The corridor is empty when they find me.
I'm cutting through the east wing to avoid the main hallways—a habit I've developed since the shunning started. Fewer wolves, fewer blank stares, fewer reminders that I've become invisible to half my own species.
I don't hear them coming until it's too late.
"Look who's wandering alone." The voice comes from behind me, and I spin to find three wolves blocking my path. Not random players—Grayson's inner circle. The ones who've been loyal to him since freshman year, the ones who do his dirty work when he doesn't want to get his hands messy.
"Thought the vampire's bitch would be smarter than this." The biggest one—Derek, I think his name is—steps forward. "Walking around without her leash."
"I don't need a leash." I keep my voice steady, backing toward the wall. "And I don't need permission to walk through my own school."
"Your school?" Another wolf laughs, circling to my left. "You don't belong here. Never did. You're just a halfblood stain that Grayson's been too soft to scrub out."
They're closing in, forming a triangle around me. My back hits the wall and there's nowhere to go.
"Grayson wants you to remember where you belong." Derek cracks his knuckles, the sound echoing in the empty corridor. "Thinks maybe you forgot, what with spreading your legs for a vampire and all."
"Touch me and Rhys—"
"Rhys isn't here." He grins, showing too many teeth. "And by the time he finds out, we'll be long gone. Just a friendly reminder between pack members, yeah?"
He reaches for my arm.
The blur comes from nowhere.
One second Derek's hand is closing around my wrist. The next I'm airborne, swept off my feet and pressed against a cold, hard chest. The corridor spins as Rhys carries me away from the wolves, his arms locked around me like steel bands, moving so fast the walls blur.
He stops twenty feet away, putting distance between us and them. His grip doesn't loosen.
The wolves recover from their shock, spreading out, grins turning predatory. Three against one, and their target just made himself vulnerable by picking me up.
"Well, well." Derek's smile stretches wider. "The vampire prince himself. Come to save your little pet?"
Rhys sets me down carefully, his hands lingering on my waist for a fraction of a second. Then he turns to face them, and the temperature in the corridor drops ten degrees.
"So." His voice is soft, conversational. "Which one of you brave heroes wants to die first?"
Something radiates off him—power, threat, the promise of violence so absolute it makes my skin prickle. I press my back against the wall, and my teeth sink into my lower lip without conscious thought. The aura rolling off him is terrifying and electric, and some dark part of me wants to see what happens if they're stupid enough to test him.
Derek's grin falters. The other two exchange glances.
"We were just having a conversation." Derek holds up his hands, but he's already backing away. "Pack business. Nothing to do with you."
"She's mine." Rhys doesn't raise his voice. Doesn't need to. "That makes everything about her my business."
"Grayson said—"
"I don't care what Grayson said." He takes one step forward, and all three wolves flinch backward. "Touch her again—look at her wrong again—and I'll personally deliver your heads to your alpha in a gift box. Are we clear?"
They scatter—three supposedly tough wolves tripping over each other to get away from one vampire who didn't even have to throw a punch.
Rhys watches them go, shoulders rigid, until they disappear around the corner. Then he turns to me. "Are you hurt?"
"No." My voice comes out shakier than I'd like. "They didn't get the chance."
His hands find my arms, running down from shoulder to wrist in a clinical check for injuries. Except his touch lingers—on my elbow, on the inside of my wrist where my pulse jumps under his fingers.
"You shouldn't walk alone." His jaw is tight. "Not until this settles."
"I can't have you escort me everywhere—"
"Sloane."
Footsteps echo down the corridor. We both turn.
Grayson rounds the corner, golden and furious, his pack mates nowhere in sight. He must have sent them ahead to do the dirty work while he maintained deniability—classic.
His eyes sweep over the scene—me against the wall, Rhys standing between us like a shield—and his lip curls.
"Sloane." His voice is sharp, commanding. "Come here."
I don't move.
"Now." He snaps his fingers like I'm a dog to be summoned. "We need to talk. Alone."
Rhys shifts, positioning himself more fully in front of me. "She's not going anywhere with you."
"She's my sister." Grayson's eyes flash gold. "My family. My blood. You don't get to decide—"
"Your blood?" Rhys laughs, and the sound is cold enough to freeze water. "You've made it very clear she's not really your blood. Isn't that what you tell everyone? The halfblood embarrassment? The stain on the Imler name?"
Grayson's hands curl into fists. "Watch your mouth, Vance."
"Or what?" Rhys tilts his head, studying my brother with open contempt. "You'll send more of your lackeys to threaten an unarmed girl in an empty hallway? Very alpha of you."
"I know something's off about you." Grayson steps closer, and the air between them crackles with tension. "I've been watching. You're hiding something, and when I find out what it is—"
"You should worry about your own secrets, Imler." Rhys's voice drops to something dangerous. "Everyone has them. Even golden wolves."
They stare at each other—two predators measuring, calculating, neither willing to back down. The corridor feels too small to contain them both.
"Sloane." Grayson's eyes cut to me. "Come. Here."
I step forward—not toward my brother, but toward Rhys. My fingers find his hand, curling around his palm, and I feel the jolt that runs through him at the contact.
"No." One word. My voice doesn't shake.
Grayson's face goes white, then red. His jaw works, but no sound comes out. I've never defied him publicly before. Never chosen someone else over family, even family that treats me like garbage.
"You're making a mistake." His voice is deadly quiet. "Both of you."
"Maybe." Rhys's fingers tighten around mine. "But it's her mistake to make. Not yours."
Grayson looks at our joined hands like they're a personal insult. Then he turns and walks away, each step sharp with barely contained fury.
The moment he's gone, Rhys pulls me into the alcove beside us. My back hits the wall and he cages me in, hands braced on either side of my head.
"You're mine now." His voice is rough, barely controlled. "That means no one touches you. No one threatens you. No one looks at you wrong without answering to me."
His forehead drops to mine. We're sharing breath, sharing space, and my heart pounds so hard I'm sure he can hear it.
"Understand?"
I nod, not trusting my voice. His eyes search mine for a long moment, then he pushes off the wall and steps back, leaving cold air where his warmth used to be.
"I'll walk you to your dorm." He doesn't let go of my hand the entire way.
That night, I can't sleep. My laptop glows in the darkness as I type "Vance family history" into the search bar, scrolling through pages of society announcements and business acquisitions. Then I find it—buried three pages deep, a tabloid article from twenty-one years ago.
VANCE FAMILY SCANDAL: Rumors of affair rock vampire elite. Sources claim Lady Vance's relationship with unnamed werewolf lover produced secret heir before hasty cover-up.
The article is vague, full of speculation and unnamed sources. But one line makes my blood run cold: Insiders suggest the child was eliminated to preserve bloodline purity, though no confirmation has been obtained.
I stare at the screen until my eyes burn. What really happened twenty-one years ago? And how did Rhys Vance survive what should have been his death sentence?