate: Professor Dante Everhart – Vice Chancellor. When we entered, the man behind the desk looked up and smiled—a tall figure in his thirties, with black hair neatly combed back and eyes the color of brown.
"Miss Rachelle Monroe," Ms. Rowan announced. "Here to see you, sir."
"Ah, Miss Monroe," he said warmly. "And you must be her guardian. Please, come in."
I tried not to fidget as we sat. He had a calm, commanding presence—like someone who knew more than he ever said.
"I'm Professor Dante Everhart," he continued, offering a polite smile. "Welcome to Westvale University. You've done remarkably well to earn your scholarship, Miss Monroe. We're proud to have you here."
"Thank you," I said softly.
"It's an honor. Westvale takes great pride in nurturing talent," Professor Everhart said.
His voice carried the calm authority of someone used to command. "I trust you enjoyed the scenery around here?"
"Yes sir" I replied him.
He slid a small folder across the desk. "Here ..Inside, you'll find your dorm assignment, schedule, and our student handbook. Read it carefully. Westvale has a long-standing tradition of discipline and excellence. We expect our students to uphold it."
"Of course," I replied, nodding.
"Good."
His gaze lingered on me a moment longer than felt normal, something unreadable in his expression.
Then he smiled again. "You'll do fine."
I nodded, though his choice of words felt oddly heavy, as if they carried a meaning beyond academics. After a few more pleasantries, Dante rose from his seat and extended a hand.
"Welcome to Westvale University once again, Miss Monroe. I have no doubt you'll make your mark here."
I smiled, shaking his hand—just as a loud crash echoed from outside the office. A sudden commotion in the hall. Shouts. The heavy thud of boots on marble.
Dante frowned. "What on earth—"
The door burst open before he finished. A tall figure strode in, tall, broad,breathless and flushed from exertion. He's dressed in a dark sports jersey and it clung to his chest, damp with sweat, and his raven-black hair was tousled I guess from practice....maybe football.
The sharp scent of grass and earth followed him. And then he looked at me.
It was like the air in the room cracked. Every sound dimmed. My breath caught somewhere in my throat as blue eyes—sharp, impossibly blue—locked on mine. I could have sworn his eyes changed color.
For a heartbeat, neither of us moved.
Then I heard it. Low. Rough. A sound that wasn't quite human.
A growl.
The hairs on my arms lifted.
Dante stiffened behind his desk, voice low. "Cole—"
But the young man didn't even blink. Didn't seem to hear what the vice chancellor said. His gaze stayed on me, those blue eyes darkening like storm clouds. his breathing uneven.
Every line of his body was tense, electric, as though something inside him was fighting to break free.
And then, with a voice that rolled through the air like thunder, he said one word.
"Mate."
The room went still. I didn't breathe.
Clara's hand gripped my arm, startled. And behind his desk, Dante Everhart whispered—almost reverently, almost afraid—
"Oh my goddess."