Chapter 2: Shadows on the Quad

The quad on campus reeks of wet grass and freedom, but the shadow of Jack's goons stains it black—I'm a captive even here. Dusk paints the sky purple, the last sun rays bleeding out behind the jagged line of dorm rooftops, and I pull my hoodie closer against the autumn chill. My sneakers sink into the damp earth, each step a squelch that echoes the thud of my pulse, too loud, too fast. Three years since that warehouse, since Lily’s blood soaked into my skin, and I’m still running—from her ghost, from Jack, from the thing clawing inside me. The bruise on my wrist throbs gently under my cuff, a slow ache that vibrates with the beat of his heart, a rope I can't untangle.

Students group around me, their laughter biting and indifferent, slicing through the silence I crave. Backpacks bump, voices reverberate off the redbrick facades of the lecture rooms, and the air reeks with the bitter smell of coffee and cheap cologne. It's alright, so alright it hurts, because I am not. I'm nineteen, a freshman with a secret husband who murders traitors and a dead sister who fills my nightmares. The oak trees above me loom over the quad, leaves rustling—omega, omega—and I shiver, wondering if the wind recognizes what I am, what Jack constructed me to be.

"Hey, Ben!" Kate's voice cuts through the noise, as loud as a spotlight. She bounds over, her bubblegum-pink scarf streaming, her grin big enough to bisect her freckled face. The scent of her candy perfume washes over me, sweet and staggering, a discordant note compared to the leather-and-blood scent I can't help but recall.

"You're, like, a ghost these days—what's with the vanishing act?"

She nudges me, her elbow into my ribs, and I attempt to laugh, thin and crackling.

Just busy, I mutter, eyes darting to the edge of the quad. There they are—Jack's goons, two of them, slouching against a lamppost like they're the proprietors. Ink crawls up their necks, scowls carved into their faces, and their boots kick the grass into mud. Kate notices where I'm staring and her brows furrow.

"Why the fan club?" she teases, popping her gum. "They your bodyguards or what? You a secret rockstar?" Her laughter is a bell, ringing too loudly, and my stomach tightens. She's too close to the truth, and I need to shut her down.

"No, just. freaks," I say, shrugging, but my voice shakes and she scowls at me, eyes uncertain. I take off towards the library, needing room, but her feet pound after me, relentless.

"You're fidgety, Ben. Come on—what's up?" she demands, and I clench my fists, nails biting into palms. The mark pulses, a warning, and Jack's snarl in my head—Deal with it, kid. He's on the other side of the world, but he's here, always here, a shadow I can't shake.

"Later, Kate," I snap out, too hard, and she flinches, pain creeping into her eyes. I catch myself feeling a twinge of remorse, but barrel on, the glass doors of the library glowing ahead of me like an asylum. I have only a few feet to go when a hand yanks on my arm, pulling me around the dumpster. The stench of rotting food hits me, pungent and cloying, and I gag, turning to face Tara. She's from my chemistry class—keen eyes, sharper tongue, her blonde ponytail pulled back tight, swinging like a knife. Cigarette smoke curls from her mouth, gray and slicing, and she smirks, leaning in close enough I can feel her breath on my cheek. "I saw you, Ben," she hisses, voice low, poisonous. "That creepy wedding three years ago—dressed up like a bride for that freak Jack.".

You think you’re slick, cozying up to Max in lit class?

” My heart pounds in my chest, a bird in a cage flapping against metal. Max—silent, green-eyed Max who sits two rows back from me, who lent me a pencil last week and grinned like a sunbeam. He's my only guarantee, and Tara's claws are on him. "What do you want?" I manage to get out, my throat as parched as ash. "Dump him," she says to me, flicking her cigarette onto the ground, sparks flying. "Tell Max it's over, or I spill it all—your creepy husband, the dress, the whole thing. Whole campus'll know by morning." Her smile widens, and my blood runs cold. She steps back, boots crunching on gravel, and I catch a glint in her eyes—too bright, too knowing. Whispers from Jack's world echo in my mind: werewolf seers, rare wolves who uncover secrets like bloodhounds. Is she one?

My head spins, and I hold the lip of the dumpster, metal biting into my fingers. Before I can answer, a crackle hums in my ear—Jack's voice, spilling through the earpiece he rammed onto me last month. "Trouble, kid? Deal with it." His growl resonates through me, yanking that motherfucker strand, and I shiver, claws throbbing under my fingertips. Tara's already striding away, her laugh a bitter thrust in the mist, and I slam the dumpster lid shut, the sound ringing in my head.

Metal crunches under my punch, and I freeze—my strength's building, the omega awakening, and I have no idea what the fuck is going on.

The quad is emptying now, students drifting away, but the goons are still there, their shadows stretching long and black on the grass. Kate's gone—presumably angry with me—and I'm left with Tara's threat, Jack's voice, and the memory of Max's soft, "You okay?" yesterday. His note's still in my pocket, crumpled, a lifeline I'm not permitted to touch now. I want to warn him, tell him, but Tara's words choke me—Dump him, or I spill it all.

The wind stirs through, bearing a soft howl—not the goons', not the city's, but out there someplace in the trees beyond the campus. Not wolf, not human, but it's present, low enough to stir what's inside of me, that gnawing growl I must suppress. Jack's heartbeat still resides on my wrist, sears, and I drive my hands deep into pockets, the sheen of the mark beneath my cuff like a lantern in my face. Tara gets it, the goons watch, and Max—Max is a risk I cannot afford but will not let go.  I walk towards my dorm, the fog thickening, consuming the quad's lights until it's just me and blackness.

The air stinks, like secrets and metal, and I see Jack again—Handle it. But how? Shut up Tara? Watch Max? Or run, knowing the blood oath will not let me get far? My claws cramp, hard and hungry, and I don't know if they're for her, for Jack, or for the part of me that's already breaking under this weight. Lily's voice on the wind—"Don't let them take me"—and I grit my teeth, swearing they won't take me either. Not without a fight.