✧ Chapter 4: “Things That Howl” ✧
609 Words
The academy wasn’t just a school—it was a mansion in disguise.
Anne spent her first two days half-lost in hallways that twisted like the roots of old trees. Silver-framed portraits lined the walls, some with faces that looked oddly… alert. Rooms opened and closed silently. The staff were polite but distant, and the students—though quiet—watched her with wary eyes, as if she didn’t quite belong.
And maybe she didn’t.
Riverdale was starting to feel like a place with rules no one spoke aloud.
“I hope you’re settling in,” Antony said from behind her, making her jump as she reached for her classroom keys.
She turned, heart stuttering. “Do you always sneak up on people like that?”
“Only the interesting ones,” he replied with a grin.
Antony had made a habit of appearing just when she needed company—offering to show her shortcuts around the academy, walking her back to the teacher's quarters after dusk, even bringing her coffee when the machine in the break room mysteriously vanished.
He was charming, undeniably. And despite her better judgment, Anne found herself looking forward to his interruptions.
“You ever going to tell me what ‘pack’ really means?” she asked as they walked through the garden path behind the school.
He raised a brow. “Thought you’d figured it out by now. Or maybe you don’t want to.”
She frowned. “It’s a title, right? Like Alpha, Beta... "Is this some traditional, secret-society kind of thing?”
“Something like that,” Antony said, his gaze flicking to the forest beyond. Except it’s not a secret. Not really. Just something most people choose not to see.
Anne followed his gaze. The woods were always close here, always listening. Last night, she’d heard howling in the distance. Not dogs. Not even coyotes. It was something… deeper. Sad and beautiful and aching.
She hadn’t told anyone. It made her cry.
“Can I ask you something personal?” she said after a moment.
Antony shrugged. “I’m an open book. Pages might be stained with blood and questionable decisions, but still readable.”
“Matt. Your Alpha. "Why doesn’t he talk to anyone?”
Antony’s smirk faded. “He talks. Just not with words.”
She waited.
“He’s… complicated,” he said finally. “Carrying a lot. More than anyone realizes. Don’t take it personally.”
“I don’t. I haven’t even met him.”
“Lucky you,” Antony muttered, though there was no real malice in his voice. “When he does show up, things usually get intense.”
Anne felt a chill creep over her arms. “That supposed to scare me?”
He turned to face her fully, smile returning—softer now, less teasing. “No. But it should prepare you.”
They stood in silence as a breeze passed through the trees. Leaves shivered. Somewhere deeper in the woods, something howled—long and low and filled with sorrow.
Antony’s head tilted slightly, as if listening to a language she couldn’t hear.
“You ever get used to that?” she asked quietly.
He nodded. “Yeah. Eventually, it stops sounding scary.”
“What does it sound like then?”
He looked at her, gaze darker than usual. “Home.”
Anne didn’t know what to say to that.
But later that night, when she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, she thought of the howl. Of the shadows in the woods. Of Antony’s eyes.
And she wondered what kind of place called itself home with teeth and moonlight
- Writer
