His Rival, His Mate

Chapter 2: Coins, Claws, and Consequences

The thing about awkward crush moments is that they linger. Like glitter. Or bad perfume.

By lunch the following day, the entire school felt like it had collectively raised one eyebrow in my direction. Maybe it was paranoia—or maybe it was the actual burning sensation of Melissa Crawford’s death stare sizzling holes into the back of my skull during Bio class.

She didn’t say anything right away. She was too smart for that. She waited. She watched. Like a lioness waiting for her moment.

And she got it.

Right after the final bell rang, as I exited the science wing and headed toward the front gate, I heard the distinct click of designer boots behind me. Then, the voice I’d been bracing for all day:

“Imogen.”

I turned slowly. “Melissa.”

She stepped closer, arms crossed, the hallway crowd flowing around us like we were stones in a stream. Her smile was thin. Too thin.

“I saw you talking to Adam after the exam yesterday.”

“Yeah. I—uh, I ran into him by the vending machine.” I forced a shrug. “It was two minutes, maybe three.”

She leaned in, lowering her voice. “Look, I get it. He’s…charming. But I’m going to be really clear, just so there’s no confusion.”

Her eyes darkened like storm clouds.

“Back. Off. My boyfriend.”

I blinked. “Melissa, I wasn’t—”

“I don’t care what you weren’t. I saw the way you looked at him. I saw the way he looked at you. And I don’t blame you, honestly. It must be hard being invisible. Craving attention. But if I catch you even smiling at him again…”

She let that sentence hang there like a noose.

“I’m not trying to take your boyfriend,” I said quietly, heart pounding. “I don’t want any drama.”

She smirked. “Good. Because you wouldn’t survive it.”

With that, she flipped her hair and walked away, leaving behind a trail of citrus perfume and silent humiliation.

I stood frozen for a second, then exhaled. Hard. My throat was dry, my palms clammy, and my heart felt like it had been stepped on with a six-inch heel.

God. What was that?

I hadn’t even flirted with Adam. If anything, I barely survived speaking to him without tripping over my words or my own shoelaces.

Whatever. I needed a reset. A breath of air. A break from the never-ending parade of passive-aggressive teenagers with perfect eyeliner and venom in their lip gloss.

So, after school, I hopped off the bus a stop early and walked to the mall.

There was something sacred about bookstores. The scent of paper and ink. The hum of fluorescent lighting. The rows of neatly stacked worlds just waiting to be escaped into.

I walked past the chain coffee shop, past the cell phone kiosks and novelty socks, and slipped into The Paper Nook, the tiny independent bookstore tucked beside a bubble tea place. It was quiet, cool, and—best of all—Melissa-free.

I headed straight to the fantasy section. Dragons. Vampires. Werewolves. Witch assassins and chosen ones. I needed magic to pull me out of reality.

As I browsed the spines, my fingers brushing over embossed titles, I felt something loosen in my chest.

Then, on my way out—just as I was passing the fountain near the mall entrance—I heard her.

“Miss. Do you have any coins?”

I turned.

She was old. Weathered. Her eyes pale gray, almost translucent. She wore a patchy brown coat and a knit hat that had seen better decades. Her hands were calloused, wrinkled, trembling slightly.

Something about her made me stop.

I fished through my tote bag and pulled out the last three coins I had—barely enough for a bus ride, let alone a snack—and dropped them into her outstretched palm.

“Here. Sorry it’s not more.”

She closed her fingers around the coins and looked up at me.

Her eyes glowed.

I’m not exaggerating. They glowed—a faint shimmer, like moonlight bouncing off a lake.

“You give with a pure heart,” she said, her voice suddenly deeper, more…echoey. “And so the moon will remember you. When the blood stirs and the howl rises, the past shall return. And so shall you.”

My stomach dropped. “What…?”

But she blinked, and the glow vanished.

“Bless you, child,” she said, like nothing happened.

I stood there blinking, my brain tripping over itself.

What the actual hell was that?

Was she…possessed? Or was this my reward for inhaling too many fantasy novels?

“Right,” I muttered, stepping away. “I’ve definitely read too many books.”

I shook it off, tried to laugh at myself, and headed home.

The rest of the night passed in normalcy. Dinner with Mom and Dad, who were watching some crime documentary. A cup of instant ramen. A half-hearted attempt to do more review for next week’s essays. I even checked the school portal twice, just in case the grades for today’s final had posted.

Nothing yet.

By morning, I had convinced myself that the bookstore lady thing was just a weird moment. Maybe a trick of the light. Maybe a weird t****k stunt I got pranked into. I pushed it aside like I always did with anything too strange or too uncomfortable.

Life had to go on. And in this school, that meant grades.

When I reached campus, there was already a small crowd near the main bulletin board.

I pushed through.

There, in bold black ink, was the results list for yesterday’s final.

My name was easy to spot.

Imogen Reyes – 47% – FAIL

I stared.

No.

That wasn’t right.

I knew that material. I answered every question. I even double-checked my equations. I was confident—I had been sure.

A static buzzed in my ears. The board blurred.

“Fail?”

My voice cracked in disbelief.

No. No, no, no. This wasn’t happening.

People were murmuring now. Some students glanced my way, pity flashing across their faces like headlights in fog.

I couldn’t breathe.

I turned and walked away from the board in a daze, the words still burned into my mind.

Forty-seven percent.

I passed every mock test. I aced the quizzes. I prepared.

Why now?

Why this?

I stopped by a bench near the science wing and sat down slowly. My fingers trembled as I clutched my phone, rereading the exam schedule and results page like a glitch would magically fix it.

Then I remembered the woman’s words.

“When the blood stirs and the howl rises, the past shall return. And so shall you.”

I shivered.

No.

This was just a grading error. A glitch. Something fixable.

Right?

Because if it wasn’t—

Then maybe something far bigger than school or grades had just begun.