The gray light of dawn crept into Hope's room, pale streaks cutting through the shadows on the wooden walls of the Salvatore School. She woke with her heart pounding, her chest heavy as if it still carried Ethan's weight against her. Her eyes traced the ceiling, but all she could see was the door—the door where he'd trapped her the night before, the heat of his hands burning through the thin fabric, the low growl that had vibrated in his chest and echoed down to her bones. She sat up slowly, the comforter slipping down her legs, and brushed her fingers over her lips, a shiver racing down her spine. What was happening to her? It was too fast, too strong—a current pulling her toward a place she wasn't sure she was ready to go.
Out in the yard, Ethan turned the wrench harder than he needed to, the metal grinding against the bolt until it gave with a snap. "Damn," he muttered, rubbing his grease-stained hand on his jeans. The morning was cool, dew still glistening on the ground, but he barely noticed—his mind was stuck on the night before, on the way Hope had pushed him away, on her shaky voice telling him to leave. What had he done wrong? The wolf inside him clawed restlessly, wanting to run back to her, to demand answers, but he just kicked the bike's tire, the muffled sound lost in the humid air. He didn't understand—the fire between them had been there, hot and alive, but something had snuffed it out like a candle in the wind.
Hope stood, her bare feet cold against the floor as she walked to the small mirror on the dresser. Her reflection stared back at her—messy hair falling over her shoulders, cheeks still slightly flushed, blue eyes filled with confusion. She'd almost given herself to Ethan there, against that door, giving in to the desire he'd ignited like a wildfire. She'd felt arousal before—sneaky moments, thoughts that passed like clouds—but never like this. This was a storm, a heat that swallowed her whole, and she didn't know how to navigate it. She needed someone to talk to, someone who could help her untangle this mess. Alaric was away dealing with the dryad, and she couldn't take this out on Lizzie or Josie. There was only one person at school who might understand—Emma Tig.
She pulled on jeans and a gray sweatshirt, tying her hair into a loose ponytail as she walked down the stairs to her dorm. The hallway was quiet, the other students still asleep or shuffling off to breakfast. Emma's office was on the ground floor, a plain door with a wooden sign that read "Advisor." Hope paused there, her fist hovering in the air for a second before she knocked—two soft knocks that echoed louder than she expected. "Come in," came Emma's calm voice, and Hope almost turned away, but she took a deep breath and opened the door.
Emma sat behind a small desk, a steaming cup of tea in her hands, her kind eyes rising from a book. "Hope," she said, surprised but with a warm smile. "Good to see you so early. Something wrong?" She gestured to the chair opposite, and Hope sat down, her fingers fidgeting nervously with the fabric of her sweatshirt.
"I… I don't know where to start," Hope murmured, her face heating as she looked away from him toward the window. "There's this thing—this boy, Ethan—and last night, I…" She stopped, swallowing hard, the words catching in her throat. "It was too intense. I almost lost control, and it's all happening so fast. I don't know what to do."
Emma tilted her head, her eyes sharp but nonjudgmental. She set her cup down on the table, folding her hands as she listened. "Intense how?" she asked, her voice soft but firm, inviting Hope to continue. "What's going on between you two?"
Hope bit her lip, a blush creeping up her neck. "He kissed me—more than that, actually—and I wanted him in a way I'd never wanted anyone. My body…" She stopped again, her eyes falling to her hands. "It was like I didn't recognize myself. And then I got scared, and I told him to leave. But I can't stop thinking about it—about him. It's because of the Imprint, I think."
Emma frowned, a subtle crease appearing between her eyebrows. "Imprint?" she repeated, her tone thick with curiosity. "I'm not familiar with that term. What do you mean by it?"
Hope blinked, surprised that Emma didn't know, but took a deep breath and explained. "It's a werewolf thing. Ethan says it's like… a bond. A connection that happens when a wolf finds someone who's, like, meant for them. I can't really explain it, but ever since he first saw me, we've been… connected. Everything I feel for him is stronger, deeper—the desire, the fear, everything. And last night, it was like I could lose myself in it."
Emma leaned back in her chair, her eyes wide for a moment as she processed. "A supernatural bond between a werewolf and another person," she muttered, almost to herself. "I've never heard of that before. I mean, I know werewolves have strong instincts, but an Imprint… that's new to me." She paused, her gaze returning to Hope with a mixture of surprise and interest. "And you're feeling it pulling at you, even though you're a trihybrid?"
"Yes," Hope whispered, her shoulders slumping. "It's like he's ignited something in me that I didn't know existed. And I don't know if I'm ready to feel this much, this quickly."
Emma nodded slowly, regaining her composure as she drummed her fingers on the table. "That explains the intensity. A bond like that can amplify emotions—desire, fear, connection—beyond what you're used to. It's not wrong to feel that way, Hope, nor is it strange. But it seems like you're scared of the pace, of how much it affects you."
"Yeah," Hope admitted, her voice low. "I don't know how to control it."
Emma leaned forward, her voice calm but firm. "Then you need to decide what you want. Not what this Imprint wants, not what Ethan wants—it's what you want. And when you know, tell him. He won't know what you're feeling—or how to adjust the pace—if you don't tell him." She paused, her eyes softening. "You've been through a lot. Trust yourself to navigate this, too."
Hope was silent for a moment, Emma's words swirling in her mind. It wasn't a magic solution, but it was a start—a reminder that she still had power over what she felt, even with the Imprint pulling her strings. "Thank you," she said finally, standing with a curt nod. "I… I'll think about it."
The cafeteria was noisy, the sound of clattering trays and voices mixing with the smell of weak coffee and scrambled eggs. Hope walked in slowly, the conversation with Emma still echoing in her head, and picked up a tray out of habit more than hunger. He sat at a table near the window, picking at a piece of toast without actually eating it, his eyes lost in the fogged glass. But then she felt it—a weight in the air, a tingling in the back of her neck that could only be him.
Ethan was across the room, leaning against the wall with a cup of coffee in his hand, the hood of his black jacket thrown back. His eyes—one sharp green, the other icy blue—met hers almost by accident, and the air between them grew thick with a strangeness. It wasn't anger, or raw desire like the night before—it was something caught in the middle, a mix of confusion and longing and unspoken silence. Hope looked away first, her heart racing as she picked at her food, but she could feel him still watching, the weight of his gaze like an invisible chain.
Ethan's grip on the cup tightened, the plastic giving slightly beneath his fingers. He didn't know what to think—the way she was avoiding him now, her blue eyes darting away from his, it was as if a wall had gone up between them since yesterday. The wolf inside him growled low, wanting to reach across the room and wring an answer from her, but he stayed where he was, shoulders tense, chest tight. Whatever had happened last night was still there, looming between them like a shadow.
Lizzie Saltzman dropped her tray on Hope's table with a dramatic thud, snapping her out of her thoughts. "Okay, what's going on with you and the big bad wolf over there?" she said, her voice loud enough to make Hope choke on her juice. "He's staring at you like you're dinner." Hope coughed, her face flushed, as Ethan, across the cafeteria, looked down at the floor, his fists clenched at his sides.
"Nothing's going on," Hope muttered, wiping her mouth with her napkin, but her tone didn't convince even herself. Lizzie raised an eyebrow, but before she could insist, Hope pushed the tray away. "I have to go. Tryouts with Landon." She stood up quickly, leaving the cafeteria without looking back, but the heat of Ethan's gaze followed her to the door.
The school's makeshift lab smelled of dried herbs and sterilized metal, a mixture that made Hope wrinkle her nose as she put the equipment away on the bench. Landon sat on a stool, fidgeting with his feet, his curly hair falling over his sweaty forehead. "So, what is it today?" he asked, trying to sound casual, but there was a tension in his voice. "More logs to lift?"
"No," Hope said, keeping her tone neutral as she lit a candle with a snap of her fingers. The flame danced, casting shadows on the wall. "Try to blow it out without blowing it out." She picked up a magic needle—a simple device Alaric used to detect supernatural signs—and ran it over his arm, watching the glow pulse in a strange pattern. It wasn't vampire, or wolf, or warlock—but it wasn't human, either. Her stomach churned, and she tucked the result into the drawer with shaking hands. "That's enough for today," she said, avoiding his eyes.
Landon frowned, leaning forward. "Are you okay? You feel like you're in another world."
"I'm fine," she said, more sharply than she'd intended, and turned to put the bottles back on the shelf. But she wasn't—the encounter with Emma, the awkwardness with Ethan in the cafeteria, and now this with Landon. It was all piling up, and she needed air.
Out in the courtyard, Ethan slung his jacket over his shoulder, huffing as Rafael smacked his arm. "You're in, man," Rafael said, a smug grin on his face. "The wolves want you on the honor council." Ethan rolled his eyes, the wrench falling to the ground with a clatter. "I didn't ask for that damn advice." But as the other wolves approached—talking about training, territory, bonding—he found himself answering, his voice steady despite the weight in his chest. "If we're going to do this, we've got to do it the right way," he said, his eyes glowing green for a second before returning to normal. Maybe leading wasn't so bad, but he wasn't about to admit that out loud.
Night fell over the campus, a heavy silence enveloping the halls of the Salvatore School. Ethan climbed the stairs to his room, his boots echoing on the hardwood floor, his mind whirring with the day he wanted to forget—Hope's gaze in the cafeteria, the meeting with the wolves, the constant hum of the wolf inside him. He turned a corner too quickly, lost in his own thoughts, and collided head-on with someone. A dull thud echoed, followed by a muffled scream as Hope fell to the floor, the books she was carrying scattering around her.
"Shit," Ethan swore, instincts kicking in as he ducked down immediately. "Hope, are you okay?" He reached out, grabbing her arms to help her up, his eyes scanning her quickly to check for injuries. His heart raced, the warmth of her skin beneath his fingers bringing back the night before in a flash.
Hope blinked, stunned for a second, before what had happened registered. "I'm fine," she said, her voice steady but a little shaky as she steadied herself with his help. She rubbed her elbow, which had hit the ground, but waved a hand reassuringly. "It was just a fall, Ethan. Relax."
He hesitated, his hands still hovering near hers, his eyes fixed on hers with an intensity that made the air between them grow thick again. "Are you sure?" he asked, his voice husky, thick with worry and something else—an unspoken question about everything that hung between them.
"Yes," she answered, but she didn't back away, her books forgotten on the floor as she stared at him. The hallway felt smaller, the space between them shrinking as the silence stretched. Finally, she took a deep breath, her eyes falling to the floor before rising again. "I… about yesterday. It wasn't you. I almost lost control, wanting you in a way that scared me. It's all happening so fast, and I don't know how to deal with it."
Ethan frowned, his chest rising and falling as he processed her words. "You think I don't feel the same way?" he said, his voice low, almost a growl, as he took a step closer. "You drive me crazy, Hope. But if it's too fast for you, just tell me. I'll stop."
She shook her head, a half smile emerging despite the lump in her throat. "It's not stopping. It's… understanding." She reached out, her fingers brushing his, and the touch was like a spark—light, but enough to remind them both of what drew them to each other. "I just need time."
He held her hand, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her palm. "Then we'll take our time," he murmured, his eyes locked on hers.
~~~~
A week passed in the blink of an eye, the days blending into a blur of routine at the Salvatore School. Seven days since Hope called a time out, seven days since Ethan held her hand in the hallway, promising to go at her pace. But what was supposed to be a breath of fresh air turned into a void that neither of them knew how to fill.
Ethan was going crazy. He saw her almost every day—walking through the cafeteria with a tray in her hand, crossing the quad with her books clutched to her chest, laughing with Josie by the lake. Every glimpse of her was like a knife in his chest, the wolf inside him howling to run to her, to hold her, to kiss her until the world disappeared. But he couldn't—she'd asked for time, and he'd promised to respect it. So he swallowed his desire, his fists clenched at his sides, his green and blue eyes averted from hers as if looking at her for too long would burn him alive. Not being able to touch her, not being able to feel her heat against him, was tearing him apart.
To distract himself, Ethan threw himself into practice. Every morning, before the sun rose, he was on the field behind the school, punching sandbags until his knuckles bled, running laps around the perimeter until his lungs burned, lifting logs as if he could crush thoughts of Hope with sheer force. Hours and hours, sweat pouring down his face, muscles screaming, trying to forget the way she smelled, the sound of her laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she looked at him. But it didn't work—she was in every corner of his mind, a shadow he couldn't shake. "She asked for it," he muttered to himself between punches, the bag shaking with the impact. "I can't do anything about it."
Meanwhile, Hope didn't know what to do with herself. The "time" she'd asked for felt like a mistake now, a space she didn't know how to fill. Ethan hadn't come to talk to her—not a "hi" in the hallway, not a scribbled message, nothing. When their paths crossed, he'd look away, his shoulders stiff, as if she were a stranger. In the cafeteria, he'd sit across the room from her, his head bowed over his plate. In the courtyard, he'd walk right past her, his eyes fixed on the ground. Did he not like her anymore? What had happened? Doubt began to gnaw at her stomach, an uneasiness she couldn't ignore. She'd seen him training once, from the top of her dorm window—his body moving with fierce intensity, muscles flexing beneath his sweaty T-shirt—and felt a tightness in her chest that she couldn't explain.
After days of spinning in circles inside her head, Hope decided she needed help. She found Josie in the main hall, sitting on one of the old couches with a spell book in her lap, the light from the fireplace dancing in her brown hair. Hope hesitated in the doorway, biting her lip, before crossing the room and plopping down beside her with a heavy sigh.
Josie looked up in surprise, slowly closing the book. "Hope? Are you okay? You look like you lost a fight with a troll."
Hope gave a half smile, but it didn't reach her eyes. "I… I need some advice. It's about Ethan." She fumbled with her hands, her heart racing as she tried to find the words. "I asked him for some time last week. I told him everything was moving too fast, that I needed to figure out how I felt. But now… he won't talk to me. He looks away when he sees me, like I don't exist. Does he not like me anymore? What do I do?"
Josie tilted her head, her eyes softening with understanding, but there was something else there—a strange pang in her chest that she hadn't expected. "Okay, first, breathe," she said, placing a hand on Hope's shoulder. "You're freaking out inside, I can tell. Let's take it one step at a time. Is he really avoiding you, or is he just giving you the space you asked for?"
Hope frowned, thinking back to the last few times she'd seen him. "He… I don't know. He doesn't come up to me, but he doesn't seem angry either. Just… distant. Like he's switched off something."
Josie nodded, but as she listened to Hope talk about Ethan—her tone thick with concern, her eyes shining with a mix of confusion and longing—she felt something tug at her insides. Was it jealousy? She blinked, surprised at herself. She'd always liked Hope as a friend, but now, imagining her with Ethan, so attached to him, made her stomach churn in a way that didn't make sense. Was she starting to like Hope? The idea caught her off guard, and she swallowed hard, trying to stay focused. "Wait a minute," she said, frowning, her tone turning serious. "What happened that made you ask for a break from Ethan? Did he cheat on you? Because if that's the case, I'm going to kill Ethan myself."
Hope shook her head quickly, her eyes wide. "No, it wasn't that! Nothing like that. It was… me. Everything's been moving so fast between us, and I almost lost control with him. I wanted him in a way that scared me, and I didn't know how to deal with it."
Josie relaxed a little, letting out a sigh of relief, but jealousy still rumbled low in her chest. "Okay, so it wasn't him. Good thing I wasn't kidding about Ethan." She gave him a crooked smile, trying to soften it, before continuing. "But if it's bothering you so much that he's pulling away, why don't you go talk to him? You asked for time, Hope. He might think anything he does will pressure you. Or maybe he's just confused too—you two were tight before this, right?"
"Yeah," Hope muttered, her eyes falling to the floor. "But I didn't think it would be like this. I thought we would… I don't know, talk eventually. Not that he would treat me like a ghost."
Josie smiled gently, squeezing her shoulder, but the touch lingered a little longer than usual, and she felt the warmth of Hope's skin beneath her fingers. "Look, I don't know Ethan that well," she said, forcing her voice to stay steady, "but he's a werewolf, right? They feel everything more strongly—anger, loyalty, love. If he's pulling away, it could be to protect himself, or to protect you. But if it's bothering you that much, why don't you go talk to him? You asked for time, but you could also end it."
Hope blinked, Josie's words hitting her like a bolt of lightning. "I… I don't know if I'm ready," she admitted, her voice low. "What if I screw this up again? What if he really doesn't want anything to do with me anymore?"
Josie tilted her head, her eyes narrowed with a mixture of disbelief and affection. "Are you crazy, Hope? How could Ethan not like you more? Look at you—who would be crazy enough to leave you behind?" She chuckled lightly, trying to lighten the mood, but there was a raw truth to her words, a warmth she herself hadn't expected to feel.
Hope was silent for a moment, the weight of Josie's words settling over her, a faint blush rising to her cheeks. Josie was silent too, her heart beating a little faster as she tried to sort out what she was feeling. Jealous of Ethan? Or something more for Hope? She shook her head internally—this wasn't the time for that, not now. Hope needed her as a friend, not as… whatever.
"Okay," Hope said finally, standing with a curt nod. "I'll think about it. Thanks, Josie."
Josie smiled, opening the book again, but her eyes followed Hope for a second longer. "Anything, call me. And, Hope? Don't let this swallow you up."
As Hope walked out of the hall, the sky outside was darkening, heavy clouds rolling over the campus. On the practice field, Ethan threw another punch at the sandbag, the impact echoing in the humid air. Sweat was pouring down his face, his messy hair sticking to his forehead, but he didn't stop—each blow an attempt to erase the void Hope had left behind. He'd seen her earlier, walking down the hall with Josie, the urge inside him nearly overpowering him with the need to go to her. But he'd held back, as he had for the past week, because she'd called a timeout. But time was running out on him.
Across campus, Hope stood at the dorm window, her eyes fixed on Ethan's silhouette in the distance, the movement of his fists cutting through the twilight. She pressed her hands against the sill, her heart clenching. Something had to change—but would she be the one to make the first move?