The Academy

Chapter 3

The roar of the bonfire was a living thing, a hungry pillar of orange and gold that clawed at the black velvet of the California night. To anyone else, the scene on the beach was a peak-performance party—the thumping bass of a hidden sound system, the sweet-and-acrid smell of expensive weed and enchanted booze, and the sight of hundreds of supernatural bodies moving with a fluid, predatory grace.

But for Nyssa, it was a sensory minefield.

She stood on the jagged outskirts of the light, her back nearly pressed against the ancient, rough bark of a redwood. She was a silhouette within a silhouette, her oversized black hoodie acting as her only shield. She watched the others with a cold, detached fascination. They were so... loud. Not just their voices, but their auras. The witches radiated a shimmering, neon heat; the shifters smelled of ozone; the Dhampirs moved like oil on water—slick, dark, and dangerous.

And then there were the voices.

They weren't screaming yet, but they were restless. They rose from the dark sand and the cold depths of the lake, a discordant choir of the forgotten.

They are coming, a raspy feminine voice whispered directly into her left ear.

Don’t trust her, a man’s hollow sob echoed from the right. She smells like copper and lies.

This place is a cage... the stones are thirsty...

Nyssa took a sharp, jagged inhale, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the edges of her pockets. The voices were gaining momentum, overlapping until they became a physical pressure inside her skull. Her amethyst eyes flickered with a desperate, violet light. She squeezed them shut so tightly she saw stars, her head bowing as she hissed a single, trembling command under her breath.

"Shut the f**k up."

"I don't think they can hear you. But I can."

The voice was like a landslide—deep, resonant, and vibrating with a power that hit Nyssa squarely in her core.

Instantly, the voices stopped.

It wasn’t the gradual fading she was used to when she managed to suppress them; it was a total, absolute vacuum of sound. For the first time in her memory, Nyssa’s mind was a silent room. No whispers. No warnings. Just the sound of the Pacific crashing against the cliffs in the distance.

Nyssa’s eyes snapped open, and her breath hitched. Standing less than three feet away, draped in the flickering shadows of the forest edge, was the Alpha.

Up close, Nicolai "Cole" Bjornson was devastating. The shaggy, dark brown hair that had looked messy from a distance was a wild, enviable mane that caught the firelight, falling over a forehead that was currently creased with a strange, pained intensity. His face was a masterpiece of rugged angles—a straight, prominent nose, a sharp jawline dusted with a hint of dark stubble, and lips that looked like they were carved from granite. But it was his eyes that held her prisoner. They weren't just gold; they were molten ore, glowing with a bioluminescent heat that seemed to track the very flow of blood beneath her skin.

He stood stiff, his massive 235-pound frame coiled like a spring about to snap. His pupils were dilated so wide they nearly swallowed the gold, and his chest was frozen. He was holding his breath, his nostrils flaring as he fought some internal battle.

Nyssa felt a flush of heat creep up her neck. Was he holding his breath because of her? Did he smell the funeral parlor scent Angelique had mocked? The lilies and the cold earth of a fresh grave? She felt a sudden, sharp pang of self-consciousness, a feeling so foreign it made her stomach churn.

"What's your name?" he asked. His voice was lower now, a gravelly rumble that felt like it was intended only for her.

Nyssa hesitated. She was still reeling from the silence in her head. It was intoxicating. She felt lighter, as if the weight of a thousand ghosts had been lifted off her shoulders just by his proximity. She stared at the way his hoodie strained against his shoulders, her face remaining its usual, emotionless mask, though her heart was thudding a frantic rhythm against her ribs.

"Nyssa," she finally whispered. "Nyssa Knox."

A slow, dangerous smirk tugged at the corner of Cole’s mouth. It wasn't the arrogant smirk of Quinn or the snobby grin of Angelique; it was the look of a hunter who had finally found a trail that defied all logic.

He raised an embroidered eyebrow, his golden gaze raking over her features with an intensity that felt like a physical touch. He took a slow, deliberate step forward, invading her personal space until the heat radiating from his 6'3" frame began to melt the perpetual chill in her bones. He leaned down, his face inches from hers, his eyes searching hers with a raw, predatory curiosity.

"What are you, Nyssa Knox?" he murmured. "I thought maybe a Siren. You’ve got the eyes for it, but they usually have that sea-foam blue. Yours... yours are amethyst."

Nyssa’s breath hitched as he leaned even closer. She could smell him now—an earthy, woody sweet tobacco mixed with something intoxicatingly masculine that screamed Alpha. It was a scent that demanded submission, yet it felt like the only thing keeping her grounded to the earth. She looked into the molten gold of his eyes and felt herself falling into a void where the dead couldn't reach her.

"I'm a witch," she whispered, the lie feeling heavy on her tongue.

Cole furrowed his brow, a crooked, skeptical smile playing on his lips. "Really? Because you don't smell like any witch I've ever met. Witches smell like herbs and ozone. You smell like..." He trailed off, his eyes darkening as he seemed to struggle with the air again. "You smell like a secret."

Nyssa opened her mouth to speak, but the moment was shattered by a sharp, high-pitched voice that cut through the silence like a jagged blade.

"There you are, Cole! I’ve been looking everywhere!"

Kingsley Rivers stepped out of the shadows, looking like a golden goddess in a silk yellow dress that clung to every curve of her athletic frame. She didn't just walk; she staked a claim. She moved with a feline, territorial grace that immediately set Nyssa’s teeth on edge.

Kingsley’s gaze landed on Nyssa, and the "doe-eyed" look she had prepared for Cole vanished instantly. Her eyes—the same amber-gold as the rest of the pack—flashed with a cold, naked disgust. She raked her gaze over Nyssa’s oversized hoodie and pale face as if she were looking at a cockroach that had wandered onto a red carpet.

"Cole, babe, come on," Kingsley said, her voice turning sugary and manipulative as she wrapped her arms around his thick bicep, pressing her body against his side. She looked up at him with wide, pleading eyes. "You promised you'd dance with me. Don't leave me alone with the commoners."

She gave Cole a tug, her fingers digging into his muscle in a way that wasn't affectionate—it was possessive. She glanced back at Nyssa one last time, a silent, vicious promise of violence gleaming in her eyes before she started dragging him away toward the center of the beach.

Cole’s jaw tightened, a muscle leaping in his cheek. He let himself be led, but he didn't look at Kingsley. He looked over his shoulder at Nyssa, his golden eyes lingering on hers.

"I'll see you around, Nyssa," he said. And then, he did something that made Nyssa’s world tilt on its axis. He gave her a slow, deliberate wink.

Nyssa stood frozen as they disappeared into the crowd. Her stomach did a weird, fluttering flip—a physical sensation of "feeling" that she had no name for and no defense against.

As soon as he was out of sight, the silence in her head shattered.

He’s dangerous, the voices whispered, though they were quieter now, as if afraid of the lingering heat he’d left behind. He’s the wolf in the dark... watch the moon, Nyssa... watch the moon.

"Ooh, b***h. You are in so much trouble."

Freddy appeared out of the darkness, a red solo cup in one hand and a look of pure, horrified glee on his face. He adjusted his glasses, leaning in so close Nyssa could smell the cheap fruit punch on his breath.

"I saw that," he hissed, his eyes wide. "The Alpha just winked at you. The Alpha. Nicolai Bjornson does not wink. He growls. He stares. He occasionally breaks furniture. He does not wink at transfers wearing hoodies."

Nyssa regained her mask, her expression flat once more. "He's just curious. I'm the new girl. I'm an anomaly."

"Honey, curiosity with a werewolf is like playing with a hand grenade," Freddy countered, his voice dropping to a frantic whisper. "And you are officially on Kingsley Rivers’ s**t list. Believe me, that is a list you want to be nowhere near. She’s nasty, she’s territorial, and she’s a Beta-high bloodline. She’ll have the whole pack hounding you by first period tomorrow."

He looked at Nyssa, his expression turning genuinely worried. "If I were you, I’d watch my back. Like, literally. Don't walk through the woods alone. Don't even go to the bathroom alone. Kingsley doesn't share her toys, and she definitely doesn't like it when someone else catches Cole's attention. Even if he's just wondering what you are."

Nyssa didn't answer. She just watched the fire, her amethyst eyes reflecting the flames, while the shadows at her feet began to coil around her boots like a pair of dark, protective hands. She didn't know what Cole was thinking, but she knew that for thirty seconds, the world had been quiet.

And she would do almost anything to hear that silence again.