Chapter 14
Rachel
Love made you stupid.
That was the only explanation. It was a neurochemical hijack. Dopamine and oxytocin flooding the prefrontal cortex, overriding the logic centers that usually screamed things like Don't hold hands with the Shifter Captain in the campus coffee shop.
But I felt invincible.
It had been a week since the Denver trip.
A week of stolen nights in Stan’s cabin, hushed conversations in the library, and a general sense that the universe had finally aligned in my favor.
Stan was playing the best hockey of his life.
I had aced my Kinesiology midterms. We were a power couple.
A secret, inter-species power couple, but a power couple nonetheless.
I sat in The Daily Grind, the busiest coffee shop on campus, tapping away on my laptop.
It was 10:00 AM on a Tuesday. The place was packed.
"Large black coffee. Two shots of espresso. And a blueberry muffin."
The voice came from behind me. Deep. Gravelly. Instantly familiar.
I didn't turn around. I didn't have to. I felt him. The air temperature seemed to rise a few degrees. The hair on my arms stood up.
Stan leaned over my shoulder to grab his order from the counter. He was wearing a grey beanie and a leather jacket. He smelled like winter air and that distinct cedar scent that was now permanently imprinted on my sensory memory.
"Is this seat taken?" he murmured, sliding into the chair opposite me.
"Technically, no," I said, not looking up from my screen. "But usually people ask before they sit."
"I don't ask," he said, taking a sip of his coffee. His knee bumped mine under the small bistro table. He didn't pull away. He pressed against me, a solid, warm weight.
I looked up. He was grinning. A real, unguarded grin that made his scar crinkle.
"You're bold today," I whispered, glancing around. "Rizzo isn't here to be the buffer."
"Rizzo is in Anatomy lab, trying not to pass out," Stan said. "And I don't care. We're just two students. Drinking coffee. Discussing... academics."
"Academics," I repeated dryly. "Is that what we're calling it?"
"Sure. I have a question about anatomy." He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. His voice dropped. "Specifically, the flexibility of the hip flexors. And how they relate to... certain positions."
I choked on my latte.
"Stan!" I hissed, kicking his shin under the table.
He didn't even flinch. "What? It's a valid scientific inquiry."
"You are terrible," I said, fighting a smile. "And reckless. People are watching."
"Let them watch," he said arrogantly. "They just see the Butcher bothering a nerd. They don't know that the nerd owns the Butcher."
My heart fluttered. Owns.
"I don't own you," I deflected.
"Yes, you do," he said seriously. He reached out and snagged a piece of my muffin. "You have the deed, the title, and the keys."
He popped the muffin into his mouth, his eyes locked on mine.
It was intimate. Too intimate. It wasn't just flirtation; it was a claim.
I glanced around nervously. A few people were looking. A girl in a sorority sweatshirt whispered to her friend. A guy in a football jersey was frowning at us.
"Stan," I whispered. "We should... tone it down."
"Why?" He looked genuinely confused. "Coach knows. My dad knows. The only people who don't know are the randoms. And they don't matter."
"Rumors matter," I said. "Rumors get back to the wrong people. Like the Council."
"The Council is an old wives' tale," he scoffed. "A bunch of geriatric wolves in suits who like to feel important. They won't touch us."
He reached across the table and took my hand.
I tried to pull away. "Stan..."
"Just for a second," he pleaded. "I need to recharge."
He squeezed my fingers. I felt the familiar jolt of electricity. God, I loved him. I loved his stubbornness, his warmth, his absolute certainty that he could fight the world and win.
I squeezed back.
For five seconds, we held hands in the middle of The Daily Grind.
Then, a shadow fell over the table.
"Well, isn't this cozy."
I snatched my hand away like I had been burned.
I looked up.
Standing there, holding a kale smoothie and looking like a vengeful goddess, was Chloe. My roommate.
She wasn't smiling.
"Chloe," I stammered. "Hi. I thought you were in Psych."
"Cancelled," she said, her eyes flicking between me and Stan. "Professor got sick. So I came here. Imagine my surprise."
She looked at Stan. Usually, Chloe flirted with hockey players. She threw herself at them. But today, she looked at him with cold suspicion.
"Hey, Chloe," Stan said easily. He leaned back, spreading his arm over the back of the chair. "Just getting some tutoring."
"Tutoring," Chloe repeated. She looked at the empty table. No books. No notes. Just coffee and crumbs. "Right. Tutoring."
She turned her gaze back to me. "Rachel. Can I talk to you? Outside?"
"I... sure." I stood up, my legs feeling shaky. "Stan, I'll see you later?"
"Count on it," he winked.
I grabbed my bag and followed Chloe out of the coffee shop. The cold air hit my flushed cheeks.
Chloe walked until we were around the corner, near the bike racks. Then she spun on her heel.
"Are you insane?" she hissed.
"What?"
"Stan Kowalski? Really? You're hooking up with him?"
"I'm not hooking up with him," I lied. "We're friends. He's... he's actually really nice when you get to know him."
"Rachel, don't lie to me," Chloe snapped. "I saw you holding hands. I saw the way he looks at you. Like he wants to eat you alive."
"It's not like that," I defended weakly.
"It's exactly like that!" she shouted. "Do you know who he is? Do you know the rumors about his family? About him? People say he's dangerous. People say he hurt a girl back home. People say he's in some kind of cult."
"Those are just rumors," I said. "He's not dangerous. He's... complicated."
"He's trouble," Chloe said. She grabbed my shoulders. "Rachel, listen to me. I'm your friend. I see the way you've been acting. Sneaking out. Coming home at 4 AM smelling like cedar and musk. Wearing his hoodies. You're in deep."
"I am," I admitted quietly. "I love him, Chloe."
Chloe recoiled. "You love him? It's been three weeks!"
"It feels like longer," I said. "It feels like forever."
Chloe stared at me. Her expression softened from anger to pity.
"Oh, Rach," she sighed. "This is going to end badly. Guys like that... they don't date girls like us. They use us. And when they're done, they leave wreckage."
"He's not like that," I insisted.
"I hope not," she said. "But be careful. Because if you get hurt... I can't fight him. Nobody can fight him."
She hugged me. It felt like a goodbye.
"I have to go," she said. "Just... think about it. Please."
She walked away.
I stood by the bike racks, shivering.
Invincible, I had thought.
Now, looking at Chloe's retreating back, I felt very, very exposed.
That night, I went to The Hive.
I parked my car in the overflow lot and walked the trail through the woods. It was dark. The snow was deep.
I wasn't scared of the woods anymore. Stan had told me the Pack patrolled this area. I was safe here.
I reached the back door of the lodge. It was unlocked.
I slipped inside.
The house was quiet. Most of the guys were out or asleep.
I went straight to Stan’s room in the basement.
He was there. He was lying on his bed, reading a book. Philosophy of Ethics. My heart swelled.
"Hey," I said.
He looked up. His face lit up. He tossed the book aside and opened his arms.
"Come here."
I kicked off my boots and dove onto the bed. He caught me, pulling me into a crushing hug. He rolled us over so he was on top, pinning me to the mattress.
"Missed you," he mumbled into my neck.
"It's been six hours," I laughed.
"Six hours too long."
He kissed me. Deep and slow.
"How was your day?" he asked, pulling back to look at me.
"Weird," I admitted. "Chloe confronted me."
Stan stiffened. "Confronted you? Did she hurt you?"
"No. She just... she knows. She saw us holding hands."
"So?" Stan relaxed. "Chloe is harmless. She's a badge bunny. She won't talk."
"She thinks you're dangerous," I said. "She thinks you're going to break my heart."
Stan frowned. He traced the line of my jaw with his thumb.
"I would cut out my own heart before I broke yours," he said solemnly.
"I know," I whispered. "But the rumors... they're getting loud, Stan."
"Let them talk," he said. "We have bigger problems."
"Like what?"
"Like the fact that I have a history exam tomorrow and I haven't studied."
I laughed. "Okay. History. Let's do this."
We spent the next two hours studying. It was peaceful. Domestic.
At midnight, I got up to use the bathroom.
"Be right back," I said.
I walked out into the hallway. The basement had a small bathroom at the end of the hall.
As I walked back, I noticed the door to the laundry room was ajar.
I heard voices.
Low voices. Whispering.
"You sure?"
"Positive. I saw them in the coffee shop. And I saw her car in the overflow lot."
"Does the Alpha know?"
"Wolfowitz? No. He suspects, but he doesn't have proof. But the Council... they know."
I froze.
I recognized the voices. Johnson and Miller. Stan’s teammates. His packmates.
"What are they gonna do?" Johnson asked.
"They sent an Enforcer," Miller whispered. "From the High Council. He arrived this morning. He's meeting with Stan's dad tonight."
My blood ran cold.
Enforcer. High Council.
"They're gonna force the split," Miller said. "Or they're gonna eliminate the problem."
"The girl?"
"Yeah. The girl."
I clamped a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp.
Eliminate.
That didn't mean expel. In their world, that meant kill.
I backed away slowly. My heart was hammering so hard I thought they would hear it.
I crept back into Stan's room.
He looked up from his notes. He saw my face. Pale. Terrified.
"Rachel?" He sat up instantly. "What's wrong? You look like you've seen a ghost."
I couldn't tell him.
If I told him what I heard—that his own teammates were discussing my murder—he would snap. He would shift. He would tear through that door and kill them both.
And then he would be a murderer. He would be the monster everyone said he was. The Council would execute him.
I couldn't let that happen.
"I..." I swallowed hard. "I just... felt sick. Stomach bug, I think."
Stan was at my side in a second. He touched my forehead.
"You're cold," he said. "Clammy."
"Yeah. I think I need to go home. I need to sleep in my own bed."
"I'll drive you."
"No," I said quickly. "No. I'll take my car. It's just a bug. I'll be fine."
He looked at me suspiciously. He sniffed the air.
"You smell like fear," he said. "Sharp fear."
"I hate throwing up," I lied. "It's a phobia."
He studied me for a long moment. Then he nodded.
"Okay. Text me when you get in. If you need anything... soup, meds... I'll bring it."
"I know," I said. "I love you, Stan."
It sounded like a goodbye.
"Love you too, Little Bit."
I grabbed my coat and ran.
I ran out of the house, through the woods, to my car. I locked the doors. I drove.
I didn't go to the dorms. I drove aimlessly, my mind racing.
Eliminate the problem.
I was the problem.
And I had just realized something terrifying.
The only way to save Stan... the only way to stop him from destroying himself to protect me... was to remove the problem myself.
I had to leave him.
I didn't sleep that night.
The next morning, I was a zombie. I skipped my first class. I sat in my room, staring at the wall, trying to figure out how to break the heart of the man I loved without shattering him completely.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Ms. Miller. We have something of yours.
I frowned.
Unknown Number: [Image Attached]
I clicked the image.
It was a photo.
A photo of me and Stan. In the equipment room. Kissing.
It was from the night of the concussion. The night we first kissed. The camera angle was high—from the security camera in the corner.
The caption read:
Meet me at the old Ice House on River Road. Noon. Come alone. Or this goes to the Dean, the NCAA, and the tabloids.
My phone fell from my hand.
It wasn't just the Council. It was blackmail.
If that photo got out...
Stan would lose his scholarship. He would be kicked off the team. He would lose the draft. His life would be over.
I looked at the clock. 11:15 AM.
I grabbed my keys.
I didn't text Stan. I didn't text Chloe.
I drove to River Road.
The Ice House was an abandoned storage facility near the frozen river. It was desolate. Creepy.
I pulled up. There was one other car there. A black sedan.
I got out.
A man stepped out of the sedan.
It wasn't Stan's dad. It wasn't a student.
It was Mr. Vance. The scout.
My confusion spiked. The scout?
"Ms. Miller," Vance said smoothly. "So glad you could make it."
"You sent the text?" I asked, gripping my keys as a weapon.
"I did," Vance said. "I've been... observing. Digging."
"Why?"
"Because Stan Kowalski is a generational talent," Vance said. "But he's unstable. And you... you are the trigger."
He walked closer.
"I represent more than just the Red Wings, Ms. Miller," he said. His eyes flashed. Not amber. Red.
My blood froze.
Red eyes.
"You're an Alpha," I whispered. "But... not a Wolf."
"Very good," Vance smiled, revealing teeth that were too sharp. "I'm a Bear Shifter. We have... interests in who controls the territory. And we prefer the Wolf Pack to be weak."
He held up his phone with the photo.
"If Stan stays with you, he is distracted. Weak. But if he loses you... if he breaks... he becomes chaos. And chaos destroys packs."
"What do you want?" I asked.
"I want you to break him," Vance said. "I want you to end it. Today. Brutally. I want you to shatter him so completely that he loses his mind on the ice Friday night. I want him to shift. In front of everyone."
"Why?"
"Because if the Wolves are exposed," Vance said, his red eyes glowing, "the Council falls. And we take over."
He stepped closer.
"Do it," he commanded. "Break his heart. Make him hate you. Or I release the photo. And I kill him."
"You can't kill him," I argued. "He's strong."
"He's strong," Vance agreed. "But he's not an Alpha yet. And a Bear crushes a Wolf every time."
He leaned down.
"You have until tonight. Do it. Or he dies."
He got in his car and drove away.
I stood there in the snow.
I had a choice.
Save his reputation and his life by breaking his heart.
Or stay with him and watch him die.
It wasn't a choice at all.
I got in my car. I dialed Stan's number.
"Hey, beautiful," he answered on the first ring. "Missed you."
"Stan," I said. My voice was dead. "We need to talk."