THE BOY WITH EYES LIKE WINTER
The first time Aria Quinn saw him, he was sitting under the bleeding branches of an old ash tree, a book in one hand and a bruise blooming across his cheekbone.
She was late for her first lecture at Crescent Hollow University, heart pounding as she dashed across the fog-draped lawn. The autumn wind tugged at her coat. The air smelled like wet leaves and something else—something sharp and electric, like ozone before a storm.
She hadn’t planned to stop. But then she saw him.
He sat apart from the others—too far from the buildings, too still, too quiet. His head was tilted down as if lost in the pages, but Aria could feel him watching her. There was something about his presence that made her breath catch in her throat.
Something not entirely… human.
His eyes lifted. Steel-gray, rimmed in silver. Cold. Distant. Watching.
Aria felt rooted to the ground, as if those eyes had laced themselves around her spine.
She looked away first.
The lecture hall was buzzing when she slid into a seat near the back. Students chattered around her, caffeine-fueled and carefree. But Aria couldn’t stop thinking about him. The boy under the ash tree. The chill in the air. The way her skin had prickled like warning bells under her skin.
He felt like déjà vu.
And Aria didn’t believe in coincidences.
She was here to start over—to forget the fire that had stolen her parents, the foster homes that treated her like a number, the nights she dreamed of wolves howling outside her window.
This was supposed to be normal.
So why did the first person she see feel like a warning from the universe?
Later that day, she saw him again.
This time in the hallway of the psychology building, standing near the vending machines like he didn’t belong to the world around him.
His posture was relaxed, but there was something coiled beneath it. A predator in waiting. His hoodie was pulled low, and his hands were tucked in his pockets. But those eyes—Aria could feel them on her skin before she even turned.
Their gazes met again. And again, she looked away first.
"Do you always stare like that?" she found herself saying, heartbeat hammering as she passed him.
His lips curved—half smile, half threat. "Only when something interesting walks by."
His voice was deep and smooth, like velvet over broken glass.
Aria stopped walking. She turned to him, folding her arms. “You think lines like that work?”
“They’re not meant to,” he said, straightening. “I don’t do lines. I say what I mean.”
She arched a brow. “And what do you mean?”
“I mean,” he said, stepping close enough that she caught the scent of pine and dark spice, “you shouldn’t talk to strangers on this campus.”
She blinked, taken aback. “Is that a threat?”
“No.” His eyes darkened, voice softer now. “It’s a warning.”
Then he walked away, leaving her staring after him, pulse ricocheting in her throat.
That night, Aria dreamed of wolves again.
She was standing in a forest under a blood-red moon. The trees whispered her name. She turned—and saw a wolf standing across from her. Massive. Gray and silver. Eyes like winter.
The same eyes that belonged to him.
She woke in a cold sweat, her sheets tangled around her legs.
The Library Incident
It was nearly midnight when Aria found herself in the old wing of the campus library—chasing a rumor that a first edition psychology manuscript had been moved into special collections. Books were her comfort, her escape. They didn’t look at her like she was broken.
She didn’t expect to find him there.
Kaelen Duskborne.
He was leaning against a shelf, back to her, flipping through an ancient book she couldn’t see the title of. His hair was slightly damp, like he’d walked through rain. When he turned, his expression was unreadable.
“You again,” he said, voice hushed.
“You have a way of showing up when I least expect it.”
“I could say the same.”
She hesitated, crossing her arms. “Are you stalking me?”
He let out a soft, dark laugh. “You flatter yourself, Aria.”
Her heart skipped. “How do you know my name?”
“I hear things.”
“Creepy things.”
“True things,” he corrected.
Aria stepped closer. “What are you?”
The question slipped out before she could stop it.
Something flickered in his eyes—an old, ancient pain. “That’s a loaded question.”
“And I’m not scared of the answer.”
"You should be," he said quietly. "Most people are."
Later That Night
Aria couldn’t sleep. She kept thinking about him—Kaelen. The way he moved. The way he looked at her like he could see through all the walls she’d built.
She hated that it thrilled her.
The next day she asked around.
No one knew much about him. Some said he wasn’t even enrolled in classes. Others whispered he was trouble—mysterious, aloof, dangerous. Always alone. Always watching.
Aria didn’t believe rumors.
She believed in instincts.
And hers were screaming two things at once:
Run.
And—
Get closer.
The Fire Alarm
Three nights later, the dorm fire alarm blared at 2 a.m., forcing everyone out into the quad. Aria stood shivering in pajama shorts and a hoodie, arms crossed, when she spotted him again.
Kaelen stood on the far edge of the crowd, hands in his pockets, eyes on the forest beyond the school grounds. Like he was listening to something no one else could hear.
A sound cracked through the trees.
A howl.
Low. Long. Echoing.
Everyone else laughed or ignored it.
Aria didn’t.
She saw the way Kaelen stiffened.
The way his shoulders tightened.
The way he slipped away from the crowd, silent as a ghost.
She followed him.
Through the hedge. Across the gravel path. Into the trees.
“Stop following me,” he said without turning.
“You heard it too, didn’t you?”
He turned slowly, his jaw clenched. “You shouldn’t be out here.”
“You’re not going to scare me off.”
Kaelen stepped toward her, something wild flashing in his eyes.
“I’m not trying to scare you,” he murmured, voice rough. “I’m trying to protect you.”
From what?”
“From me.”
