Rejected by the Beta, Chosen by the Alpha

Chapter 162: Airport

LUCAS POV

"You know you can’t run away," were the first words uttered by the cab driver as soon as I slid into the back seat

and told him to taketo the airport.

My spine stiffened.

Was he one of them?

Was he sent to stop me?

"I don’t care. Taketo the airport," | said, gripping the strap of my backpack like it could tetherto safety.

The driver looked atthrough the rearview mirror for a second too long. Then, without another word, he

nodded and started the car. My hand clenched the strap of my bag so hard | thought I'd crack the fabric. The

engine gave a tired rumble, and the vehicle lurched forward.

He was human. | could feel it. There was no unnatural perfection to his features, no eerie calm in his expression,

no freezing air surrounding him like the others. Just a man, probably in his fifties, with deep lines on his face and

tired, weather-worn eyes that had seen too much. Maybe that was why | trusted him.

| didn’t look back at the gates of Memoville University. | didn’t want to.

If | saw them again—those cold iron gates, those Gothic towers shrouded by mist, those damned windows with

watchers behind them—I might break. | might turn around and scream, or run into traffic just to escape the

memories crawling under my skin.

The cab’s tires hummed against the road as we drove into the waking town. The sun had just begun to rise,

spilling soft golden light over the tree-lined avenues. Everything looked so normal—quaint houses, a couple of

people jogging, birds chirping in the distance. Nothing like the nightmare that festered behind Memoville’s gates.

"Are you from around here?" | asked, mostly just to hear a human voice again.

The cab driver chuckled, the sound low and bitter. "Let's just say I've lived here long enough to know you don’t

get to leave."

My stomach dropped. "You... you know about them?"

He snorted. "Of course | do. And I'd bet a month's pay that’s why you're trying to run back to whatever country

you cfrom."

| nodded slowly, even though he wasn’t looking at me. "That obvious, huh?"

"Kid," he said with a weary tone, "I've seen your kind before. Fresh meat. Every year. You all show up bright-eyed

and hopeful. Then you find out the truth and start clawing at the doors, begging to leave."

"Will they... will they letgo?" | asked, hating how small my voice sounded.

"Maybe," he said. "If they're bored. If they've fed enough for now. Or maybe they'll let you think you're leaving...

then pull you right back in."

That last part made my skin crawl. My fingers dug into the fabric of my bag until my knuckles turned white.

"How... how do you survive here?" | asked.

The driver gave a bitter laugh, one that sounded like it cfrom the depths of someone who'd seen too much.

"It’s all about picking your lesser evil," he said. "You either beca foodie to the vamps... or a loyal sex tool to

the wolves." If you're lucky, you'll end up with one who doesn’t rip you to shreds in a fit of hunger or heat."

Every word slammed into my mind like iron bars in a cage. His voice, once calm, turned matter-of-fact—like he

was tellingthe options were either to be eaten slowly or used.

| gagged at the thought. "That's survival?"

"That's life here, kid. You want to live? You don’t fight the monsters. You choose one, and pray they keep you

around long enough to die of old age."

I fell silent.

What could | say to that?

My mind raced back to that girl in the garden—the predator hiding behind a gorgeous smile. The way her fangs

pierced me. The horrifying mix of pain and arousal | hadn't asked for, hadn't wanted. Then those two men—

those... wolves? The way they touched me, played withlike | was something they owned. Like | was nothing

but a toy.

And now this man, casually talking about choosing the lesser evil like it was a college major.

There was no place for innocence here.

After a few more minutes, the trees gave way to wide roads. Civilization. Hope.

And then... the airport.

He pulled up just outside the departure gates. The building loomed beforelike a cathedral, bathed in the

golden morning light. | had never loved the sun more than | did in that exact moment.

The cab driver didn’t turn around, didn’t even look at me.

"There you go, kid," he said. "Go try your luck. Maybe you'll be one of the few who actually make it out. If not..."

He paused, then exhaled. "Just remember what | told you. Find the lesser evil, and try to survive."

| opened the door. The crisp morning air hitlike a splash of water, and | breathed in deep—air that didn’t reek

of blood or secrets.

"Thanks," | murmured, barely able to get the word out.

But by the t| stepped out and shut the door, the cab was already pulling away, disappearing into the early

sunlit streets like a ghost.

| turned back to face the airport.

Now all | had to do was get on a plane and leave this nightmare behind.

Easier said than done.

sok

Inside the airport, the smell of coffee and luggage straps felt overpoweringly foreign—almost unreal after being

locked inside a nightmare for so long. | tried to steady myself, trying to hold onto every part of this place that

said "freedom," even though I'd not escaped yet.

Gate A32 polarizes between flashy ads and sugary mall food stalls. Families chase each other. Business travelers

clack heels against glass floors. There's laughter. Noise. Normal life, moving forward. It felt like something

sacred.

| approached the counter—but | was shaking. My eyes still reddened. My voice cracked when | said goodbye to

the Memoville nightmare. The agent looked atclosely, but speechless—possibly sensing how fragile | was. |

produced my passport, ID, boarding card. No issue.

When | made it through security—no searches, no questions—I almost collapsed. The metal detectors beeped

and flashed as | walked through, but no alarms. No one stopped me. They just letgo.

On the other side, | could've dropped to my knees and wept. Instead, | steadied myself and walked, step by step,

toward the gate’s waiting area.

Somewhere, deep in my mind, a part ofscreamed: He told| wouldn't make it.The professors wouldn't let