Chapter 11 #2
I felt lighter than air.
And then, I felt the eyes.
It was a prickle on the back of my neck. The distinct sensation of being watched.
I spun around.
The parking lot was empty. Just rows of cars covered in frost.
I sniffed the air.
Diesel fumes. Old snow. And... something else.
Musk.
Not human musk. Wolf musk.
But it wasn't Pack. It wasn't Rizzo or Johnson or Coach. It was unfamiliar. It smelled... sour. Like wet fur and rot.
Rogue.
My hackles rose. A low growl started in my throat.
Someone had been watching us. Watching me kiss her.
I scanned the tree line at the edge of the lot. Nothing moved. But the scent was there, lingering.
I pulled out my phone.
Me: Rizzo. Code Red. I need you to do a perimeter check on the dorms. Tonight.
Rizzo: On it. What happened?
Me: I smelled a stray. At the overflow lot.
Rizzo: Shit. Did he see her?
Me: I think he saw everything.
I stared at the darkness of the woods. The happiness evaporated, replaced by the cold, hard weight of the predator.
The bubble had popped.
The real world was back. And it had teeth.
Rachel
The next morning, the bubble didn't just pop; it exploded.
I was sitting in the cafeteria, eating oatmeal and texting Stan (we were debating the merits of pancakes vs. waffles), when my phone rang.
It wasn't Stan.
It was a number I didn't recognize. Area code 406. Montana.
I answered. "Hello?"
"Is this Rachel Miller?"
The voice was female. Sharp. Professional.
"Yes. Who is this?"
"This is Dean Patterson's office. The Dean of Students."
My stomach dropped. "Oh. Hi. Is... is something wrong? My financial aid?"
"This isn't about financial aid, Ms. Miller," the voice said. "The Dean would like to see you. Immediately."
"Immediately? I have a class in twenty minutes."
"I suggest you skip it," the woman said coldly. "This is regarding a disciplinary matter involving the Athletic Department."
The line went dead.
I sat there, holding the phone, my oatmeal turning to stone in my stomach.
Disciplinary matter.
Athletic Department.
They knew.
Coach Wolfowitz hadn't just threatened Stan. He had reported me. Or someone else had.
I stood up, my legs shaking.
I texted Stan.
Me: Dean's office. Now. Emergency.
He didn't reply. He was in practice. He wouldn't see it for an hour.
I was on my own.
I walked across campus to the Administration Building. It felt like walking to the gallows.
I thought about the night in the library. I thought about the pancakes. I thought about the way he looked at me when he said I was his anchor.
Was it worth it?
I walked up the stone steps.
Yes.
I walked into the Dean's office. The secretary pointed to a heavy wooden door.
I knocked.
"Come in."
I opened the door.
Dean Patterson—a severe woman with grey hair—was sitting behind a massive desk.
But she wasn't alone.
Sitting in the chair opposite her, looking bored and dangerous, was a man I had never met. He was older, handsome in a rugged way, with grey streaks in his dark hair. He wore a suit that cost more than my tuition.
He turned to look at me.
His eyes were amber.
My breath caught.
"Ms. Miller," the Dean said. "Please, sit down."
I sat in the empty chair, keeping my distance from the man.
"This is Mr. Kowalski," the Dean said. "Stan's father."
My heart stopped.
Stan's father. The one who lived in a care home. The one Stan said was broken.
He didn't look broken. He looked powerful. And angry.
"Hello, Rachel," Mr. Kowalski said. His voice was a deeper, rougher version of Stan's. "We need to have a chat about my son's future."
"I..." I stammered. "I'm just his tutor."
Mr. Kowalski laughed. It was a dry, humorless sound.
"Don't insult my intelligence, girl," he said. He leaned forward, sniffing the air. "You reek of him. You smell like you've been rolling in his sheets for weeks."
The Dean gasped. "Mr. Kowalski, please. Let's keep this professional."
"There is nothing professional about this," Mr. Kowalski snapped, keeping his eyes on me. "My son is a pureblood Beta. He has a destiny. He has a lineage to protect. And you..."
He looked me up and down with sneering disdain.
"You are a distraction. A fragile, human distraction."
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a checkbook.
"How much?" he asked.
"Excuse me?"
"How much to walk away?" He clicked a pen. "Tuition? Grad school? A new car? Name your price. But you leave Grizzly Ridge today. And you never speak to Stanley again."
I stared at the checkbook. I stared at the man who had abandoned his son to the wolves (literally).
Anger, hot and righteous, flared in my chest.
I stood up.
"Put your money away," I said. My voice shook, but I didn't care.
"Excuse me?" Mr. Kowalski blinked.
"I said put it away," I said louder. "I'm not a whore. And I'm not a distraction. I'm the reason your son is passing Economics. I'm the reason his shoulder is healed. I'm the reason he hasn't... hasn't had an incident on the ice in weeks."
I leaned over the desk, meeting his amber gaze.
"You think I'm weak because I'm human?" I challenged. "I'm the only one brave enough to love him for who he is. Not for his bloodline. Not for his hockey stats. For him."
Mr. Kowalski stared at me. For a second, I saw a flicker of something... surprise? Respect?
Then the door flew open.
"Get away from her!"
Stan stood in the doorway. He was still in his practice gear, skates on (he must have run on the concrete), chest heaving. He looked like a demon.
"Stanley," his father said calmly. "You're late."
"Don't talk to her," Stan snarled, stepping into the room. He ignored the Dean, ignored the furniture. He moved to stand between me and his father. A living shield. "Don't you dare try to buy her off, old man."
"Someone has to protect this family," Mr. Kowalski said, standing up. He wasn't as big as Stan, but he had the Alpha presence.
"I am protecting this family!" Stan shouted. The windows rattled. "She is family!"
The silence that followed was absolute.
Stan realized what he had said. He stiffened.
Mr. Kowalski’s eyes widened. "You... you bonded?"
"Not yet," Stan said, his voice dropping to a lethal growl. "But I will. And if you try to stop me... if you try to hurt her... I will tear this pack apart. Starting with you."
He grabbed my hand.
"We're leaving," Stan said.
He dragged me out of the office, past the stunned secretary, and out into the hallway.
He didn't stop until we were outside the building.
He spun me around, gripping my shoulders.
"Did he hurt you?" he demanded, scanning my face. "Did he touch you?"
"No," I said, breathless. "Stan... your skates. You ruined the floor."
"Screw the floor," he said. He pulled me into a crushing hug. "I thought... I thought I lost you."
"You didn't lose me," I whispered into his sweaty jersey. "I told him to keep his money."
Stan laughed. A choked, wet sound.
"You yelled at my dad?"
"I told him I wasn't a distraction."
Stan pulled back, looking at me with awe.
"You are a distraction," he said. "You're the only thing I see."
He kissed me. Hard. In front of the Administration Building. In front of God and everyone.
"Let them watch," he murmured against my lips. "Let them all watch."
We were out. The secret was blown.
And the war had just begun.