Mated to the Cold-Blooded Beast

Chapter 2

The first day at Teekkonlit Valley High pressed down on Grace like a weight she wasn’t sure she could carry. The dim Alaskan light slanted through tall windows, pale and cold, illuminating the dust that floated through the air like ghostly remnants of forgotten stories. She leaned against the edge of her desk, arms crossed loosely, as her new students shuffled in, one after another, filling the room with the clatter of boots and the scent of snow clinging to coats.

There was always a moment—right before the final bell—where she wondered if she had made a mistake. Not just taking this job, but stepping foot into this town at all.

The bell rang, sharp and final. The stragglers slipped into their seats with practiced indifference, and Evelyn cleared her throat. Her voice was rough, husky with the fatigue of sleepless nights. “Good morning. I’m Ms. Russel. I’ll be taking over for Mr. Hendricks.”

Dozens of young faces stared back at her. Most were cautious, a few openly disinterested, others watchful in a way that made her wonder if small-town kids could already sense weakness. They had that look—the Valley look—that dark, enigmatic beauty unique to this place. Dusky skin, sleek dark hair, light eyes that seemed too sharp, too perceptive. Something in them made her pulse skip, though she told herself it was only nerves.

She forced a smile. “I know you just finished Great Expectations, The Scarlet Letter, and The Great Gatsby. Tell me—did you like them?”

The silence that followed was loud enough to make her laugh unexpectedly. Not a cruel laugh, but one that carried her exhaustion, her honesty. For a heartbeat, some of them softened, surprised that she wasn’t pretending to be more than she was.

“Well,” she said, shrugging, “the truth is, those books are… boring.”

That caught their attention. A few eyebrows rose.

She went on, speaking from the raw place inside her that had always cared more for her students’ minds than for test scores. “I didn’t love them in high school either, and I was the type of nerd who lived for English class. What I did love were the books that felt alive—strange, beautiful, terrifying, magical. Ghosts, witches, lovers cursed by fate. Stories that made me feel less… alone.”

The room had shifted. The suspicion in their eyes wasn’t gone, but it wasn’t solid anymore. There was curiosity now.

By the time she passed out the battered copies of Howl’s Moving Castle, the class had leaned closer without meaning to. Not enough to show trust, but enough to admit—silently—that maybe she was different.

Yet when the last bell rang and the students spilled into the halls with their laughter and careless goodbyes, the energy bled out of her like water down a drain. She sank into her chair, staring at the gathering twilight outside. It wasn’t even four, and already the world was cloaked in darkness. Her reflection stared back at her in the glass—gaunt cheeks, tired eyes, hair that had frizzed despite her careful braiding that morning. A ghost of a woman trying to play at being whole.

She pressed her hands against her face and breathed. For eight hours she had managed it—the mask of the functional teacher, the woman who believed in stories, who believed in her students. But now that the performance was over, what was left was emptiness.

Still, there had been something today. A flicker of… interest. Not just in the kids, but in the way the Valley itself seemed to watch her. The people here, their shared beauty, their eyes like secrets half-revealed. And one pair of eyes in particular—startlingly pale, framed by a strong brow and the careless sweep of hair that carried more gold than his classmates’ did.

Alek. Natasha’s son. He had said almost nothing, but his gaze had lingered on her in a way that unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. Not disrespectful, not mocking—simply… searching. As though he already knew something about her that she didn’t know about herself.

Grace shook her head quickly, scolding herself. He was just another student, one of dozens, and she was letting her exhaustion spin meaning out of shadows.

At lunch earlier, she had sat among her fellow teachers, trying to belong. They had welcomed her warmly enough, but she still felt the separation. The locals carried themselves differently, with a kind of pride rooted in the mountains and rivers that had shaped them. They were carved from this Valley, their features sharp as if chiseled by the cold itself. Beside them, Grace had felt pale, frizzy, fragile. An outsider.

And yet… she hadn’t missed the way some of their gazes lingered on her, curious, assessing. As though they were measuring her not just as a teacher, but as something else entirely.

By the time she returned to her classroom, her body was heavy, her mind buzzing. She let her head fall back against the chair and closed her eyes. The Valley had its claws in her already.

There was something here—something waiting. She could feel it in her bones, an ache that had nothing to do with the cold. An ache that felt like longing.