Chapter 2- The Hunting Nightmares
Erica’s POV
I honestly don’t even remember how I got out of that mansion. One second I was standing there like a complete idiot, choking on humiliation while Elijah Donovan basically ripped my chest open in front of everyone. The next I was shoving through the crowd, not even caring who I bumped, ignoring the whispers that stuck to me like glue.
Pathetic.
Unworthy.
Human.
They didn’t even have to say it out loud. I could hear it in their eyes, if that makes sense.
I kept walking until the night air slapped me in the face. I gulped it down like maybe it could fix me, cool the burn inside my ribs. Spoiler: it didn’t. Nothing helped.
The worst part? It wasn’t just in my head. The pain was real. Physical. Like somebody had stitched me to him and then he just ripped it apart without blinking. My lungs hurt. My heart wouldn’t calm down, beating so hard it felt like it wanted out of my body. By the time I made it back to my dorm, I was shaking so bad I dropped my heels right there by the door and just collapsed on my bed. Didn’t even bother to change.
I wanted to cry. Or scream. Or throw something across the room until it shattered. But instead, I just lay there, staring at the ceiling like a corpse that hadn’t realized it was dead yet.
And then the dreams hit me.
Scratch that, nightmares.
I was running through the woods. Branches slashing at my face, lungs burning. And I knew, I knew someone was behind me. Hunting me. I couldn’t see him but I could feel it, like his shadow was glued to my spine. Then I tripped. Fell. And right before I hit the ground, arms caught me. Strong, warm, terrifying.
A voice whispered my name, rough and broken, and then, fangs. Sharp. Digging into my neck. The pain lit me up like fire but twisted into something worse, something sinful, like my body couldn’t tell if it wanted to scream or… God.
When I woke up I was drenched in sweat, sheets tangled around me, pulse going insane. My hand flew to my neck, expecting blood, holes, something. But nothing. Just skin.
Still, I could feel it. The ache. The phantom bite like it had really happened.
Maybe Elijah wasn’t the only crazy one. Maybe I was losing my damn mind too.
By morning, I’d had it. Enough confusion, enough whispers in my head. I needed answers.
The bus ride home was brutal. Quiet, too quiet. The kind of silence that makes every thought sound like it’s screaming. Freak. Reject. Cursed. Over and over until I almost got off two stops early just to run the rest of the way.
Grandma’s little house smelled like herbs and tea the second I walked in. For a moment, it felt safe. Familiar. But then she looked up from the kitchen table with those sharp eyes of hers and said, “You look like you’ve been dragged through the woods backward.”
“Close enough,” I muttered, dropping into the chair across from her. My throat burned, but I forced the words out. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Her eyebrow twitched. “Tell you what?”
“That I’m cursed. Or marked. Or hell, I don’t know!” My voice cracked and I slammed my hands on the table so hard the cups rattled. “That even as a human I’d get mated to an Alpha and predictably get rejected in front of every wolf in the damn room by the one I was apparently supposed to belong to!”
Once I started, I couldn’t stop. The words just spilled out like I’d been holding them in too long. “Do you know what it feels like to have your soul ripped in half while everyone watches? Do you know what it’s like to be nothing?”
The silence after that was heavy. Crushing. She just stared at me, face barely changing. Except for her eyes, there was something there. A flicker. Like she did know something.
And then all she said was: “Some truths kill faster than lies, Erica.”
I just stared at her. That was it? That was all I got?
“You’re kidding me,” I said, my voice breaking. “That’s your big answer? Some creepy little riddle?”
She reached for my hand but I yanked it back. And for the first time in my life, her touch didn’t feel like comfort. It felt like betrayal.
If she knew something, and God, I was starting to think she did, she wasn’t telling me. And somehow, that cut even deeper than Elijah’s rejection.
By Monday, I had a brand new name.
The Rejected Mate.
It spread across campus like wildfire. Whispers followed me through the halls. Eyes tracked me in the cafeteria. Shoulders shoved me in passing like I was in the way.
“Poor human.”
“She actually thought she was good enough?”
“Alpha Donovan’s bond went defective.”
I kept my head down, chewing on my humiliation like stale bread. Pretending it didn’t bother me. But it did. God, it burned.
And then there was Elijah.
I’d prayed he’d just ignore me. Pretend I didn’t exist. But of course not. No, he made it worse. He’d drop into the desk next to me in pack history class like it was his throne, smirking every time the old frail professor said “mate” like it was some private joke between us.
One morning, he leaned in so close his breath brushed my ear. “Still hurting, little human?”
My pen snapped in half in my hand. Ink bled everywhere, my fingers stained black.
“Go to hell,” I spat.
He laughed. Actually laughed. That low, smug sound that made heat curl in my stomach I did not want there. My body was betraying me. My heart was betraying me.
Because no matter how much I hated him, no matter how sharp his words were, my skin still buzzed when his eyes locked on mine. And the worst part? Some disgusting, traitorous part of me wanted to lean in closer instead of shoving him away.
The bond was supposed to be broken. Rejected and done. So why the hell did it feel like I was still chained to him?
Later that night, the dreams came back.
Sharper this time. Clearer. Like reruns of a show I’d seen a hundred times.
I was lying in someone’s arms, no, in his lap. His face was blurred, shadowed, but his voice was there. Low, desperate, whispering my name.
And then the fangs again. Always the fangs. Piercing me. Pain exploding, but it twisted into something dark and addictive until I didn’t know if I was moaning or crying. Blood spilling, his mouth on me, his arms holding me so tight it almost felt like safety.
And then, nothing. Cold. Black. Death.
I woke up gasping, my body trembling, sheets sticking to me. My heart wouldn’t slow down, my throat ached like I’d really been bitten, and my skin still buzzed like invisible hands had been all over me.
“What the hell is wrong with me?” I whispered into the dark.
The mirror on my wall caught my eye. Pale skin. Wild red hair. Dark circles under my eyes. I barely recognized myself.
But the words tumbled out anyway, quiet and shaky.
“Why do I feel like I’ve died this way before?”
