Chapter 9: His Mate

“We will know when it is ours. The heartbeat, the fragrance, the soul. We will recognize our other half.”

That’s what Salva told me when I asked her about their kind—and the mysterious concept of mates. Her voice carried an uncharacteristic softness as she explained it, like she was sharing a fragile truth she didn’t often speak aloud.

But then her tone shifted, tinged with something heavier.

“Not everyone has one, Cassandra. Some never meet them. Others lose them... like Vander.”

Her words lingered, haunting me as I wandered the dimly lit hallway. After the festival and that little incident I tried delving in to the mysteries within mistletoe. I started my own investigation about werewolves, vampires and all other nonsensical fictions that could possibly relate to everything's going on here.

The echoes of laughter and conversations from nearby classrooms felt distant, like I was moving through a dream.

I didn’t know what to make of it. How could something as abstract as a bond so deep, so unshakable, exist? And why did the thought of Vander losing his mate—of *Agatha*—make my chest tighten in ways I couldn’t understand?

“Hi,” a voice interrupted, breaking through the fog in my mind.

Startled, I turned to see a young man walking beside me. He smiled, warm and disarming, his presence pulling me back to reality.

“Err, hi again?” he said, his tone a mix of nerves and hope.

I blinked, struggling to recall if I’d seen him before. “Hi.”

“You probably don’t remember me. I’m Paul, from your biology class. I’ve been meaning to say hi since you got here.”

“Oh, right. Nice to meet you,” I replied, though my thoughts were still far away, circling Salva’s cryptic words.

Paul hesitated, studying me with a slight frown. “You okay? You seem... distracted.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, forcing a polite smile to smooth over my distracted tone.

“Wow,” he muttered, leaning closer with an almost childlike fascination. His finger brushed my cheek lightly, catching me off guard. “You’ve got a cute dimple.”

Before I could process the comment—or the flush rising to my cheeks—a strong arm wrapped around mine and yanked me back.

My pulse spiked, my heart hammering in alarm. “Van?”

It was him. His expression was dark, his jaw clenched tightly as he pulled me down the hallway without a word.

“What the hell?” I protested, struggling against his grip, but it was like fighting steel.

He didn’t stop until we were hidden in the shadows behind the computer room. My back hit the cold wall, and before I could recover, he was towering over me, his stormy gray eyes flickering with an eerie yellow-green hue.

“Van, calm down!” I pleaded, alarmed by the intensity in his gaze.

He was breathing hard, each inhale sharp and controlled as though he was holding something dangerous at bay. His presence was overwhelming, and yet…

“And you think this is funny?” he growled, his voice low and laced with anger.

I blinked at him, startled by the accusation. “What are you even talking about?”

His eyes narrowed, his glare both infuriating and absurd. And despite the tension crackling between us, I couldn’t help it—a small, involuntary smile tugged at my lips.

“You look funny,” I said, biting back a laugh.

His scowl deepened. “You’re unbelievable.”

Ignoring the bite in his tone, I reached out instinctively, my hand pressing against his chest. His heartbeat was rapid, like a drum pounding too fast for its rhythm. “Breathe,” I said softly. “Calm down.”

To my surprise, it worked. His breathing slowed, his shoulders relaxing slightly. But then he did something I didn’t expect—he leaned his head against my shoulder, his warmth seeping into me, grounding him in a way that made my own heartbeat stutter.

“How could you do that?” he whispered, his voice raw.

“Do what? Why are you even mad?”

He pulled back abruptly, his expression hardening. “Are you stupid, or just reckless?”

“What are you talking about?” I snapped, frustration flaring.

“That guy. Paul.” He spat the name like it was venom. “Were you flirting with him? And what about the forest during the festival? Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? What if Salva—or worse, the pack—had attacked you?”

I stared at him, stunned by the tirade. “What’s your problem, Van? You’re acting like a lunatic!”

“You don’t get it, do you?” His voice dropped lower, the sharp edge replaced by something raw and unspoken.

“Don’t come near us again,” he said finally, his tone quiet but cutting. “You’re just human, Cassandra.”

The words hit harder than they should have.

“Are you and Laura together?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

His expression froze, and for a moment, I thought I saw a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes. “That’s none of your business,” he muttered, stepping back.

The hollow ache in my chest deepened as I watched him walk away.

“You like him.”

I jumped at the voice and turned to find Salva leaning casually against the wall. Her dark eyes were calm, but there was an unmistakable knowing in her gaze.

“I do,” I admitted softly, the weight of the truth settling over me.

“Too bad,” she said with a sigh. “He only has one mate. It’s not Laura. Not you. It was Agatha. She died… because of those bloodsuckers.”

The name *Agatha* stirred something in my memory, like a faint echo I couldn’t quite grasp.

“But there’s something strange,” Salva continued, her voice dropping. “Van’s been... different. He’s resisting something, and it’s tearing him apart. We’re afraid he’ll lose control completely.”

“Resisting what?” I pressed, my pulse quickening.

Salva hesitated, then looked me in the eye. “Something connected to you, Cassandra. A bond. Faint, but strong. Like the one he had with Agatha.”

I stared at her, my mind reeling. “What are you saying?”

Without a word, she reached into her pocket and placed something in my hand—a necklace with a heart-shaped pendant. Inside was a tiny photo of a young woman smiling brightly.

“That’s Agatha,” Salva said quietly.

My breath caught as I stared at the photo. My blood turned cold.

The woman in the picture had my face.