Chapter 230: Drowned girl
"Now, my daughter. If some scumbag comes up to you and offers..." Closing his eyes, my father raised a pointed finger meaningfully, launching into a lecture so teeth-grindingly familiar it made my jaw ache.
"Dad! I’m not five years old, and I’m not interested in relationships at all. I came here to study," I interrupted, hurriedly pulling on my sneakers. I gave my father’s stubble-rough cheek a quick peck, waved goodbye to my mom, and bolted out the door toward the stairwell.
I only made it down two flights of stairs before my legs turned to lead, trembling so violently that I had to grab onto the chipped wooden banister to keep from collapsing.
The space around me began to shrink rapidly, draining of color. The walls, slathered in peeling paint, seemed to crawl inward, twisting an already wretched apartment building staircase into a suffocating, nightmarish echo of that cellar.
Air grew scarce in my lungs once more, squeezed tight by phantom, powerful hands.
Forcefully drawing in a few deep breaths, I gripped the railing tighter. Everything is normal. It’s over.
I am whole.
They would never find me now. I would stick strictly to crowded, public paths. Besides, according to the crime reports on TV, that cursed place on the outskirts had burned completely to the ground. The police were jubilant, reporters were choking on their own excitement, and Tray and most of Michael’s accomplices were dead.
I was safe.
Checking the time on my phone screen, I cursed under my breath and rushed out the exit. Self-hypnosis hadn’t made me feel any better. The knot in my stomach remained, vibrating against my raw, exposed nerves.
The university shuttle bus was packed with dreary, sleepy students. Frankly, it had been a shock to discover that the institute owned its own vehicles, transporting students along various routes for free across multiple shifts.
For me, this wasn’t just convenience; it was a waking dream. No matter how hard my mom and dad worked, our family had never had any real money to spare.
I had helped them since I was a child, because in our village on the eastern coast there were vast berry fields, and there was always work for everyone. I spent every summer there, baking under the sun just to earn even a little money. My parents, of course, scolded me, hurt that I barely rested or hung out with my peers, but... to my classmates I was always strange. An outcast.
And all because when I was four years old, I fell out of my father’s boat while fishing. The current dragged me to the bottom, and they only found me an hour later. The local doctor later blabbed to the whole village that I had been dead, and that river fish had already started eating my body, and crabs had bitten off a chunk of flesh from my neck. Supposedly, it was some kind of devilry that I somehow breathed back to life. An ugly scar on my neck remained, though.
I didn’t remember anything of my childhood myself, but do many people even remember themselves at such a tender age? And although a deafening emptiness yawned in my head, the brand of the "drowned girl" clung to me forever.
"Hey! What year are you in? I’m Kyle Barton, studying second-year economics," my thoughts were interrupted by a tall, red-haired guy who appeared right beside me, his face thickly freckled.
"Amelie Hart. First-year law. Nice to meet you," I cautiously stepped back a pace, trying not to bump into anyone and to increase the distance between us just a little.
"Well, doesn’t really look like it’s nice. Why are you shrinking away? And you’ve got a strange last name, not local?" Tilting his head to the side, the guy unceremoniously gave me an assessing, head-to-toe look.
Looking at him, I didn’t feel even a flicker of girlish interest, and frankly speaking, that also put me a bit on edge. My parents affectionately called me a "late bloomer," but the fact remained: in all my years, I had never fallen in love once.
My wolfish nature seemed to sleep a deathly sleep, frozen at the bottom of the river many years ago. I didn’t have the slightest desire to appeal to males; their pheromones didn’t cause me to tremble, because I barely felt them at all. They were all pale and muted, more often evoking a desire to hide.
"No, not local, I’m from the eastern coast," I answered dryly, turning away from the guy and looking out the window, where the massive campus parking lot was already coming into view.
"Kyle, you got rejected again! Don’t lose hope, bro, there are plenty of freshers; you still have a chance to find yourself a girl!" someone shouted from the back rows, and half the bus erupted in laughter.
"Rita, baby, don’t be jealous! My heart is forever devoted only to you!" the young man shouted back, playing the fool. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed a chubby, cute girl in a bright dress flip him an obscene gesture while blushing deeply.
Hardly had the doors opened when I hurried out into the fresh air. I took a deep breath, admiring the majestic university building, and had just stepped onto the road when fingers painfully dug into my shoulder.
I was yanked back with force. At that very second, a matte-black predator of a car roared past with a powerful engine, blanketing me in the scent of burning rubber right before my nose.
"What on earth are you doing? People don’t walk there! What if it had hit you?" I turned around and saw that same girl—Rita, I think her name was. Her eyes were wide with fright.
"I... I didn’t know," I stammered, shifting a shocked gaze to the parking lot.
A black monster on wheels glided to a smooth stop by the main entrance. The doors opened, and two guys stepped out of the cabin. Even from a distance, their terrifying, potent nature was unmistakable. Broad shoulders, predatory and restrained grace. They were of alpha blood, a hundred percent. One had hair shimmering with cold silver, and the other’s was pitch black.
Even at such a distance, a heavy, oppressive aura radiated from them, instantly leaving my mouth bone-dry.