Chapter 3

• My breath catches, every muscle in my body trembling as the agonizing heat of the shift subsides into a raw, hyper-aware buzz. The chaos of the party—the thumping bass, the slurring students, Chloe’s bewildered protests—fades into a distant, muffled hum. Right now, there is only him.
• Chloe’s hand shoots out, grabbing my forearm, her nails digging in sharply as she tries to yank me backward. "Haven, seriously, let’s go. This guy is giving me major serial killer vibes."
• The stranger’s eyes flick to Chloe’s hand on my arm. A low, warning growl rumbles in his chest again—sharper this time, enough to make Chloe physically flinch and take a half-step back, her eyes wide with shock.
• He slowly shifts his intense gaze back to me, the feral edge in his expression smoothing out into something dangerously smooth. He lifts a hand, casually pushing a stray lock of dark hair from his forehead, revealing a sharp, striking jawline that looks painfully familiar.
• "Let her go, sweetheart," he says, his voice a low, gravelly purr that vibrates straight down to my toes. "She can't protect you from what you are now anyway."
• "What are you talking about?" I finally manage to choke out, my voice shaking. My skin is still prickling with residual heat, and the heavy scent of pine and winter frost is entirely overwhelming my senses. "Who even are you?"
• A slow, knowing smirk curves his lips, mirroring the exact expression I’ve spent the last three weeks daydreaming about in art history class.
• "Ryder," he says smoothly, taking another step closer until his chest is inches from mine. "Ryder Black."
• The name hits me like a bucket of ice water. Black.
• "Black?" Chloe repeats, her jaw dropping open. "Like... like Professor Black? The absolute god of the art department?"
• Ryder’s smirk deepens, though his dark eyes never leave mine, blazing with a possessive heat that feels both terrifying and deeply addictive. "Older brother," Ryder corrects, his gaze locking onto my wide, panicked eyes. "Though, trust me, sweetheart... Dante has entirely too much stick up his ass to ever appreciate what we just woke up."
• "Your brother?" I whisper, the words barely escaping my throat as the sheer absurdity and terrifying intensity of the situation collide in my chest. "You're Dante Black's brother?"
• "Guilty as charged," Ryder replies, his voice smooth and laced with an underlying current of dangerous amusement. But before I can process the fact that the man who occupies half my waking daydreams has a brother who just triggered a literal supernatural awakening in the middle of a frat party, the air shifts.
• The heat returns, rushing back into my veins with a sudden, suffocating intensity. My skin flushes, and every single sense goes into overdrive. I can hear the dull hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen three rooms away; I can smell the distinct mix of cheap tequila, ozone, and pine needles rolling off Ryder in waves.
• My gaze snaps back up to his, wide and panicked. The words slip past my lips before I can stop them.
• "You're... you're my mate."
• Ryder stops. The mocking smirk slips from his face, replaced by an expression so raw, so fiercely tender and possessive that it takes my breath away. He looks down at me as if I am the only person left alive in this burning, chaotic world.
• "Yes," he breathes, the single word carrying the weight of a vow. "Mine. And you are mine, Haven."
• "Wait, hold on a second!" Chloe interrupts, stepping between us, her hands up as she glares at Ryder, completely oblivious to the supernatural shift in the room. "I don't know what kind of pickup artist cult BS you're running, but you're not walking off with my best friend. Haven, look at me. This guy is out of his mind."
• I want to tell Chloe she's right. I want to grab her arm, turn around, and run back into the safety of the sticky, loud, normal college party. But my wolf—this newly awakened, growling piece of my soul—rejects the idea instantly. The tether tying me to Ryder is unbreakable.
• "Chlo, it's okay," I manage to say, my voice sounding strangely calm even as my heart races like a trapped bird. "I... I need to talk to him. Just for a minute."
• Chloe stares at me like I’ve grown a second head. "You're insane. Both of you. The fucking virgin running off with the serial killer. " But she steps back, crossing her arms defensively.
• Ryder doesn't waste a second. His hand settles firmly, possessively at the small of my back, his thumb burning right through the fabric of my sweater. The touch sends a fresh jolt of electricity straight to my core. He guides me away from Chloe, weaving effortlessly through the sea of sweating, stumbling students until the heavy front door swings open, releasing us into the cool night air.
• The crisp autumn breeze hits my flushed skin like a blessing, cooling the fever raging beneath my surface. We step off the porch and away from the house, heading toward the glowing, crackling bonfire roaring in the middle of the overgrown backyard. A few drunken students are huddled around it, but as Ryder approaches, casting a cold, commanding glare in their direction, they quickly mutter excuses and scatter back toward the house.
• Within seconds, we are entirely alone by the fire, the orange flames casting dancing shadows across Ryder’s sharp, striking face.
• He turns to face me, blocking out the rest of the world, his dark eyes searching mine in the firelight.
• "Alright," I say, wrapping my arms around myself as the reality of what just happened starts to sink in. "Start explaining. Because 'mate' sounds a lot like kidnapping with extra steps."