April
I try to do anything except think about Nikolai Gray for the next two days. It is, apparently, an impossible task. He invades my every waking thought.
At night, I dream what I have always dreamt, for as long as I can remember: shadows and forests and mountains and the wolf. My wolf. A figment of my imagination, a comfort to a small girl that has somehow managed to stick to adulthood. In my dreams, my wolf is my protector, my silent companion. Always there, with a thick, black coat and blazing, amber eyes.
I dream of spindly trees that whistle in the wind, the forest only lit from a sliver of moonlight. My feet are sore from running, though I don't know where I came from. I am panting and exhausted and all I know is that I cannot stop, no matter what. Because something dangerous is stalking me, hunting me. I feel it like a second shadow, feel breath against my neck, but every time I look over my shoulder only the trees greet me.
"Help!" I shout and the word echoes back to me. Whatever is chasing me looms closer. Though I can't see it, I can sense it. The terror grows as I race over grass, trip through roots and leap over fallen branches.
A cold hand latches onto my arm and yanks me backwards with startling force. I am dragged along the forest floor, kicking and screaming, though I still can't see my attacker.
Then, from within the forest, a deep growl. The glow of amber eyes.
My assailant is tackled away from me. I hear the gnashing of teeth and the swipe of sharp claws. I scramble backwards, watching as my wolf fights with the dark figure that attacked me.
I blink and the figure is suddenly gone. Only my wolf remains, blood dripping from its jaws. It steps closer to me slowly and I should be afraid, but I'm not. I reach for my wolf with open hands as it pads toward me and–
I jerk awake.
In my bed, the sun is just rising over the horizon. My hands cover my eyes, trying to rub away the remnants of my nightmare.
Although my wolf continues to haunt my dreams, from the moment I wake to the moment I close my eyes at night, I am plagued by thoughts of Nik.
On the third day, just as I'm beginning to think I might need a therapy session to get over this infatuation, I come back to my dorm to find an envelope has been slipped beneath my door.
My name is written in neat, cursive handwriting on the front. I carefully tear it open and slide out a thick card invitation, embossed with black writing.
You are cordially invited to Nikolai Goncharov's annual charity benefit, raising funds for a variety of humanitarian causes. Auction items will include an original Bianto painting, the Heart of Diamonds and more.
Friday, 6:30pm. Formal attire. 3 Pinevale Drive.
The paper of the envelope is crushed beneath my tight grip. Goncharov? That's new. Maybe he isn't American and Gray is just the surname he's taken on in its stead. I didn't detect even the faintest hint of an accent from him, but Goncharov is clearly Eastern European, probably Russian.
My parents have dragged me along to enough charity balls for me to know that I hate them with a passion. It is performative, a place for wealthy people to flaunt their money whilst pretending to care about those with nothing. When I left home for college, I swore that I would never attend one again. But the thought of seeing Nik draws me in like a moth to a dangerous flame...
There is something about him that makes me think it would be wise to stay away. And yet, all I crave is to be near him again.
Undecided, I am glad when Harper throws open the door to my dorm room with all the finesse of a tornado. She rushes in, flops facedown onto my bed and screams into my pillow.
"What happened this time?" I chuckle, kicking the door closed and leaning back against the wall to study her.
She says something into the pillow that I can't understand, her voice too muffled.
"What? I have no idea what you just said."
She rolls over and tilts her head up to look at me. "He's not ready for a relationship. He's not ready for 'that kind of commitment'. As though he's not a whole-ass twenty-three year old man. Acting like he's fucking seventeen."
I wince. "I'm sorry, Harp."
"You know what? I'm not. Fuck him. He was a man-child anyway; he didn't even know how to do his own washing."
"You dodged a bullet."
She sits up in a huff of short, blonde hair that is mussed around her shoulders. I didn't grow up with siblings, but I found a sister in Harper. She is chaotic and adventurous and sometimes melodramatic. But I love her in a way I haven't loved someone before; completely and without reserve.
"How'd your exam go?" She asks as I sit down at my desk chair.
"Fine, I think. I just hope I pass."
She rolls her eyes. "Oh yeah, you're in real danger of failing, Miss perfect-GPA."
My face contorts with concern. "What about you? Don't you have an exam next week? Are you following the study planner that I made for you?"
"The one where I'm supposed to study for like four hours a day? Come on, that's a joke," Harper laughs. I pinch the bridge of my nose, feeling a stress headache incoming,
"Harper, you should absolutely be studying for at least four hours a day. It's actually insane that you're not."
"Boring," she sing-songs. She is studying History, which she does somewhat enjoy, but Harper was just not made for academia. I think she has a terrible case of undiagnosed ADHD and she can't focus on things for long enough to really make any meaningful progress. The only reason she was accepted into and hasn't been kicked out of Yale is because her father is a Democratic Senator who wields a great deal of power in Connecticut.
"You stress me out." I tip my head back, watching the fan circle the ceiling again and again.
"Something's up with you." It's like she has a nose for it, like she can sniff out my worries. "What's wrong?"
I debate it for a moment...how much do I tell her? "There might be a guy."
"Oh my God. Oh my God, alert the news stations. Call a press conference. Does April Hill actually have a crush?"
"Alright, cut the theatrics," I smile. "He's...strange. The whole situation is a little strange."
"Who is it? Is it someone I know?"
I swallow thickly. "Nik Gray."
Silence. I lift my head enough to look at her. She is staring at me with owl-like eyes.
"...Nik Gray?"
"Yeah."
"What. The. Fuck?" She springs to her feet. "Start at the beginning!"
"There's not much to tell..." I explain the limited interactions I've had with him and then show her the invite.
"You have to go! Let's figure out what you're going to wear." She springs up and bounds toward my closet, flinging it open and rifling through plain tops and unflattering dresses.
"Hold on, I haven't decided yet. You know I hate stuff like this."
"What's there to decide? A hot, older guy has asked you to come to his mansion for a ball. You're going."
Excitement sparks in my stomach and, try as I might, I can't tamp it down.
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I come to something of a conclusion: if I am going to be bold enough to attend Nik's ball, then I am going to be unreservedly myself. At the bottom of my trunk of clothes, folded carefully, is an unfinished dress that I gave up on a long time ago. But now, with renewed motivation, I set about finishing it.
Between classes and study, I sew and cut and carefully stitch on jewels.
Finally, on Friday night, I feel overwhelmed with nerves. My hands shake as I tighten the corset strings of my dress at the base of my back. It is not structured enough to be uncomfortable, but the corset design allows me to feel secure in the dress, even without a bra.
It's twenty minutes in a taxi to Nik's house. However, as we approach the end of the cul de sac, it becomes very apparent that this is not simply a house. It is more like a castle.
Wrought iron gates automatically start to open for the taxi and then we are making the ascent up a long driveway, to a waterfall roundabout. The castle-like mansion is made of dark stone, with tall towers bookmarking either end. An impossibly imposing structure, the car stops in its shadow and, after paying, I reluctantly exit my safe haven.
Why does this feel like walking into the jaws of some unknowable beast?
The tall wooden front doors are open and a security guard stands at the entrance. As soon as he sees me, his eyes widen. He inhales sharply, staring at me like I'm something strange.
"Uh...April Hill," I say quietly, wilting beneath this man's scrutiny. It takes him a moment to check the tablet in his hand, but once he does, he nods for me to go inside.
I square my shoulders, preparing myself, and then step in.
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