The Academy

Chapter 5

The corridors of Blackwood Academy were a labyrinth of ancient echoes and modern whispers, but to Nicolai "Cole" Bjornson, they were a secondary concern. His world had narrowed to a single point of data—a frequency he hadn’t known existed until twenty-four hours ago. He leaned against the cold metal of his locker, his massive frame shifting with a restlessness that felt like it was trying to claw its way out of his very bones.

His shaggy, dark brown hair was a mess, falling over his eyes, but it didn't hide the intensity of his gaze. Every time Nyssa Knox rounded a corner, the air in the hallway seemed to change. It wasn't just that she was new, and it wasn't just that she looked like a shadow carved out of marble. It was her pull.

It was a physical, magnetic weight that dragged at his center, making his skin feel too tight for his muscles. He watched her now as she walked toward the library with Angelique LeBlanc—the blonde witch a vibrant, irritating contrast to the girl beside her. Nyssa was a vision of dark, quiet strength. Her skin was a porcelain pale that looked soft as velvet but cold as a winter morning, and her hair—a deep, bruised purple that almost looked black in the dim light—cascaded over her shoulders in waves.

But it was her eyes. Those amethyst eyes were wide, haunting, and completely unreadable. They weren't just a color; they were a depth. They held a silence that Cole found himself desperate to disturb.

As she passed him, he forced himself to stay still. He didn't want to spook her, not yet. He just watched the way her boots hit the stone, the way she didn't look at anyone, the way she seemed to exist in a world that only she was invited to.

His nostrils flared as she drew closer. He caught her scent—that intoxicating, impossible fragrance. To the other students, she apparently smelled of a funeral parlor, but to Cole’s heightened Alpha senses, the truth was far more complex. It was the smell of lilies in full bloom, the rich, deep scent of polished mahogany, and an underlying, sharp frost. It was a cold smell, like the air right before a heavy snowfall, and it was the most rejuvenating thing he had ever inhaled. It was clean. It was ancient. It was a smell Cole wanted to bury himself in for a thousand years.

His chest heaved as he fought the urge to follow her. He was six-foot-three and two-hundred-and-thirty-five pounds of pure, dominant wolf, but in that moment, he felt like a pup caught in a snare.

Mate.

The word barked in the back of his mind, a primal, low-frequency roar that made his vision swim with gold. He shook his head, his jaw tightening until the bone felt like it might crack.

No. Impossible.

He was an Alpha of a bloodline that stretched back to the frost-bitten ferocity of the Great Viking packs—warriors who had shifted under the Northern Lights long before the modern world existed. His lineage was one of conquest and iron. Kingsley, on the other hand, was the descendant of a long, powerful line of Native American werewolves, a bloodline as ancient and respected as his own. His father had made it clear: a union between Nicolai and Kingsley wasn't just a marriage; it was a political merger intended to unite their packs into an unstoppable force.

To imprint on a witch—especially one as strange and silent as Nyssa—defied every law of his blood and every expectation of his father. Yet, as she disappeared into the library, the silence she brought with her felt like a physical loss.

He stayed against the locker for a long minute after she was gone, his heart thudding a heavy, rhythmic beat. He was confused. He was an Alpha. He was supposed to be the one in control. But Nyssa had shattered that control with a single look.

He wondered if it was just the power. Even from several yards away, he could feel the energy radiating off her. It wasn't the frantic, buzzy energy of the other witches. It was something deeper. If she was a witch, she was the most powerful one he had ever encountered—maybe even a sorceress, though she didn't claim the title. Maybe that was what his wolf was responding to—an apex power recognizing another.

Or maybe it was the moon.

The full moon was only two days away. For a werewolf, the approach of the lunar peak was a time of absolute volatility. He could feel the "restless" itch already beginning to burn under his skin. He was agitated, his temper was on a hair-trigger, and he was aroused in a way that felt like a fever.

"Cole? Are you even listening to me?"

He didn't have to turn around to know it was Kingsley. Her scent—musky, earthy, and unmistakably pack—hit him like a chore. He felt her hand slide onto his bicep, her fingers digging into the muscle with that possessive, sharp-clawed grip she loved.

"I’m busy, Kingsley," he said, his voice a low, warning growl.

"Busy doing what? Staring at the empty hallway?" Kingsley stepped around him, her honey-brown hair swaying as she moved into his personal space. She looked up at him with those golden eyes, her expression a mix of desire and simmering resentment. "You've been weird since the bonfire. Ever since that... that corpse of a girl showed up."

Cole’s eyes flashed a brilliant, molten gold. "Watch your mouth, Kingsley."

She flinched, but only for a second. "The moon is coming, Nicolai. You’re on edge. Let’s go to the gym. We can blow off some steam before the Haze hits."

Cole looked down at her. Kingsley was exactly what he was supposed to want. But as she touched him, all he could think about was the frost of Nyssa.

"Go find someone else, Kingsley," he said, peeling her hand off his arm with a strength that was just shy of painful. "I'm not in the mood."

He didn't wait for her to respond. He pushed off the locker and walked away, his heavy boots echoing with a finality that left Kingsley standing alone in the hall. He found himself walking toward the library, his internal compass locked onto that specific, freezing scent.

When he entered the massive room, he didn't have to look for her. He followed the feeling. Nyssa was in the back, in a secluded alcove, hunched over a heavy, leather-bound book about Voodoo. The library’s floating amber orbs cast a soft light on her, illuminating the sharp, delicate lines of her face.

Cole stopped several feet away, leaning casually against a bookshelf, his presence making the air in the small nook hum. He didn't say anything at first. He just watched her. Nyssa didn't look up, but he saw her shoulders drop, her posture relaxing in a way that seemed to surprise even her. The silence in her head was back—the absolute, blissful quiet that only occurred when he was near.

"What do you want, Nicolai?" she asked. Her voice was that same dead, beautiful monotone, but there was a new, soft vibration in it.

Cole’s heart skipped a beat. He liked the way his full name sounded on her tongue. It sounded formal, heavy, and strangely intimate.

"Just seeing if the rumors are true," he said, his voice a low, playful rumble. He took a step closer, his movements coy and deliberate. "I heard there was a girl in the back of the library who was actually reading the books instead of just using the carrels to hide from the sirens."

Nyssa finally looked up. Her amethyst eyes met his golden ones, and for the first time, she didn't look away immediately. She felt the heat radiating off him, a warmth that started at her toes and worked its way up. For a girl who barely felt anything, the sudden rush of physical awareness was overwhelming.

"I'm studying," she said, though her gaze drifted to the shaggy dark hair falling over his forehead. "De La Vega’s class."

"Voodoo?" Cole raised an eyebrow, a slow, subtle grin spreading across his face. He leaned down, placing one hand on the desk near her book, invading her space just enough to be suggestive without being blunt. "That’s a lot of dark history for a Wednesday morning. You planning on hexing someone, or are you just looking for a way to make your roommate stop talking about her skincare routine?"

Nyssa’s lips twitched—a ghost of a smile she managed to suppress. "Maybe both."

"I like a girl with a plan," Cole murmured. He leaned in a fraction closer, his golden eyes scanning her face. "You know, you’re very quiet, Nyssa. It makes people wonder what’s going on in that head of yours."

"Nothing is going on," she lied, though her pulse was hammering in her throat. She felt a sudden, sharp spike of arousal—a flush of heat that she didn't know how to handle when she looked in his golden eyes.

Cole’s nostrils flared instantly. He caught the change in her scent—the lilies and frost suddenly underscored by a sweet, heavy musk as she reacted to him. He didn't call her out on it. Instead, his grin widened, and he bit his bottom lip, his golden eyes darkening with a raw, appreciative heat. He knew exactly what he was doing to her, and he liked it.

"I don't believe you," he whispered, his voice vibrating in the small space. "I think there's a whole world in there. And I think I'd like to see it."

Before Nyssa could find her voice, the heavy, melodic chime of the school bell echoed through the library, signaling the end of the period. The spell between them broke as students began to move in the main hall.

Cole straightened up, though he didn't move away. He gave her one last, lingering look, his eyes promising more than just conversation. "Time for class, Nyssa. Don't work too hard on the Voodoo. You're dangerous enough as it is."

He turned and walked away, his heavy boots hitting the stone like a funeral drum. Nyssa sat there for a long moment, her heart racing and the phantom heat of his presence still clinging to her skin. The voices were still gone. In the quiet, she felt the first real spark of something that wasn't shadow.

She gathered her things, her hands shaking slightly, and prepared to face the rest of the day.