Chapter 19
Chapter 19
“Create a group of three to four people to sculpt the statue as outlined in the guidebook. I’ll give you two weeks.”
The professor’s voice echoed off the tall stone walls of the studio before she snapped her sketchbook shut and walked out, heels clicking decisively on the linoleum floor.
Around me, the studio came alive with chatter. Students were already gravitating toward their familiar circles, calling out names, laughing, forming alliances. I stared down at the slightly smudged pencil sketch on my page, my stomach coiling into knots.
Join a group.
The words felt heavier than they should have.
I could mold clay, I could paint life into stone. But this–walking up to strangers and asking to be part of something? That was the real challenge.
I didn’t know anyone here.
Since arriving in Florence, I had managed to keep to myself. People assumed I was just shy. And yes, that was part of it—but the truth was far more complicated. I was a she–wolf, living among humans who had no idea of the world that pulsed just beneath the surface of their own.
Even among my own kind, I had been rejected, isolated. So forging new bonds? Trusting again? It wasn’t easy.
I bit the inside of my lip, keeping my head down as the sound of shuffling feet, laughter, and excited planning swirled around me. I could already hear groupings forming–names called out, promises made.
The minutes ticked by. The groups solidified. And still, I sat frozen.
The hardest task the professor gave wasn’t the sculpture. It was this.
I was about to give up and do the project alone when I noticed movement from the corner of my eye. Three people walked toward me–two girls and a guy. They weren’t smiling or joking like the others. They looked hesitant, almost unsure, but then the first girl stepped forward.
“Oh, sorry,” she said gently, her voice light but not unkind.
“We don’t mean to distract you,” the guy added, a shy smile tugging at his lips.
I straightened slightly in my chair, surprised anyone had even noticed me. “No, it’s okay,” I said quickly, awkwardly brushing a loose strand of hair behind
my ear.
“I’m Angela,” the girl said, placing a hand on her chest. “And this is Jose, and Katrina.”
“I’m Ellaine,” I replied softly, raising my hand in a small wave. “Nice to meet you.”
Angela smiled brighter. “So… the professor said we have to work in groups.” She looked between her two friends, clearly searching for words. “We were wondering if, you know, you’d want to join us?”
“Me and Angela are decent at sculpting,” Jose added. “Katrina’s great at the details and proportions, but…”
“No one in class paints like you,” Angela finished, offering me a sheepish smile. “We’ve seen your pieces in the workshop. They’re beautiful.”
I blinked, warmth rushing to my cheeks. They noticed me?
“Sure,” I said before doubt could creep in. “I’d love to join you guys.”
“Perfect!” Jose exhaled like he’d been holding his breath.
The four of us huddled around one of the workbenches and pulled out our phones to sync up our schedules. We picked a few consistent hours each
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evening to meet and work. That first day, I didn’t say much, but I listened. And they let me.
Over the next several days, our sculpture began to take shape–and so did something else.
A bond.
Angela was fiery and creative, Katrina soft–spoken and meticulous, Jose funny and always trying to keep the mood light. And me? I painted in silence but felt myself smile more than I had in months.
Our statue, a symbolic piece called The Journey of Light, was coming together beautifully. We worked in layers, with Angela and Jose shaping the base, Katrina refining the finer lines, and me sketching ideas for the final coloration.
By the last weekend, it was almost finished.
On Sunday evening, the three of us—Katrina, Angela, and I–stayed behind to finish the remaining details. Jose had to work, so it was just us in the quiet studio, focused and determined.
We didn’t realize how late it had gotten until Angela checked her phone.
“Guys… it’s 9 PM,” she said, eyes wide.
“Oh crap,” Katrina muttered, brushing clay off her hands.
“We better get going before the campus locks up,” I said, wiping my palms on a rag.
We stored our tools and carefully wheeled our sculpture back into the project room. The hallway lights were dimmed as we stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against our skin.
The streetlights cast long shadows across the cobblestone path leading back to the dorms.
We had barely walked ten steps when it hit me.
A change in the air.
A shift. A pawstep.
I stopped. My heart skipped. Though I hadn’t shifted in months, my senses were still sharper than any human’s. My ears caught a sound the others couldn’t–something too soft for them to notice.
Then-
Help…
A faint voice. A scream.
I stopped walking.
“What is it?” Katrina asked, turning around.
“I–I forgot my phone,” I lied quickly. “You guys go ahead. I’ll catch up.”
“You sure?” Angela frowned. “We can wait.”
“I’m okay! See you tomorrow!” I called over my shoulder and turned back, sprinting into the shadows.
I sprinted across the dark campus, phone in hand, heart pounding. I pulled up Audrey’s contact and dialed.
She answered on the first ring. ‘Yes?‘
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“Something’s wrong.” I whispered. “I heard a scream. It sounded distant but… real. I think rogues might be on campus.”
There was silence for half a second. Then her tone sharpened. ‘Where are you?‘
“I’m heading toward the west wing–near the training halls-”
I stopped dead.
Two rogues.
In the middle of the hall. Shifting erratically between forms, their eyes wild. They were laughing–mocking–as they clawed at the students from the combat class. I recognized one of the students–he’d said hello to me just the other day.
Blood pooled on the floor.
No.
“I see them,” I whispered. “They’re attacking students.”
*Ellaine, don’t engage,‘ Audrey said firmly. ‘I’ve already sent warriors. Just stay hidden.‘
But I couldn’t.
My feet moved before my brain could stop them.
“HEY!” I screamed.
Everything froze. The rogues turned. Their yellow eyes locked on me.
SHIITTTT!!!!!
I turned and ran.
Let them chase me.
The injured students would have time to get away. That was all that mattered.
My breath tore through my lungs as I sprinted through the corridor/weaving between columns and staircases. But they were fast.
Too fast.
CRASH.
“AARRGGHHH!!!”
One of them tackled me from the side, slamming me into the cold marble floor. Pain shot through my ribs, and I cried out.
I struggled, tried to crawl back, but he was over me, grinning, his claws raised.
Shit!
SHITTT!!!!!!
And then-
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- me.
One second, the rogue was grinning above me, claws mid–air–and the next, a massive force collided with his side, sending him flying across the hallway like a ragdoll.
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Chapter 19
The impact cracked against the wall. Stone fractured. Dust flew into the air.
I gasped, my chest burning, and looked up.
There he stood. Alpha Francesto.
Not in his human form–no. This was his Lycan form, towering, muscled, cloaked in moonlight and rage. His silver–gray fur glistened under the hallway lights, his eyes glowing with an ethereal gold that seemed to pierce through flesh and soul.
The hallway trembled beneath his heavy paws. His lips curled into a vicious snarl, sharp fangs gleaming. His breathing was slow, but deep–controlled fury simmering in every movement.
The rogue he had thrown groaned, twitching, struggling to stand. The second rogue–still crouched to my left–hesitated, clearly sizing up the Alpha.
They weren’t stupid. Even they could sense the danger.
But they were desperate.
The second rogue lunged at Francesco, claws aimed straight for his throat.
Francesco sidestepped with inhuman speed, grabbing the rogue mid–leap by the throat. He slammed him down–once, twice–hard enough to leave blood on the marble floor. A sickening crack echoed as the rogue’s shoulder dislocated under the force.
The rogue howled in agony, but Francesco didn’t give him a chance to recover. He dragged him across the floor like a toy, then hurled him into the wall. with bone–breaking power.
I tried to crawl backward, my injured arm useless at my side.
My breath was ragged. My head spun. But I couldn’t look away.
I’d never seen a Lycan fight before. Not like this.
Francesco moved with terrifying grace–each movement a dance of brutality and precision. This wasn’t just battle–it was control, centuries of instinct and rage refined into perfection.
But the first rogue–the one Francesco had knocked away at the beginning–had recovered.
I watched in horror as he rose behind Francesco, silent as a shadow. Blood leaked from his mouth, but his eyes were focused. Cunning. Determined.
No.
He’s going to-
“Francesco!” I screamed, but my voice broke. Too weak. Too late.
The rogue was already lunging, his claws stretched wide to sink into the Alpha’s unguarded back.
No!
Panic surged through me.
I didn’t think. I just moved.
Using every ounce of strength I had, I forced my body forward. My legs were heavy, like moving through wet concrete. My lungs screamed. My injured arm dragged behind me.
But I reached him.
I threw myself at the rogue’s side, slamming into him with the full force of my body.
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He stumbled. Lost balance.
But not before he turned. Not before he sank his teeth deep into my upper arm.
Pain exploded.
“AAARRGGHHHHHHH!!!” A hot, white scream tore through me.
I collapsed onto the floor as blood gushed down my arm, staining the marble tiles beneath me. The rogue growled triumphantly, but only for a second.
Then Francesco turned.
What followed wasn’t a fight.
It was a massacre.
A roar ripped from Francesco’s throat–so loud it shook the windows in their frames. His claws gleamed as he lunged at the rogue who had bitten me, eyes blazing with fury.
The rogue turned to run.
He didn’t make it two steps.
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Francesco slammed into him, jaws sinking into the rogue’s spine. I heard the bones crack, the scream that never finished. With a violent twist, Francesco tore him apart, throwing chunks of bloodied flesh across the hallway.
The rogue’s body dropped in a lifeless heap, unmoving.
But Francesco wasn’t done.
He turned to the first rogue–the one who had been crawling away, dragging his dislocated arm.
Francesco was a blur again.
He pinned the rogue beneath his massive paws and drove his claws straight through his chest. The rogue convulsed, coughed blood, then fell still.
It was over.
The only sound in the hallway was my ragged breathing, and Francesco’s labored, furious panting.
A second later, I heard the thunder of boots and paws–warriors flooding into the corridor in their human and wolves form, eyes wide at the carnage
before them.
“Alpha!”
They skidded to a stop.
But Francesco didn’t respond. He was already beside me.
He shifted in front of my eyes–his form collapsing back into that of a man.
Kneeling next to me, he pressed his hands to the gash on my arm, trying to stop the bleeding.
“Ellaine,” he whispered, his voice hoarse, breaking. “Stay with me.”
His hands were trembling. His eyes flickered back and forth across my face, panic behind that usually cold, composed expression.
“Hey…” I tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace. “You… showed up.”
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“You shouldn’t have fight them alone,” he whispered, anger and fear blending in his voice.
“I didn’t want them to hurt… the others…”
“You almost died!!!” His voice cracked. He gritted his teeth, hands soaked in my blood.
“Ellaine,” he said again. Urgent. Desperate. “Stay with me.”
His voice wrapped around me like a tether to the world.
And then-
Darkness.
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A blur of silver–gray exploded from the shadows behind
