The wind at Evernight Academy had changed.
It wasn't just colder it carried intent. As if the very walls were whispering warnings only the sharpest could hear.
And Seraphina heard them all.
She was used to being watched. But this was different. This was obsession. Hatred. Lust. Envy.
And it was all dressed in the polished uniforms of prestigious students pretending to be civilized.
Today was the unveiling of the Arcane Rankings a ceremony where the most powerful students were publicly recognized. It was supposed to be tradition. Celebration.
Instead, it felt like war.
Seraphina didn't expect to be on the list.
She'd only been at the school a few weeks. She hadn't fought in the dueling rings. She hadn't submitted a power score test. She wasn't from some ancient bloodline or so she believed.
But when the names were called, hers was there.
Ranked 17th. Out of over 900 students.
Gasps filled the hall. Someone actually booed.
She didn't flinch.
She smiled.
She didn't expect it but she didn't detest it either.
Damian cornered her after the ceremony. He didn't congratulate her.
"You weren't supposed to be there," he said flatly.
"Good to see you too," she answered, sweeping past him.
He caught her wrist not harsh, just firm. "You don't understand what you've just triggered."
She turned slowly. "Then explain it to me. Like I'm an idiot. Since you clearly think I am."
His jaw tensed. "You've made yourself a target."
"And you think I wasn't already?"
A muscle ticked in his cheek. "You've made it worse."
Before she could bite back, Lucian appeared behind them. Silent, looming.
"She's not weak, Damian. Stop treating her like she needs protection."
The tension between them sizzled like fire and ice, both cold and furious in their own ways.
Seraphina pulled her hand free. "Both of you back off. I'm not a pawn in some centuries-old pissing contest."
She needed air. Space.
So she fled to the east wing mostly abandoned, quiet, except for the scent of magic soaked into the stones.
That's where she found him.
A stranger.
No uniform. Just tight black pants, combat boots, and a shirt that hung open, exposing a sculpted chest inked with shifting runes.
His eyes violet. Unnatural. Burning.
He sat on the windowsill, a book floating beside him.
When he looked at her, it was like he saw under her skin.
"You're the one making noise," he said simply.
She arched a brow. "You're not a student."
"Correct."
"Teacher?"
"Worse."
She tilted her head. "And you're still here because…?"
He stood in one smooth motion. Tall. Dangerous. Not moving like anyone she'd seen before.
"I'm here for you," he said.
She didn't move. "You stalking me?"
He smirked. "No. I'm admiring the chaos."
He stepped closer every inch of him oozed something wrong but intoxicating.
"I could break you in a thousand ways," he whispered.
She smiled slowly. "So do it. Or get out of my face."
He froze. Then he laughed.
Dark. Deep. Real.
"You're interesting," he said, brushing past her. "Let's see if you're still standing in a week."
She didn't ask his name nor did he offer it.
But his voice haunted her for the rest of the night.
In the dining hall that evening, everything exploded.
Delara, still bruised in ego from their last encounter, had finally snapped.
She spilled a tray of hot soup over Seraphina's lap, then pretended it was an accident.
The room went still.
Seraphina stood slowly, soup soaking through her skirt. Her lips parted and she laughed. Not loud. Quiet. Dangerous.
"I was waiting for you to do something this stupid," she said.
Delara opened her mouth, but Seraphina beat her to it.
She grabbed her by the collar and slammed her into the nearest table.
"I may be new. I may not have a legacy or a crest or a sugar daddy with a title. But you don't get to touch me without consequences."
She leaned in close, voice low. "And you just started a war you'll lose. Publicly."
Students had their phones out. Magical ones. Recording.
Too late to backpedal.
Lucian arrived first. No words. Just a nod at the spilled food and then at Seraphina.
Then Jasper walked in, took one look at the mess, and whistled.
"What did I miss? Did someone get stabbed or just humiliated beyond repair?"
Seraphina turned and walked out. Didn't look back.
But her eyes locked with Damian's at the door.
He wasn't smirking.
He looked... worried.
That night, Jasper knocked on her door.
"Want to talk?" he asked, voice uncharacteristically soft.
She opened the door halfway. "Not really."
"Want to make out instead?"
She rolled her eyes but didn't shut the door.
He stepped inside.
He didn't touch her immediately. Just walked around her room, hands behind his back like he was inspecting something expensive.
"You know," he said finally, "I thought you'd crack by now."
She arched a brow. "Disappointed?"
He turned to face her. "Turned on."
Then he was there, breath hot against her ear.
"I don't like good girls, Seraphina," he whispered. "I like girls who bite."
She met his lips halfway.
It wasn't soft.
It was fire and frustration, teeth and tongues and months of tension erupting in one volcanic kiss.
His hands roamed her back, pressing her into him. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling, demanding.
But when his hands slid under her shirt, she grabbed his wrist.
He paused. Eyes searching.
"Not yet," she whispered.
He nodded. Breath ragged. "But soon?"
She smirked. "Maybe."
And just like that, he left. No pressure. Just a final wink.
"I'll be dreaming about it."
But dreams weren't kind.
That night, Seraphina saw blood. Hers. Pooled at her feet. And the same violet-eyed stranger, watching.
"You're unlocking too fast," he said in the dream.
"What am I?" she asked.
He smiled, sharp as a dagger.
"Something very old. And very hunted."