The moment Killian and Drogo moved in, the energy in the dorms changed. You noticed it first in the little things — whispers that weren’t there before, shadows that stretched too long in the dim hallway light, and the way their eyes seemed to glow when they thought no one was looking.

You had heard the rumors about your new neighbors. Some said they never slept. Others claimed they had never been seen eating, only watching, their attention fixed on things no one else could see. But what disturbed you most was how their focus had shifted—to you.

At first, it was subtle. Killian, the more composed of the two, would always be in the right place at the right time. You’d leave for class, and he’d be leaning against the hallway wall, smirking as if he had been waiting. Drogo, rougher around the edges, didn’t have Killian’s patience. He was blunt, making suggestive remarks that left your skin hot with something you couldn’t define—was it irritation or something else?

They played a game, one only they seemed to understand, circling you like wolves deciding who would get the first bite.

“You know what we are, don’t you?” Killian murmured one evening as you passed him by the communal kitchen. He was too close, his voice smooth, almost hypnotic.

You swallowed, gripping the strap of your bag. “I’ve heard things.”

Drogo, who had just walked in, chuckled darkly. “You’re smart. So you should know—one of us is going to have you.”

Your breath caught. They weren’t asking. This was a declaration, a challenge between them.