A THRONE OF SHADOW AND SOULMATES

Oh s**t! What have i done, Skye barely heard the shout before headlights flared in her eyes. She froze, one foot already in the crosswalk. The car skidded slowly, slicing through the rain. Goop the sound of the car hitting her Papers flew everywhere. Her body spun, landing on one knee, palms scraping wet pavement. “Damn it!” A voice, male, low, frustrated, cut through the storm. She blinked against the rain. The guy was already out of the car, dark hair plastered to his forehead, his jacket clinging to his frame. “You okay?” he asked, breathless but steady. Skye looked down at her palms. Blood thinned by rain streaked down her wrist. “Do I look okay?” “I didn’t” before he could finish she interrupted him “see me? She completed Are for for real, Yeah, I figured that’s what you want to say.” She scooped up a stack of soggy papers. “You nearly turned my homework into roadkill.” He crouched beside her, ignoring the puddles. “Let me help.” “You’ve helped enough.” But he was already gathering papers, his movements quick, careful. The rain beat down harder, flattening his hair, turning his shirt see-through at the shoulders. She noticed the car behind him — sleek, expensive, black enough to reflect the storm. Of course. She tried to pull a paper from his hand, but he held it up first. “Advanced Mythology?” Skye looked at him. “Do you read everyone’s private disasters or just mine?” He grinned — slow, easy, and annoyingly sure of himself. “Only when they crash into my car.” “I didn’t crash into anything. You hit me.” “Technically, it was more of a tap.” “Technically,” she said, standing, “you should learn to drive in the rain.” He rose with her, a head taller, rainwater sliding off his jaw. His eyes caught the light — not brown, not really. Something deeper. Red flickered for an instant before she blinked and blamed it on lightning. “You’re bleeding,” he said. “I’ll live.” She pressed the hem of her hoodie against her palm. He took a cautious step closer. “Let me make it up to you. Coffee? Lunch? Band-Aids?” “I’m not for sale.” His mouth twitched. “Didn’t say you were.” “Then stop offering things I don’t need.” He looked down at the crumpled papers between them — sketches of wolves, ancient symbols, her handwriting smudged into gray. “Looks like you lost a lot.” “I’ll redo it.” “In the middle of midterms?” She met his eyes, steady. “Watch me.” For a moment, neither of them moved. The campus around them blurred — laughter and footsteps echoing from the covered walkways, umbrellas passing like dark wings. Somewhere, a bell rang. He bent, picked up the last drawing — a golden wolf, its fur inked in shimmering lines. When he handed it to her, their fingers brushed. A spark leapt — not static, not warmth, something sharper. Her breath caught. He felt it too; she saw it in the way his shoulders tensed, the flicker of surprise in his eyes. “What—” she started. He shook his head once. “You felt that?” She didn’t answer, but the look in her eyes said yes. “Derek!” The name sliced through the charged air like a blade. A girl stepped out from the passenger seat, umbrella snapping open. She was flawless — hair dry, dress perfect, not a drop of rain daring to touch her. “Are you serious?” Joanna’s voice was all silk and steel. “You stopped in the middle of the road for… this?” Skye’s lips parted, then closed. She recognized her — Joanna Lane, campus royalty. The kind of girl who ran every social circle like a private pack. Derek didn’t move. His eyes stayed on Skye. Joanna crossed her arms. “She’s fine. Let’s go.” Skye’s laugh was short, humorless. “He’s all yours.” She bent, shoved her papers into the ruined folder, and turned away. “Wait—” She stopped, shoulders rigid. “Your name,” he said, voice low but certain. She hesitated, then looked back over her shoulder. “Skye.” Rain traced her face, dripping from her lashes. Then she walked off, steps quick, head down. Derek stood there, rain soaking his jacket. Joanna sighed, stepping closer. “Forget her, Derek. You don’t even know her.” He barely heard her. “Not yet.” Joanna frowned. “You’re impossible.” “Probably.” He started toward the driver’s side, glancing once at the path Skye had taken. The storm had softened, a mist now, the air thick with the smell of wet earth. Far off, from the forest edging campus, something howled — faint, but real enough to make his pulse shift. Joanna slipped into the car. “You coming?” “In a minute.” He waited until she shut the door. His fingers flexed at his side — that same spark still humming through his skin. He didn’t understand it, but he knew what it felt like. Recognition. He whispered the name under his breath. “Skye.” Skye’s dorm door swung open with a bang. “Holy hell,” her roommate said from her desk, eyes wide. “You’re drenched.” “Rain does that.” “And you’re bleeding.” “Car thing,” Skye muttered, heading straight for the bathroom sink. “Car thing?” “Rich guy. Fast car. Bad eyesight.” She rinsed her palms, hissing when the water hit the scrape. “He offered me coffee.” “Oh my god, was it Derek Clawson?” Skye froze. “You know him?” “Everyone knows him. Clawson money practically built this place.” Her roommate leaned forward. “Is he as hot in real life as the rumors say?” Skye reached for a towel. “He’s arrogant.” “So… yes.” She didn’t answer. She was staring at her reflection in the mirror — rainwater still dripping from her hair, eyes brighter than usual, glowing faintly gold in the fluorescent light. Probably just exhaustion. Or maybe something worse. Her phone buzzed. Mom: Made it to the forest. All good, little pie. Love you. Skye stared at the message, thumb hovering. The ache in her chest was familiar — distance wrapped in silence. She typed Love you too, hesitated, and sent it anyway. When she looked up again, the faint glow in her eyes had dimmed. Outside, the campus had fallen quiet. Derek leaned against his car under a dripping tree, rain tapering off around him. The streetlights painted the puddles gold. He flexed his hand — the one that had touched hers — and watched the small tremor that followed. His pulse wouldn’t steady. Joanna’s laughter drifted from inside the car, muffled. He barely noticed. His mind was still with the girl in the storm. That spark. That look. He wasn’t imagining it. He knew that kind of pull — it lived deep, tied to something older than blood. Another sound rose from the forest. This one closer, sharper. A howl that seemed to answer the thrum in his veins. His father’s voice echoed in memory: Never expose the pack. Never get close to outsiders. Too late for that. He looked once more toward the path Skye had taken, the corners of his mouth curling into a slow, deliberate smile. “Guess the rain brought more than bad luck tonight.” He slid into the car, the door shutting with a soft click. But the sound of that distant howl lingered, threading through the storm like a promise neither of them understood yet.