BEYOND THE CAMPUS WALLS

Chapter 11: Predator's Gaze

Chapter 11: Predator’s Gaze

TOBEY’S POV

I leaned against the lecture hall’s doorframe, my glasses slipping down my nose, my sketchbook tucked under my arm as I watched Logan Donovan drag Ariana away. Her red hair caught the light, a fiery beacon, and her green eyes flicked back, wide with confusion, before they disappeared around the corner. My lips twitched, curling into a smirk I hid behind a cough. To this world, I was Tobey Gregory—awkward, bookish, the nerd who’d rather dissect quantum physics than talk to anyone. But beneath that mask, my wolf prowled, its claws itching, its hunger sharp—it’s hunger for Ariana.

The classroom buzzed with whispers, students’ eyes darting to the door where Logan had stood, all broad shoulders and brooding intensity. “They’re totally together,” a girl muttered, her giggle slicing the air. “The car thing? Totally true.”

I tilted my head, letting my hair fall over my eyes, hiding the satisfaction curling in my gut. I’d started that rumor, whispering it to Bella in the quad, my voice low, casual, as I described the fogged windows, the creaking car, Ariana’s moans. I’d been there, lurking in the storm’s shadows, my wolf’s eyes piercing the rain as I watched Logan claim her. It was perfect—her shame was my weapon, a crack in her armor I’d widen until she broke.

I adjusted my glasses, my fingers brushing the worn cover of my sketchbook, and slipped into the hallway. My sneakers squeaked on the tiles, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, casting stark shadows. The campus thought they knew me—quiet Tobey, always scribbling or buried in a science book, an oddity in art class. But they didn’t see the truth: I was a werewolf, a killer, my soul bound to the boogyeman—a corrupted wolf spirit born from my own darkness. Its yellow eyes, jagged maw, and charred skin were mine, a shadow I unleashed to hunt, to kill, to savor the chaos. And Ariana? She was my target, the one I’d been sent to destroy.

I’d come to Ravenswood on a contract from the rogue wolves, those who thrived in the werewolf realm’s underbelly, to hunt down the one that the prophecy spoke of. Ariana, she was no human, despite what she believed. My wolf sensed it the very moment she walked past me in the hallway on her first day here, her scent—wildflowers laced with something ancient, electric—marking her as different. A hybrid, werewolf and witch, a seer destined to end us, to unravel the rogue wolves’ reign with her visions and power.

But the good thing was that her wolf was dormant, her seer gifts unawakened, but they were there, pulsing beneath her skin. Which gave me enough room to kill her before she realized what she was. But I’d tried killing her thrice, this morning included, if not for that witch named Beatrice with her cursed spellbook, I would have ended her life this morning. My body still ached from that crazy spell.

I slipped into the library, its musty scent of old books grounding me. I settled into a corner, my sketchbook open, my pencil scratching out a jagged sketch of her face—those green eyes, that defiant tilt of her chin. My wolf growled, hungry, but Logan was the problem. Her mate, her protector, his alpha scent thick with possession. And Micheal, his beta, always lurking, his hazel eyes too sharp. They were walls I couldn’t breach, not yet.

I flipped to a new page, sketching the boogeyman’s face—my face, in truth. Yellow eyes like molten coins, a maw of splintered teeth, skin like charred leather. My pencil snapped, the crack sharp, and a girl at the next table glanced up, startled. I forced a shy smile, pushing my glasses up, playing the nerd they all expected. She looked away, and my smirk returned, cold and private. They didn’t know the blood on my hands, the bodies I’d left in alleys, dorms, forests, and I’ve not been caught because of my ability to change forms and faces. Killing was my art, each scream a brushstroke, each death a masterpiece. Ariana would be my greatest work.

I leaned back, my mind replaying our moment in class. I’d watched her sketch, her pencil carving the boogeyman’s face, her hands trembling but precise. She’d seen me—really seen me—through that drawing, her seer blood whispering truths she didn’t yet understand.

I’d complimented her, my voice soft, testing her. “Nice drawing,” I’d said, and her smile, hesitant but warm, had almost made me falter. Almost.

Her scent had hit me then, that hybrid mix, and my wolf had snarled, confirming she was the one. I’d traded sketchbooks, played the awkward classmate, but every word was a probe, every glance a calculation. She was open, unguarded, her dreams of an art gallery spilling out. It made her vulnerable, and I thrived on that.

Logan’s entrance had shattered it, his alpha presence sucking the air from the room. He’d ignored me, his eyes locked on Ariana, and I’d stayed silent, my wolf still, knowing better than to challenge an alpha head-on. But his ignorance was to my advantage. He didn’t see me as a threat, maybe he did, but he didn't know the boogeyman’s claws were mine. I’d let him drag her away, let the whispers grow, knowing each rumor weakened her, isolated her.

I closed my sketchbook, my fingers tracing its edge, and stood, slipping into the fog outside. The quad was quiet, students hurrying to classes, their chatter a dull hum. My wolf stirred, its senses sharp, catching Ariana’s scent—faint, but there, drifting from the back of the art building. She was somewhere around here, probably still shaken, and Logan lecturing her on how to be careful.

I moved toward the back of the building, to the garage, my steps silent, my glasses glinting in the mist. Logan stood there with her, his hands grabbing her wrists as they both stood there staring into each other’s eyes. He had a way of controlling her, a way of taming her angry side and that made me feel furious. It was crazy because my purpose was to kill her but I couldn’t ignore that lingering feeling of wanting her. If I was going to get her then I would need a plan, a solid plan that would surpass Logan, Michael, and that witch.

I sighed heavily, adjusting my glasses as I walked away from there before Logan senses me. He was already growing suspicious of me already, I didn’t want to blow my cover already, changing faces and forms to avoid recognition was becoming tiring for me already. Logan knew me, even if he didn’t recognise this nerd form of mine, but he knew the form of Kalus Veron, the feared killer.