Chapter 1
Part One
—Mandi—
The therapist called it Intermittent Explosive Disorder (IED).
It sounded like a bad bomb joke. Lanie Rottman must've fancied herself a comedian at one point in her life. Perhaps she was one of those drama kids in high school? Who cares; the bitch wants to say I have issues when she can't even keep her husband out of the Den of Thieves!? Unbelievable.
A sound somewhere between a scoff and a growl ground out through her throat. This morning's session hadn't been as relaxing as she had hoped it would be going in. Mrs. Rottman, 'dumb name,' wanted to dive into the past before breakfast, and the persistence despite refusal had left her sour.
Mandi couldn’t always control her temper. There was a reason, apparently. Whatever. A diagnosis doesn’t make it easier to live with.
It starts small. It always does with her. It just never stays that way. A scratchy sweater. A loud talker. Sideways glances, crowded rooms, too much cologne, too little bathing; anything could become a trigger. The reason didn't matter, just the results.
This time, it was a blonde across from her at the table in the study hall. She wasn't doing anything, really. She's just sitting there chewing gum and tapping her pen while she studies and takes notes.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
She presses her thumbnail into the meat of her palm. It doesn’t help, so she grips the pencil and coffee cup like lifelines. She breathes in through her nose like her therapist taught her. "Take big, slow, and grounding breaths. Count your senses. Name the colors." Smell the fucking coffee. Something! But the sound cuts through it all. The university always had too many people packed into these rooms.
She tries to focus on her notes, but the words are bleeding into each other like wet ink. Her jaw is tight, her shoulders are tighter. Her chest feels like there is an elephant crushing her. It's like listening to a shitty song on repeat when someone welded the volume knob in place.
Tap, chew, pop, tap.
It’s stupid. She knows that. Normal people don’t lose their minds over a pen.
It's just so hard to ignore the way her mind keeps begging to make it stop. Deep breath in, deep breath out. Her lungs begin to burn from the strain.
Today’s been too long. The air is too stale. When was the last time someone had opened a fucking window? The lights are too bright. Her new detergent is too itchy, this class is too loud, the people are too close.
Stop.
Tap, tap, tap.
She's so, so tired of pretending it doesn’t bother her. Mandi tries to breathe through the building storm. Her skin feels tight, and her nerves are raw. Frayed at the edges like a poorly cut string.
Make it stop.
Tap.
She visibly flinches. Her brain is being poured into a meat grinder. She feels the heat crawl up her neck like a fever. Her face is burning, and she knows she's blushing. Her ears feel hot, and her lungs burn from the effort.
“Sorry,” the girl at the table mutters, barely looking up. Still, she doesn’t stop. If anything, she actually speeds up that aggravating tapping as she loudly pops at the gum in her mouth. Her brows furrow in concentration. To Mandi, this girl is concentrated evil.
Tap. Pop. Smack. Chew. Repeat.
It's like a bad mix-tape playing over a food processor. Please, God, make it stop.
Mandi swallows the apology clawing its way up her throat. Why is she always the one apologizing when it’s someone else who pushed her? When it’s someone else popping their gum, or jiggling their leg, or standing too close in line, or whispering just loud enough to sound like they’re talking about her.
Over and over, the noise begins to blend together. Somewhere, deep in the back of her mind, she feels eyes on her. There is a tingling at the back of her neck, like fear raising the stakes before life bets you'll lose. Then that infernal pen breaks the spell.
“Can you not?” Mandi snaps, her voice sharper than she intended. The girl looks up and blinks at her in confusion. She laughs nervously, like Mandi’s the weird one.
Mandi’s stomach flips. She tugs the sleeves of her black hoodie over her hands. Her fingers are ice, and she can feel the body shakes starting. Beads of sweat trickle in her hairline, causing her irritation to rise another tick.
“It’s just a pen,” the girl scoffs. Rolling her eyes and laughing with the boy next to her.
Something inside her cracks.
She bolts upright. The chair legs screech like a dying rabbit. Heads turn fast enough to cause whiplash. Shame flares with the heat in her cheeks, but it’s too late. Her arms are shaking. She slams her hands on the table in front Blonde Bitch. Her whole body is vibrating, she doesn’t even know what she wants to do. Throw something? Scream? Cry? Crawl out of her own body and disappear?
Blissful silence.
Everyone’s looking at them now. The attention stifles the reprieve. Mandi's chest aches, her limbs are trembling, and her lungs are on fire. Tears sting the back of her eyes and nose, clogging her throat.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Somewhere far away, the soft scrape of a chair reaches her ears.
"Fucking Hell," someone mutters. “What’s her problem?”
That’s the part that stings most. Not the noise. Not the tapping. Not even the rising tide in her chest that threatens to suffocate her.
It’s the fact that no one ever sees it building up. They only ever see the explosion.
Only the mess.
Once again, she’s the villain in a story she didn’t mean to write. Alone, fighting a battle she never asked for.
Before she can explode, another set of hands join her on the table. Both girls look up to find the most intense grey eyes bouncing between them. When they land on Mandi, her breath catches in her throat. All of the rage, filling her veins like thick poison, evaporates. She honestly can't even tell you why she was mad just now. She takes a deep, fortifying breath. His eyes take her in slowly. Striped shirt, nice skirt, black hair, black bag. High socks up her legs, studded combat boots. She's got chains on her neck, and damn does she make it work.
He turns his attention to that gum-smacking gremlin. His voice comes out deep enough to rattle Mandi's bones. "She obviously finds it annoying. She's also not the only one. You've sat here smacking and tapping that fucking pen for an hour now. This is a three hour study session."
He leans over her now, stooping into her space. The boy next to her leans back, offering no protection. "Enough."
Tap-happy Barbie doll pales and swallows her gum. She sets her pen on her notebook and doesn't touch it again. He stands upright, satisfied with her fear, and turns to Mandi. His eyes soften as he meets her eyes.
"Grab your stuff, we're leaving."
She doesn't hesitate. She scoops everything into her pack with speed and efficiency. It's not her first time fleeing a scene, so her system is flawless. In less than ten seconds, all of her books and papers are packed. She looks up to see him watching her. The heat comes back, creeping slowly up her neck and to her ears. He watches it spread. Mandi can't help but notice there is no rage accompanied by it this time; strange.
He reaches out and gently takes her pack from her, hefting it over his shoulder and jerking his head towards the door. They're out of there quickly, making a beeline for the parking lot as soon as the building sets them free.
Someone saw the storm.
He saw her.
—Devon—
He had watched her flatten a boy's face with a metal lunch tray in freshman year. Right in the middle of the cafeteria, too. She had to be pulled off of him by campus security. The student body didn't really know what started the altercation, but the rumor was he had touched her. It had effectively made her a pariah to many. Some thought he died from the injuries, and they often wondered aloud why she wasn't in prison.
All Devon could say was good riddance. He had watched the perv lower his phone beneath her ass and snap a picture. The dumbass had left the flash on, causing Mandi to turn around. She caught him red handed. However, Devon hadn't expected her to take the tray she was holding and smash it into his face. The first hit busted his nose wide open, the second crushed his eye socket, the third knocked him down flat onto his back. She straddled his lap and brought that tray down again and again. He had stopped fighting by the fifth time, and nobody at school ever saw him again. To Devon, it was the hottest thing he'd ever seen.
He knew this girl was going to lose it. He could see it in the way her shoulders sat too rigid. Her grip was so hard on her pencil that you could see it bending in her fist.
Her other hand clutched her coffee cup, and he wondered if the cup would implode from the pressure. That blonde bimbo was over there smacking away on her gum and tapping that mother fucking pen. He could see the explosion coming from miles away.
"Can you not?"
Her voice carried across the room.
Oh shit.
He stood and began to cross the room. He caught the blonde rolling her eyes, and he picked up the pace. Mandi slammed her hands on the table and stood so fast that her chair screeched.
Move. Move. Move!
She was literally vibrating. The poor girl was shaking so damn bad trying to maintain control. Devon leans onto the table, mirroring Mandi. They both look up at him in unison. When his eyes meet hers, he swears his heart skips a beat. The most beautiful eyes he had ever seen stared back at him. Heterochromia graced her features, giving her one minty green eye, and one silvery grey. Absolutely breathtaking..
He turned his attention back to the Bubble Gum Bitch. He warned her in his low and dominating tone, then got into her space for good measure. Once it was apparent that his message had been received, he stood and gave his attention back to the dark haired beauty before him. He tried to use the same tone, telling Mandi to grab her things. She immediately obeyed. Seemingly thankful for the excuse to run. When she looks back up, catching him watching her, she blushes so beautifully.
He tentatively reaches out and grabs her pack from her. She didn't swing. No broken nose, good sign so far.
They escape into the fresh autumn air outside and go straight for the parking lot. He slows down and turns towards her. The sunlight catching on electric green, and moonlight silver veins within her eyes. Her dark hair was impossibly long and had gorgeous natural Irish waves. The tips faded into a soft white, like a full moon. It was as if the color had simply, just, given up towards the bottom. She came up to his chest, barely clearing his pecs.
"Are you okay?" He asks her softly.
—Mandi—
Mandi looks up into those striking grey eyes. The overwhelming calm she experiences around him has her filled with concern. There are still traffic sounds, boisterous students hanging out around their cars, and the constant background noise that makes up FVCC. It just didn't scream at her nerves and pull apart her sanity like usual. The peace was so unusual, almost foreign, that she didn't know how to answer his question.
"I-I'm not sure, honestly."
He gave her a small smile, nodding his head. "That's okay too."
She looked around, realizing her car was two lots over. She peered back up at him, squinting one eye against the sun.
"Would you like to walk with me to my car? I'd like to enjoy the calm for a while."
He smiled, and it was radiant. She had never seen eyes like his, either. This deep, stormy ocean grey that just sucked you under and held you there. His quiet calm was like being surrounded by cool water, drowning out the world around her. Mandi didn't know if she could survive without it now that she'd had a taste.
The walk was quiet.
Not awkwardly so, just still. Like the world had been muted for her sake. Even the birds held their breath just for her, for them.
Mandi’s boots clicked softly against the pavement as they stepped from the edge of the main parking lot toward the quieter overflow area. Each step stirred a swirl of leaves, crisp and dry beneath their feet, but even the crunch of Autumn seemed muffled. A subtle hush had fallen around them, made softer still by the snowfall that had started without warning.
Big, slow flakes drifted lazily from the grey-lavender sky, too fat and fluffy for October. She tilted her head slightly, watching one land in the crook of Devon’s dark hair. It stayed there, a single flash of white against the black strands, and something about it made her throat tighten.
“Early for snow,” she murmured, breath ghosting in the chilled air.
Devon didn’t answer right away, just walked beside her in that silent, grounding way of his. Like gravity moved differently around him. Like her body didn’t know how to be on edge in his presence.
She’d tried to explain it to herself, somehow rationalize it, but it was useless. It wasn’t logical. She should’ve still been shaking from the adrenaline, pacing and seething over that shrill, pen-tapping waste of space back in study hall. Instead… her pulse was steady. Her limbs felt loose and warm, like she'd just stepped out of a hot bath. Her thoughts were quiet. Like the snowfall itself was weaving through her veins.
She felt him watching her.
When she glanced up, his eyes were already on her. Dark storm grey, unreadable, and impossibly deep. Like looking into the middle of a thundercloud, seconds before it split open the sky.
“I think I’m addicted to your calm,” she admitted before she could stop herself.
Devon’s lips quirked in the faintest smile. Not smug. Not surprised. Just a quiet understanding.
The sun had dipped low enough to cast everything in amber-blue. Gold light glanced off the soft waves of her hair as it swept past her waist. She brushed a few flakes from her sleeve, then looked up again as they reached the final row of the lot.
There it was.
Her car.
A 2006 Spyker C8 Spyder, pitch-black and glistening under the snowfall.
It didn’t belong here. Not among scratched-up Civics and clunky Jeeps with fading Greek-Life bumper stickers. It looked like it had arrived, not parked. Like it had stalked into the lot on sleek legs and settled down, waiting to be called.
Low, long, and obsidian smooth, the Spyker reflected the half-light like a pool of oil. The curved hood looked sculpted from shadow itself, its front grille parted in a predatory grin. The headlights narrowed at the corners, sharp and knowing, like they could see through you. No chrome. No badging. Just matte black accents and a whisper of menace beneath the grace.
She has spent a good chunk of her inheritance on this car alone, but thinking about that make her throat clog. She forced the memories back into a tiny box and locked the lid.
Mandi watched Devon’s reaction as they approached, an almost shy satisfaction curling in her chest.
He stopped a few feet away, brows lifted faintly. “That’s yours?”
A soft smile played at her lips. “She purrs when you get her over ninety.”
Devon laughed under his breath. It was a warm, rich sound that wrapped around your heart. He stepped closer, brushing one hand across the cold glass of the passenger window. He turned to her, something unreadable in his eyes.
“I’ve seen a lot of beautiful things,” he said. “But this car… and you standing next to it? That’s a different kind of dangerous.”
The flakes danced around them like ash from a burning sky, soft and soundless. The moment felt suspended, like the snow was holding time still for them.
Mandi tilted her head, eyes glinting with something unspoken. “You think I’m dangerous?”
“I know you are,” he murmured. “Just not with me. Not right now.”
Her lips parted slightly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. For the first time that day, she didn’t feel the need to fill the silence.
She wanted to stay in it; to linger in the warmth of his quiet peace just a little bit longer.
She pressed the key fob in her palm. The Spyder gave a low, obedient chirp, and the headlights flared to life like eyes opening in the dusk.
“Get in,” she said softly. “I’ll drive slow. I want to make this last.”
She meant it too. Not the drive, necessarily, but the calm surrounding them like the snow blanketing the ground at their feet.
Mandi wanted to stay in the beauty of complete desolation that comes with Winter.
