A THRONE OF SHADOW AND SOULMATES

"Hey! You're gonna drown out there!"

The voice cut through the rain, low, teasing, and impossible to ignore.

Skye stopped mid-stride, water splashing up her jeans. The storm had turned Northbridge University's quad into a sea of puddles, lightning slicing the sky above the old stone buildings. Wind shoved her hood back, and her hair clung to her face as she spun toward the sound.

Under a drooping oak tree stood a guy leaning against a sleek black sports car, the kind that didn't belong anywhere near student housing. He looked like he'd stepped out of another world, too composed for the chaos around him.

Derek Clawson.

Tall, broad-shouldered, his storm-dark hair slicked to his head. Even through the rain, she could see it - his eyes, faintly red. The first flash she dismissed as lightning. The second one made her pulse jump.

Skye clutched her folder of mythology notes tighter, though most of the pages had already turned to pulp. "I'm fine!" she shouted over the thunder. "Not everyone needs a shiny car to survive a drizzle."

Derek's grin cut through the rain like light through smoke. "Fiery. I like it. Are you always this friendly, or just with me?" Sarcastically.

"Are you always this annoying," she shot back, "or just with girls who have better things to do?"

He turned off the car and started toward her, moving slowly and deliberately toward her. "I've seen you in mythology class," he said, voice dropping just enough to make her hear it over the rain. "You write like the world's ending."

Her chest tightened not because of his words, but because he'd noticed her at all. "What's your deal, Clawson? You stalk everyone or just me?"

He laughed, the sound low and rough. "Only the ones who stand out."

Cold rain trickled down her neck, but heat bloomed in her cheeks. She turned away. "Save it. I don't fall for wolf-in-leather types."

"Wolf?" he echoed with a smirk she couldn't see. "Interesting choice of words."

Her mother's voice echoed in her mind, soft and casual from the night before.

"Your dad and I are heading to the forest, little pie. Back soon."

Translation: Pack business.

Skye's mother had married into that secret world - werewolves hiding behind human faces, but Skye had been born on the border of both. Too human for the pack, too strange for everyone else.

Lost in thought, she didn't see the car until its bumper clipped her leg.

The impact spun her sideways. Her folder flew open, papers and sketches scattering like feathers. Ink bled into the puddles, her work dissolving into a watercolor blur.

The car screeched to a stop.

Skye hit the pavement, palms stinging, rain hammering her back. For a few seconds, all she could hear was the storm and her own heartbeat. Then the driver's door opened.

Derek.

He was out of the car and running toward her, eyes glowing brighter-red, unmistakable now. For a split second, she swore she saw claws flex at his fingertips. Then they were gone.

"You okay?" he said, voice cutting through the downpour. "I didn't see you-rain's crazy."

He reached for her hand. For an instant, she almost let him. Then instinct - something old and sharp - screamed no.

"I'm fine," she said, shoving herself up. "Just try not to run over people next time."

His jaw tightened. Most girls giggled or flirted when Derek Clawson looked at them. Skye snapped back. And that made her interesting. Dangerous.

He crouched beside her. "Let me fix this," he said softly. "I'll replace what you lost."

She grabbed one of her ruined essays, crumpled and soaked. "Keep your guilt money. Drive better."

They both reached for the same page - a sketch of a golden wolf. Their fingers brushed.

Zap.

A jolt shot through her hand, up her arm - not pain, not electricity, but heat, raw and alive. Her breath caught. Derek froze too, eyes wide, the same shock mirrored there. For a moment, the world was nothing but rain, thunder, and the strange hum between them.

"Derek! What's taking so long?"

The voice cut through everything. Sharp, annoyed, perfect.

Joanna Linfield. Her dark hair, untouched by rain, her heels clicking against the wet pavement as if the storm itself obeyed her.

Her gaze landed on Skye - soaked, scraped, clutching her ruined notes - and her smirk deepened. "Oh. So this is what's keeping you."

"Back off, Joanna," Derek muttered without looking at her.

Skye stood, gathering what was left of her papers. The spark still burned under her skin, wild and confusing. "I'm fine," she said stiffly. "Next time, try headlights."

She turned to leave.

"Wait," Derek called. His tone had changed - lower, commanding. Even the rain seemed to hesitate.

She stopped. Slowly turned.

"What's your name?" he asked.

For a second, she considered lying. Then, for some reason she couldn't explain, she didn't.

"Skye."

And she was gone, running into the storm before he could say anything else.

Derek stood there, rain pouring over him, her name echoing in his mind. Skye. It fit - wild, unpredictable, untouchable.

Joanna folded her arms. "Forget her. She's nobody. A broke scholarship girl who doesn't know her place."

He barely heard her. The energy he'd felt - that spark - wasn't human. It was wolf magic. Ancient. Rare.

A low growl built in his chest, swallowed by thunder. Somewhere beyond the university walls, a wolf's howl answered.

He'd come to Northbridge to escape the pack - the expectations, the training, his father's shadow. But Skye... she was pulling him right back in.

Skye stumbled into her dorm, dripping wet, hair plastered to her neck. She slammed the door shut and leaned against it, breath coming hard.

Her reflection in the mirror caught her off guard - pale face, wide eyes, and a faint golden glow pulsing where blue should've been.

"Great," she muttered. "Now I'm hallucinating."

She peeled off her hoodie and tossed it aside, glancing at the desk where her ruined notes lay. The golden wolf she'd sketched shimmered faintly beneath the lamplight, the ink spreading into something that looked almost alive.

Her phone buzzed. A text from Mom.

Made it to the forest. All good, little pie. Love you.

Skye's chest tightened. She wanted to reply - to ask what was really going on out there - but she didn't. She couldn't. Instead, she sat on her bed and stared out the window, where thunder rolled and lightning carved the sky in half.

Somewhere distant, a wolf howled.

She looked back at her reflection. The glow in her eyes didn't fade. It pulsed - faint, then stronger, like something ancient remembering itself.

"This isn't the end of the storm, she whispered.

Outside, the wind howled harder. The sound wasn't just weather anymore. It was a call.

And deep down, Skye knew - this was only the beginning.