Rejected by the Beta, Claimed by the Alpha

Chapter 152: Freshers’ Bash (ii)

CLARK POV

Finding the location this time wasn’t hard. All I had to do was follow the noise and the crowd—like moths to a flame, the new students were already flocking toward the bash with excitement painted across their faces. Laughter, music, perfume, and cologne mingled in the air, a sharp contrast to the chill of dread still lodged in my bones.

It felt... surreal.

The building—one of the larger conference halls—had been transformed. Lights of every color bounced off the walls, spinning, blinking, casting shadows that moved faster than my eyes could follow. The beat of the music pulsed through the floor, vibrating in my shoes, in my ribs. Some freshmen were already tipsy, dancing like they had just escaped prison. Others were trying too hard to look cool, adjusting collars, sipping cheap drinks with pretentious straws.

It looked like something out of a teen drama series.

Too perfect.

Too alive.

If I hadn’t seen what I’d seen earlier, I probably would’ve been fooled too.

The place resembled some kind of upscale club—a poor man’s version, maybe, but the energy was electric. Glittering dresses. Loud laughter. Flashing lights. I couldn’t help but think: this would be the perfect hunting ground if you were a predator.

Like them.

And just like that, the thought soured everything.

I pushed through the growing throng of students, eyes darting left and right, scanning every face I could find. The problem wasn’t that I didn’t know what Sara looked like—it was that everyone looked like a stranger under the flashing lights.

Where the hell are you, Sara?

I kept moving, brushing past a group of girls taking selfies, avoiding a drunken guy already spilling his drink on his shirt. The air was thick—too warm, too loud. I hated it.

Then I noticed something else. Something that made the hair on my arms rise.

The party wasn’t just full of freshmen.

There were others. Older students—at least I hoped they were students. They stood out immediately. Taller. Better dressed. More... composed. They weren’t dancing. They were watching. Leaning against walls, eyes scanning the crowd, calm amid the chaos.

Predators in a room full of prey.

I felt it. The same feeling I had back in that hallway. That strange pull of danger. Like walking into a room filled with smiling masks but knowing there’s something sharp underneath each one.

Were they seniors?

Had they invited themselves? Or were they meant to be here?

Please don’t let them be part of that... blood cult or whatever the hell that was.

I shook the thought off and kept looking. It didn’t matter right now. I just had to find Sara.

And then, as if summoned by thought, I spotted her—just a glimpse of her in the crowd. She was laughing at something, head tilted back, her hair catching the light, sparkling like gold. She wore a short dark red dress that clung to her hips and flared out at the hem. She looked happy. Alive. Untouched.

And surrounded.

Two guys were standing close—too close—smiling, leaning in. One had hair so black it looked blue under the lights. The other had that easy charm, polished and practiced, the kind that came with knowing exactly what kind of effect he had on people.

I didn’t like them.

My gut twisted. I pushed forward, weaving through the crowd with purpose.

"Clark!" she called when she saw me. Her smile widened, genuine. "You made it!"

Yeah. I made it.

But now I had to make sure she made it out.

moment I reached Sara,

That flicker.

the expressions of the two guys standing next to her. Their smiles didn’t falter, but something in their eyes sharpened. I wasn’t welcome—no words had to be said. They were doing that weird alpha male posturing

up when she saw me, like I’d just made her night

her perfume warm

my mind. Because I couldn’t let you walk into a

like I was currently going through about seventeen different mental breakdowns at

I had more immediate problems.

guys standing beside

better look. And Jesus, they looked like they had stepped out of a Calvin Klein ad—flawless skin, sharp

Dead.

Soulless.

like I was a roach scuttling across

something—anything—when I felt it. That presence.

Then she appeared.

The redhead.

Her.

The one who leaned too close. Who whispered I smelled delicious like I was

the place, every eye following her. Her red curls spilled down her back like molten fire,

She saw me instantly.

And smiled.

No, this was

I was one hundred percent sure she was part of whatever the hell was going on here—the same blood

when I felt

She was watching the redhead approach.

She winked at me.

Winked.

just scored or something. Like I was

the actual fuck,

to the two clowns beside her. She leaned in toward one, laughing at something he whispered in her ear. And I swear, the

I wanted to scream.

Or shake her.

drag her the hell out of

was closing in now. Step by step, her heels clicking across

Too late to run.

Too late to hide.

purred, her voice smooth like poisoned honey, "I was hoping I’d run

a silver platter—like she was deciding which part of me she wanted to

to disarm, to seduce. But there was something behind

My spine stiffened.

to her whether

be that the drinks here weren’t just your average party cocktails? Were they drugged? Laced with something

casual shrug I didn’t feel. "I’m

Lame. I know.

quickly, searching the crowd—Sara. She had just been next to

Gone.

of her curls. No flash of her sequined dress. And the two guys? Vanished, like ghosts into mist. Like

What the actual hell?

through the crowd,

snapped behind me, louder now. Sharper. Like a

tight smile of someone who was losing patience. I must have tuned her out—probably for

"Sorry, I—uh—I

The most cliché, transparent move in the book. Her expression said

tilted her head and said sweetly,

said it