CHAPTER 9
1900 Words
Pain has a weird way of making everything feel louder.
Even the quiet.
Even your own breathing.
Even the way your thoughts slam into each other when you’re trying to sleep and failing.
My cheek still ached from the basketball hit, a dull throb that pulsed every time my heart did. My nose wasn’t broken—Alex had checked like he was a medic in a war zone—but it felt bruised in a way that made me want to punch the universe back.
Lina had insisted on ice.
Bree had insisted on apology cupcakes from the snack machine.
The loud guy had stuttered a dozen “I didn’t mean it” sentences while staring at Alex like he’d seen something he wasn’t supposed to see.
And everyone on that court—everyone—had heard Alex’s voice change.
That was the part that wouldn’t let my brain rest.
Not the ball.
Not the embarrassment of being the girl who got nailed in the face during a “casual” game.
Not even the way Alex had wrapped an arm around me like he’d been holding himself back from tearing the sky open.
It was the sound inside his voice.
Like there had been a second tone under it. A low thread of something primal.
A growl hiding under the word don’t.
I kept telling myself it was adrenaline.
I kept telling myself it was anger.
I kept telling myself the court acoustics were weird.
But I knew what I’d heard.
And worse—
I knew what I’d felt.
When Alex snapped, the air around him had changed.
Pressure. Weight. Something ancient rolling through the space like the world remembered what predators were.
Even now, hours later, tucked under my blanket in my bedroom, I could still feel it on my skin like static.
I rolled onto my side, wincing at my cheek.
My phone glowed on my nightstand, unread notifications from Lina and Bree arguing about whether the loud guy should be banned from sports forever.
I didn’t open them.
I stared at the lock on my door instead.
Locked.
Like Alex wanted.
Like I wanted, now.
I hated that.
I hated being the kind of person who locked her door because someone told her to.
I hated even more that the someone was Alex—and my body listened to him even when my pride screamed.
From the other side of the wall, the suite was quiet.
No footsteps.
No movement.
Alex hadn’t said much after the basketball incident.
He’d walked us back with the same calm, protective positioning, like he was a shield you didn’t ask for but somehow needed.
He’d carried the ice pack for me without comment.
He’d told Lina, in that dangerous calm voice, “Don’t let her go outside alone tonight.”
Lina had nodded like she’d been hypnotized.
Then Alex had looked at me and said, low, firm:
“Sleep.”
Like it was an order.
Like it was a promise.
I’d rolled my eyes at him, because I was me.
And he’d only stared back like he knew I wouldn’t sleep anyway.
He’d been right.
Because I couldn’t stop thinking about the mark on his wrist.
The old book.
The forest growl.
The way the boundary sign felt less like a rule and more like a warning.
The way Alex’s eyes had flashed gold in the living room for one second.
The way he’d vanished from the basketball court distance in the blink of a heartbeat to catch me.
People didn’t move like that.
People didn’t change like that.
Unless they were—
I shut my eyes tight.
No.
Stop.
I took a slow breath.
In.
Out.
I tried to let the campus sounds lull me—distant laughter, a door closing somewhere down the hall, a muffled voice from another room.
Normal.
Normal.
Normal.
Eventually my eyelids got heavy.
My cheek still throbbed, but it dulled.
My thoughts slowed.
The blanket felt warmer.
My breathing finally evened out.
And just when I started to slip—
A sound ripped through the night.
A howl.
Not far away.
Not “somewhere beyond campus.”
Too close.
It wasn’t the kind of howl you heard in movies—dramatic, clean, perfectly timed.
This was raw.
Long.
Low enough that it vibrated through my bones, like the sound wasn’t just in the air—
It was in my chest.
I sat up so fast my head spun.
My heart slammed against my ribs like it was trying to escape.
The howl ended, and for a beat there was silence so thick it felt like the world held its breath.
Then, somewhere deeper in the night, another sound answered—fainter, farther.
A second howl.
Like a response.
My throat went dry.
I stared at my window, the blinds faintly glowing with moonlight.
The boundary sign flashed in my mind.
DO NOT CROSS AFTER DARK.
Alex’s voice, low and certain:
There are things out there that don’t care about campus rules.
My fingers curled in the blanket.
I should’ve stayed in bed.
I should’ve pulled the covers over my head and pretended it was just an animal and my imagination was dramatic.
I should’ve been smart.
But I wasn’t smart.
I was curious.
And stubborn.
And apparently allergic to doing what I was told.
I slid out of bed quietly, bare feet touching cold floor. My cheek twinged as if reminding me of my role as the universe’s punching bag.
I stepped toward the window.
Then stopped.
Listened.
The suite was still quiet.
No door opening.
No footsteps.
Which meant Alex hadn’t gone running down the hall.
Which meant—
A chill crawled up my spine.
I moved the blinds just enough to peek out.
The campus lawn spread out below, washed in moonlight—silver, still, almost pretty. The trees at the far edge looked darker than the sky behind them, thick and watching.
And there, near the shadow line of the building—
A figure.
My breath caught.
Alex.
He was outside.
Alone.
Standing on the grass like he belonged to the night more than the dorm.
He wasn’t wearing his hoodie.
Just a dark shirt, sleeves pushed up.
Moonlight painted sharp edges on his arms, his shoulders, his jaw.
His head was tilted up toward the sky.
Like he was listening.
Not to the campus noise.
Not to people.
To something higher.
To the moon itself.
My pulse hammered.
What is he doing out there?
The howl echoed again in my memory, and my stomach twisted the same way it always did when danger brushed too close.
Alex didn’t look scared.
He looked… called.
Like the sound had pulled him out of bed the way it had pulled me awake—but unlike me, he hadn’t been startled.
He’d been summoned.
He lifted his chin a little higher, eyes fixed on the sky.
Then his shoulders tensed.
Not like he was cold.
Like he was resisting.
His hands curled at his sides.
For a second, the moonlight caught his wrist, and I swore I saw the mark there—dark against his skin.
The symbol from the book.
The crescent-claw seal.
My breath came out shaky.
I pressed my fingertips lightly against the glass, as if touching the window could keep him here, keep him human, keep him—
A sudden movement snapped my attention.
Alex’s head turned.
Sharp.
Fast.
Not like someone casually looking around.
Like someone sensing a presence.
His gaze lifted.
Straight up.
Straight toward my window.
Toward me.
My whole body went cold.
I ducked instinctively—too late.
Because I felt it, even without looking.
That moment when someone locks eyes with you, and the air changes.
Like the night suddenly knows your name.
My heart pounded so hard it hurt.
I slowly raised my head again, just enough to see.
Alex was staring right at my window.
Not vaguely at the building.
Not generally at the dorm.
Directly at my window.
Like he’d pinpointed me in a sea of glass and darkness.
Like he’d smelled me through the air.
Like he’d known the second I stepped out of bed.
My breath caught in my throat.
He didn’t move.
He didn’t wave.
He didn’t smile.
He just stared.
And even from this distance, I could feel the intensity of it—like his attention was a physical thing pressing against my skin.
My fingers tightened on the blinds.
I whispered his name without sound.
“Alex…”
He blinked once.
Slow.
Then he lowered his gaze slightly—just enough that the moonlight hit his eyes.
And for one heartbeat—
They weren’t dark.
They weren’t human.
A faint glow flickered there, golden and wrong, like embers under storm clouds.
My stomach dropped.
The glow vanished as quickly as it came, leaving his eyes dark again.
But I’d seen it.
I’d definitely seen it.
Alex’s jaw clenched.
His throat moved like he swallowed something sharp.
Then his lips parted—just barely—and he said something I couldn’t hear through the glass.
But I could read it.
Two words.
“Go back.”
My breath shuddered.
I shook my head without meaning to.
No.
I didn’t want to.
I didn’t want to leave him out there alone with whatever was calling through the night.
I didn’t want to pretend this was normal.
I didn’t want to keep swallowing questions like they were poison.
Alex’s gaze sharpened, like he could tell I was refusing even in silence.
His shoulders lifted with a slow inhale.
And then—
He moved.
One step backward.
Into the shadow near the side of the building.
The moonlight slid off him like it didn’t want to follow.
My eyes widened.
“Wait—” I whispered, voice barely there.
He took another step.
And another.
The darkness swallowed his outline too smoothly, too quickly—like he wasn’t walking so much as melting into it.
I leaned closer to the glass, panic buzzing in my chest.
My fingers fumbled with the blinds, pulling them up more, desperate to keep him in sight.
He was still there.
Half-shadowed now, face barely lit.
His gaze stayed locked on my window.
On me.
He lifted one hand slightly—just a small motion, not a wave.
A warning.
A command.
Stay inside.
I swallowed hard.
My eyes burned.
And then the shadows shifted—
And he was gone.
Not “walked away.”
Not “turned a corner.”
Gone like he’d never been there.
Like the night had opened its mouth and swallowed him whole.
I stared at the empty patch of grass, my breath stuck, my heart screaming.
The campus lawn looked peaceful again.
Still.
Silver.
Innocent.
But my skin prickled with the certainty that something had just happened that shouldn’t be possible.
I pressed my forehead against the cold glass.
My whisper fogged the window.
“Alex…?”
No answer.
Only the distant trees.
Only the boundary line in the dark.
Only the moon hanging above campus like an eye that never blinked.
And somewhere far away—so faint I wasn’t sure it was real—
A final howl rose into the night.
This time, it sounded like a warning.
And my window felt like the only thing standing between me and whatever was calling him back.
- Writer
