11 College Bound

I’m barely halfway through sorting the new pile of supply scrolls when the knock comes.

Sharp. Deliberate.

Not the kind of knock that asks.

The records keeper glances toward the door, frowns, then gestures for me to answer it. I wipe my ink-stained hands on a cloth and pull it open.

And instantly freeze.

Alpha Kade.

He steps inside like the space belongs to him. And, honestly, maybe it does. His presence fills the room, steady and cool, dragging silence in with him.

“You’re done for the day,” he says to me.

I blink. “I haven’t finished—”

“You’re done. Come.”

No room to argue.

I shoot a glance at the records keeper, who shrugs like this isn’t his business, and follow Kade out into the crisp air.

We walk in silence toward the East Wing of the compound, where the council rooms and pack offices sit. Every step tightens the nerves coiling in my stomach.

Did I mess something up?

Am I being reassigned again?

When we reach his office, he holds the door open but doesn’t sit. He stays standing by the window, arms crossed.

“You’ve been with us for a few days now,” he says finally. “And you’ve survived long enough for rumors to start.”

I swallow. “I didn’t mean to cause trouble.”

“You didn’t,” he says flatly. “But you’ve gained attention. Some of it earned. Some of it not.”

He turns to face me fully now.

“You want a future in this pack, Lyra? That means more than strength. It means education. Integration. Visibility.”

I blink. “What… do you mean?”

“I mean starting next week, you’ll be attending Black Hollow College. The same institution most of the pack’s youth are enrolled in.”

My stomach drops.

“College?” I repeat, stunned.

“Yes. You’re twenty, which means you fall within the required age bracket for Bloodstone-sponsored education.”

“But—”

He raises a hand, silencing me.

“It’s non-negotiable. You’ll attend classes. Represent this pack. Learn discipline. Earn respect.”

“I won’t fit in.”

“You already don’t.”

That one stings.

But he isn’t wrong.

Kade moves around the desk, pulling a folder from a drawer and sliding it toward me.

“Basic schedule. Supplies list. You’ll be given funds from the pack stipend. I’ve already enrolled you in the core curriculum—shifter studies, history, modern civics, and combat theory. You’ll choose electives later.”

I stare at the folder like it might bite me.

Kade’s voice lowers slightly.

“You want to belong, Lyra? Then stop hiding in corners. Start showing them who you are.”

My fingers curl around the edge of the paper. “Is this punishment?”

“No. It’s pressure. Same thing most of the pack’s youth live under. You want equality? Then start living like the rest of them.”

He gestures toward the door.

“You’re dismissed.”

---

By the time I make it back to my cabin, my hands are shaking.

College.

In a building filled with young wolves who already hate me, or laugh behind my back.

With Talia, who smirked during training.

With Jax, who toys with everything he touches.

With Ronan, who watches from shadows and never says enough.

I drop the folder on my bed and open it slowly.

Class Roster:

Talia Rael – Beta Bloodline

Jaxon Kade – Alpha’s Son

Ronan Kade – Alpha Heir

Lyra Moon – Omega | Provisional Enrollee

It’s right there. My name. My status. My unwanted place in their world.

My head falls into my hands.

This… this is going to be hell.

12 Wolves in Uniform

The worst part is the uniform.

Black Hollow College issues one to every enrolled shifter, and mine—freshly folded and dropped off last night—doesn’t quite fit right. The blazer is too snug across the shoulders. The pants cling in the wrong places. The white shirt is stiff, like it’s never been worn before.

It makes me feel like I’m wearing someone else’s skin.

I tie my hair back, swipe on some lip balm, and take one last look in the mirror before stepping out.

I look like a stranger pretending to be someone important.

And I feel like prey walking straight into a predator’s den.

---

The college is just outside the Bloodstone territory, built into the hills above the valley. Stone buildings. Cold wind. Laughter echoing down walkways. Wolves dressed in uniform move in pairs or clusters, like they’ve all known each other since birth.

They probably have.

The moment I step through the main gates, conversations dip.

Not stop. Just… lower.

Just enough that I feel the difference.

There she is.

The omega.

Did you hear what she did on patrol?

She was bleeding out and both Kade sons came for her. Wonder what she’s done to earn that kind of attention…

I grip the strap of my bag tighter and keep walking.

---

The main hall is wide and echoing, its polished floors clicking beneath my boots. At the far end, students gather around a notice board with class schedules posted in alphabetical order.

I head for mine. Find my name.

And groan.

Core Combat Theory: Room 12C.

Instructor: V. Hollow. Seating: Assigned.

I already hate this.

“Wow,” a voice drawls behind me. “Didn’t think they’d actually let you through the gates.”

I turn.

Talia.

She leans against the wall beside the notice board, perfectly styled hair over one shoulder, blazer unbuttoned just enough to be fashionably defiant.

She’s not alone.

Two girls both high rank bloodlines stand behind her like wolves in waiting. They’re already smiling.

The dangerous kind.

Talia takes one step closer.

“I’m actually impressed. Most omegas don’t make it past one night without crying.”

“I didn’t cry,” I say.

She tilts her head mockingly. “Not out loud, maybe.”

The girl beside her snorts.

Another student walking past slows down to listen.

I feel the walls closing in.

“Did your little patrol stunt get you a spot here?” Talia presses. “You must’ve really sold the damsel act. Getting both the Alpha’s sons to come running? That’s talent.”

“I didn’t ask them to.”

“But they came anyway. Funny how that works.”

I bite my tongue. I want to walk away. I should walk away.

But then she says it.

“Careful, Lyra. You get too close to power, someone’s going to remind you exactly where you belong.”

That hits too deep.

Too sharp.

And before I can stop myself, I fire back.

“Thanks for the warning, Talia. But I don’t remember asking you for a lesson in jealousy.”

Her smile fades.

Just slightly.

Her eyes narrow.

And then she leans in close enough that I can feel her breath on my cheek.

“Just remember, omega,” she whispers, “you may be allowed in the building—but you’ll never be one of us.”

She walks off before I can reply.

Her friends follow, laughing.

And I’m left standing alone at the board, heart pounding.

---

My first class is Combat Theory.

Room 12C is a wide-open space with mats lining the floor and a tall, scarred woman pacing at the front. Her silver-streaked braid swings behind her as she shouts names and points to seats.

I scan the room.

Every row is filling fast.

She calls my name.

“Lyra Moon.”

I raise a hand.

She points. “Back left. Beside Kade.”

I blink.

“Which one?” someone asks.

She doesn’t answer.

I walk quickly toward the seat, dodging feet stretched across aisles and eyes that track my every step.

And there he is.

Ronan.

Black shirt under his blazer, hands resting on the desk, eyes already on me.

He doesn’t say anything.

Doesn’t nod.

Just watches as I slide into the seat beside him.

The moment I sit, someone a few rows ahead snickers.

“Front row of the royal court now, huh?”

“Careful, Kade,” another mutters. “You kiss her and we’ll all know if she’s yours.”

The room erupts in muffled laughter.

My face burns.

Ronan’s eyes flick forward.

His jaw clenches—but he says nothing.

Instructor Hollow snaps her fingers. “Enough. Grow up or shift out.”

The room falls silent.

But the heat in my cheeks stays.

Ronan doesn’t look at me again for the rest of the lesson.

---

After class, I head toward my locker.

Only to find Jax leaning against it.

Grinning.

“Thought I’d catch you before the gossip got too loud.”

“It already has,” I mutter.

He smirks. “It’s school. Gossip’s the only sport we all play.”

I give him a look.

He taps the locker beside mine.

“You’re brave, you know,” he says casually.

“I’m not.”

“You are. You walked into this place alone, let Talia snarl in your face, sat next to my brother, and didn’t cry once.”

“I’m not interested in impressing anyone.”

He leans in, teasing. “Not even me?”

I roll my eyes and spin the lock.

“Maybe a little,” he adds, quieter.

My fingers still on the dial.

When I turn, he’s looking at me more seriously now.

“You know the only way to really shut them up, right?” he says.

“How?”

He grins, just a little dangerous.

“Kiss someone unexpected.”

13 Teeth Beneath the Surface

By the time I leave Combat Theory, my head is pounding.

It’s not from the lesson.

It’s from the tension—the way every eye seemed to track my every move. The way every muttered joke or stifled laugh landed just close enough for me to hear.

And Ronan. Sitting beside me. Still. Silent.

Except when someone joked about the mate bond.

I felt the way his jaw locked. But he never defended me.

Never corrected them.

He just let the whispers spread like wildfire.

---

My next class is Shifter History and Society.

More reading. Less bruises.

Which I’m grateful for, until I walk in and realize the only open seat is near the center… and the one beside it?

Empty.

I slide in quietly, hoping no one notices.

They notice.

The second I sit down, a soft chorus of murmurs breaks out across the room.

“She’s in every class?”

“She’s being watched. Guaranteed.”

“Bet it’s just to keep her from shifting wrong and biting someone.”

“Or to see who kisses her first…”

A heat blooms in my cheeks.

And then someone drops into the seat beside me with a loud, careless flop.

I don’t even need to look.

Jax.

He stretches his legs out like he owns the room and leans back in his chair, hands behind his head, blazer sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

“Looks like it’s you and me again, Moonlight.”

I groan quietly. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not? You’ve got the vibe. All haunted and mysterious and half-untouchable.” He flashes me a grin. “The perfect school crush.”

“Not if they can smell blood still crusted on my jacket.”

“Adds to the myth.”

I shoot him a look. “Why are you sitting with me?”

“Because you didn’t ask me to.”

I blink. “What does that even mean?”

“Everyone else either wants something from me or avoids me like I’m about to set them on fire.” His eyes drift lazily across the room. “You’re the only one who looks at me like I’m just… annoying.”

“You are.”

He grins wider. “Exactly.”

Before I can reply, the instructor—a tall woman with dark eyes and a perfectly ironed suit—enters and calls the class to order.

“Today we begin our unit on pack law,” she says. “Particularly how rank shapes relationships—alliances, challenges, and of course… the mate bond.”

That word again.

My spine straightens.

Whispers ripple through the room.

“Is she gonna say it?”

“Wait for it—”

The teacher turns to write on the board:

“Mate Bonds Confirmed through instinct. Activated by kiss.”

Jax makes a sound suspiciously like a chuckle beside me.

I kick his boot under the table.

Hard.

He winces dramatically. “See? You’re feisty. It’s always the quiet ones.”

The girl two seats over snorts. “Bet she tries it on both of them. See which one sticks.”

My throat closes.

But I say nothing.

Because I can’t deny that I’ve thought about it too.

What would it mean to kiss either of them?

Would anything change?

Would I?

---

By lunch, I’m barely holding myself together.

The cafeteria is a long hall with wooden beams, high ceilings, and rows of long tables lined with students in uniform. There’s a scent of cooked meat and spices in the air, and trays clatter as wolves talk, laugh, eat.

I grab a sandwich and an apple and scan the room.

Talia is surrounded, of course.

A dozen high-ranked students at her table, all laughing too loud and throwing glances in my direction every few seconds.

No way in hell am I sitting there.

I spot an empty bench near the far wall and make a quiet dash for it.

But halfway there, Jax slides in front of me like he’s been waiting.

“Aw, come on. Sitting alone again?”

“It’s safer.”

“Not fun though.”

“I’m not here to have fun.”

He frowns for a moment. “You should be.”

Then he takes my tray from me without asking and walks toward a table near the back—his table. Not as crowded as Talia’s, but loud, full of prank energy and mischief. Mostly betas and ranked wolves.

They all stare as he drops the tray in front of an empty seat and nods for me to sit beside him.

“You’re serious?”

He grins. “Only on weekdays.”

I sit.

Because walking away would be worse.

Conversations around us falter.

One boy leans across and smirks. “Bringing your pet to lunch now, Jax?”

“She’s not a pet,” Jax replies casually. “She bites back.”

“Gross.”

“Jealous.”

The other boy sneers but backs off.

Jax tosses me a grape from his tray.

I catch it. Eat it.

And for a moment, I almost forget how uncomfortable I am.

Until the announcement comes.

---

“Combat sparring resumes after lunch in the south courtyard. Required for all combat-level students.”

A collective groan echoes through the room.

Jax throws an arm around the back of my seat. “This should be fun.”

I grimace. “For who?”

“Depends on who they make you fight.”

---

The south courtyard is a training ground, half-paved and half-dirt, with a shallow ring outlined in chalk. Combat students gather around, some shifting casually in and out of wolf form to warm up.

Ronan’s already there.

Watching.

Of course he is.

Instructor Hollow stands at the center. “Volunteers?”

Talia steps forward immediately.

Smiling sweetly.

“I’d like to go against Lyra.”

My stomach drops.

A few students cheer—some ironically, some not.

Hollow raises an eyebrow. “You’re sure?”

“She needs to know the basics. I’d like to help her learn.”

Jax mutters under his breath. “This is gonna be bad.”

I don’t move.

But Hollow calls me forward anyway. “Moon, take your place.”

I step into the circle.

Talia shifts before I do—sleek, fast, confident. A golden-furred wolf with glowing eyes and perfect control.

I shift slower.

Less smoothly.

And I know I look smaller. Thinner.

We circle.

Talia lunges first—sharp and showy.

I dodge, barely.

The second time, she clips my side.

The third time, she slams me into the dirt.

Laughter ripples through the crowd.

I get up.

Bloody.

Sore.

Embarrassed.

But not broken.

I growl—low, shaky—and lunge.

She dodges, trips me again.

I hit the ground hard.

Hollow ends it.

“Enough.”

I shift back, breathless, bruised.

Talia smirks as she steps past me. “Told you. You’re in the wrong school, omega.”

Jax is by my side in a second, offering me his jacket.

Ronan watches from across the courtyard.

And then turns away.

14 mine to protect

It was supposed to be quick.

Just a book drop-off.

I’d borrowed a shifter history text for a project I’d never even finish, and I thought if I went back to the library after hours, I could avoid the stares. The whispers. The looks that sliced deeper than claws ever could.

The halls were nearly empty.

The air was cooler. Still. The lights overhead flickered just a little, humming with energy. My footsteps echoed against the tiled floor as I walked past the lockers—most were closed and locked, but a few hung open like mouths waiting to bite.

I turned the corner—

And stopped dead.

Cayden.

Blocking the hallway.

Tall. Thick-built. One of Talia’s usual shadows. Ranked third in his year. Betas loved him. Omegas feared him.

And now he was smiling at me.

“Didn’t think anyone else would still be here,” he said casually, stepping forward.

I didn’t reply.

My wolf shifted inside me uncomfortable. On edge. ready to fight if had to

I took a step back.

He took two forward.

“Relax,” he said, grin widening. “I’m not gonna bite.”

He grabbed my wrist.

Fast. Hard.

Too strong.

“Let go,” I snapped, voice low.

But he didn’t.

Instead, he stepped closer, crowding into my space. His breath touched my cheek.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ve seen the way you look at them. At Ronan. At Jax. You think they’d actually choose you?” His grip tightened. “You need someone who’ll actually want you.”

I tried to yank my hand free.

He shoved me and slammed me against the lockers. My shoulder cracked hard against the metal, pain shooting down my arm i let out a yelp as i felt the pain

My bag hit the ground.

Panic surged.

“Stop—”

He leaned in. One hand pressed against the locker above my head. The other still held my wrist.

“Just a kiss,” he murmured. “You want to find your mate, right? Maybe I’m it.”

I screamed.

He slapped his hand over my mouth.

I Took the opportunity to kick him right where the sun doesn’t shine

Hard.

He yelled and yanked back, but I used the opening to elbow him in the ribs, duck, grab my bag and run

But he caught me again. Threw me down hard

My back hit the floor with a sickening crack.

I couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t move.

He crouched over me, breath hot, face twisted in something that wasn’t desire it was ownership like we was about to claim me

“You should’ve been grateful,” he snarled.

I closed my eyes letting a few tears slide as i waited for the outcome however i didnt feel anything. I opened my eyes to see a blur

A sound like a snarl ripped through the hallway

Ronan tackled him mid-motion, slamming him against the lockers so violently that the metal dented

Cayden hit the floor, gasping, dazed.

Ronan didn’t stop.

He lifted him by the shirt and punched once, twice, three times bone cracking, deliberate, punishing.

“Touch her again,” he said through gritted teeth, “and I’ll end you.”

A group of students had started gathering, drawn by the noise.

Gasps echoed.

Someone screamed.

Blood splattered across the tile as Ronan threw Cayden against the wall. The other boy slumped, coughing, face swollen, nose broken, lip split wide open.

I sat up shakily, body screaming, vision blurry.

Then

More footsteps and comes a running Jax

He appeared in the hallway like a force of nature, stopping only when he reached me. His eyes darted over my body, landing on the bruise forming across my wrist, the tear in my collar, the stunned horror on my face.

He crouched, gently touching my arm.

“Lyra,” he said. “You okay?”

I opened my mouth.

No sound came out.

He looked up.

Saw Cayden.

Saw the blood.

The dented lockers.

The broken expression on Ronan’s face like he was barely holding it together.

Students filled the hallway now. Dozens. All staring.

Whispers rose.

“What the hell—?”

“Did he—?”

“She was attacked—”

“Why’s Ronan—?”

And that’s when Jax stood.

Not smiling now.

Not teasing.

He faced the crowd like a wolf cornered but unafraid.

And he growled.

Loud. Deep. Alpha-clear.

Everyone froze.

Then he snapped:

“Anyone who breathes a word of this like it’s gossip—I’ll make you regret it.”

Silence.

No one moved.

Jax stepped into the middle of the hallway, his voice razor-sharp.

“You want to laugh? You want to whisper? Try it. And you’ll deal with me.”

No one laughed.

No one whispered.

He turned back, scooped up my bag, and helped me up gently, as if touching me too hard might break something invisible.

And just before we left, I heard Ronan’s voice—low, venomous.

He crouched beside Cayden.

“You thought you were a wolf,” he said. “But you’re just another animal.”

Then he rose and followed us out.

---

The healer’s room was warm.

Too warm.

I sat on the cot with a blanket around my shoulders. My collarbone was bruised. My wrist would be sore for days. There were fingerprints burned into my skin.

But I was alive.

Whole.

Jax paced near the door, muttering curses under his breath. His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.

Ronan stood near the wall, arms crossed, breathing hard, like he hadn’t come down from the fight yet.

And then—

The door opened.

Alpha Kade.

The look on his face said he already knew everything.

He crossed the room with heavy, deliberate steps.

Stopped in front of me.

I didn’t look away.

“You were attacked,” he said. “That boy Cayden has been removed from the territory. His family has been informed. There will be no cover-up.”

I nodded once.

He studied me.

Then, lower:

“You are not responsible for what happened.”

“I know,” I whispered.

But the weight still clung to me like frost.

“And yet,” he added sharply, “this happened because you were alone. Because you’re still learning where the dangers lie. This pack is full of wolves but not all of them are tamed.”

He turned toward Jax and Ronan.

“You,” he said to them both, “will escort her everywhere on school grounds until I say otherwise. Class, training, meals. No exceptions.”

They both nodded.

Kade looked back at me one more time.

“There’s strength in surviving,” he said quietly. “But don’t ever think you have to do it alone again.”

And then he left.

15 Pull

I didn’t expect them to come together.

When the knock hits two quick, one slow—I’m still in yesterday’s sweater, hair in a messy braid, a half-finished mug of tea cooling on the table. I open the door and there they are, side by side on my porch like a storm with two centers.

Ronan: black coat, jaw tight, eyes steady.

Jax: hood up, hands shoved in his pockets, restless energy rolling off him in waves.

“I want to talk,” Ronan says.

“We want to talk,” Jax corrects, mouth tilted like he’s trying not to smile. “Together. Neutral ground. No punching.”

I stare at them for a beat, heart thudding. “Okay.” I step back. “Come in.”

They do. The cabin suddenly feels too small, the air too warm. I move the tea off the chair and gesture awkwardly. Ronan stays standing near the hearth. Jax drops into the chair and immediately bounces his knee like it’s a motor he can’t turn off.

No one speaks.

The fire pops. Outside, a branch scrapes the roof.

“Say it,” I whisper. “Either of you. Just say it first.”

Ronan meets my eyes. “Something is happening.”

Jax exhales. “Understatement, big guy.”

Ronan ignores him. “It started before last night,” he continues, voice even. “On the field. The ridge. The way my wolf… noticed you.”

Heat climbs my neck. I remember perfectly: the water bottle. The way his gaze had settled on me like a weight and a warning.

Jax leans forward, elbows on his knees. “I felt it at the kitchens. And again in history. Then the hallway.” His expression flickers—anger, guilt, something softer. “When I touched your arm, Lyra, it wasn’t just comfort.”

I grip the back of the second chair to keep my hands from shaking. “I felt something too. With both of you.” The words leave splintered. “But a spark isn’t the same as”

“a mate bond,” Ronan finishes quietly.

Silence hums.

“The law says a kiss confirms it,” Jax says, softer than I’ve ever heard him. “No kiss, no bond.”

I swallow. “I’m not ready to test anything.”

Ronan nods once, immediate. “Then we don’t.”

Jax looks between us, bites the inside of his cheek, and nods too. “We don’t.”

Some of the pressure in my chest loosens.

“But pretending there’s nothing,” I add, “will make me feel like I’m going crazy.”

Ronan’s gaze warms by a fraction. “We won’t pretend.”

Jax lifts a hand. “Ground rules, then. Because if we wing it, somebody’s going to throw a chair through a window.”

I huff a sound that’s not quite a laugh. “Okay. Rules.”

He counts on his fingers. “One: No fighting over Lyra.”

“Agreed,” Ronan says.

Jax blinks. “That was fast.”

Ronan doesn’t look away from me. “I won’t make her feel like a prize in a challenge.”

My throat tightens. I nod.

“Two,” Jax goes on, “nobody kisses anybody unless Lyra asks for it. No sneaking the test. No accidental oops-we-tripped lips.”

Colour rushes to my face. “Obviously.”

Ronan’s mouth twitches—almost a smile. “Agreed.”

“Three,” Jax says, “school rules. We keep the idiots off you. Escorts like Dad ordered, but not like you’re a prisoner. We rotate so it’s not a circus.”

Ronan finally looks his brother’s way. “I’ll take mornings.”

Jax tilts his head. “And I’ll do afternoons. Evenings we split.”

They’ve done this before dividing responsibility without arguing. The ease of it brushes a tender place in me I didn’t know existed.

“Four,” I say, surprising myself. They both glance over. My palms are damp, but I keep going. “If this goes nowhere if the spark fades or it’s not what we think no revenge. No rumors. No punishing me for not being someone I can’t be.”

Ronan answers first. “You owe us nothing.”

Jax follows, voice rough: “You never did.”

The room breathes again.

He slouches back, studying me. “Be honest, Moonlight.” I shoot him a look and he amends, “Lyra. When it’s you and me does it feel the same as when it’s you and him?”

I consider the question and hate that my eyes sting. “No. It’s different.”

Jax’s grin falters. “Different bad?”

“Different… different,” I say, hands sketching a shape in the air I can’t name. “With you it’s fast. It’s loud. Like I could do anything and it’d be stupid and also the best idea I’ve ever had.”

“Accurate,” he mutters, pleased despite himself.

“With Ronan it’s—” I glance over. He’s listening like every word matters. “Quiet. Heavy in my bones. Like I want to breathe slower and stand still and not run from the feeling.”

No one moves.

Jax nods, thoughtful in a way that looks strange on him. “Okay. That tracks.”

Ronan speaks carefully. “Both can be true. The bond if it exists doesn’t have to feel identical to be real.”

I stare at the old knots in the wooden floorboards. “People will talk regardless.”

“Let them,” Jax says, the easy recklessness back in his tone. “They’ll talk until they’re bored or scared or both.”

Ronan’s gaze flicks to my wrist, where faint finger-shaped bruises still shadow the skin. His voice drops. “They’ll stay scared if they have to.”

Jax rolls his shoulders, grinning again. “So we’re agreed: fear now, boredom later.”

I set the tea down before I spill it. “I don’t want anyone hurt because of me.”

Ronan’s answer is instant. “You are not the reason anyone chooses violence.”

Jax points at his brother. “Translation: if someone starts something, that’s on them.” He looks back at me. “We’re not starting anything.”

For a moment we just exist there three wolves in a too-small cabin, pretending we can tame something that’s already running circles around us.

Jax breaks the quiet. “There’s one more thing,” he says, less cocky, more careful. “Dad’s escort order isn’t going away. People will see us with you. That’s going to crank the rumor mill to a thousand.”

“I know.”

Ronan steps closer to the table, palms braced on the wood, voice steady. “Then we control what we can. We walk you to class. We sit nearby without crowding you. We shut down garbage fast. And we give you space when you ask for it.”

“Even if it kills us,” Jax stage-whispers.

Ronan doesn’t dignify that, but his mouth curves again, faint as smoke.

Jax rises, restless again, and wanders to the mantle, eyes snagging on the small bundle someone left me last night. He lifts the gloves, rubs the knit between his fingers, then sets them down with uncharacteristic gentleness.

“Did you send those?” I ask.

Ronan shakes his head. “No.”

Jax puts both hands up. “Not me. Though now I wish I’d thought of it.”

A beat.

“Thank you,” I say to the air anyway, because gratitude is safer than naming the ache behind my ribs.

Jax turns, leans against the mantle. “So… we wait?”

“We wait,” Ronan confirms.

“For what?” I ask, because I want to hear them say it.

“For you,” Ronan says.

“To be ready,” Jax adds. “Or not. Your call.”

My eyes burn again. I blink hard and look away. “I don’t want to be the reason you two”

“We’re brothers before we’re anything else,” Ronan says, simple as gravity.

“Disagree,” Jax says automatically, then grins when Ronan levels a look at him. “Kidding. Mostly.”

The corner of Ronan’s mouth lifts. The room eases another inch.

A gust of wind presses at the door like a curious hand. The fire cracks. Somewhere outside, a patrol calls to another and gets an answering howl.

Jax pushes off the mantle. “Okay. Escort shift starts now. I’ll take you for a loop, stretch your legs, make sure your stitches don’t mutiny. Ronan can scowl at anyone who looks too long.”

Ronan deadpans, “I don’t scowl.”

“You absolutely scowl.”

They both look at me.

My body wants sleep. My heart wants quiet. My wolf… wants the door open, the cold on my face, the sound of their steps on either side like a promise.

“Just the long path to the mess hall and back,” I say. “No detours.”

Jax salutes. “Aye aye, Captain.”

Ronan opens the door and stands there, waiting, like he has all the time in the world.

I pass between them, and for a second we’re too close in the doorway—my shoulder brushing Ronan’s coat; Jax’s fingers accidentally catching mine as he hands me my scarf.

It’s nothing.

It’s everything.

We step into the cold together.

No one says the word mate.

We don’t have to.

The spark walks with us.

16 Run

The moon is low and full when I step onto the edge of the trail behind the cabins.

Mist clings to the trees like breath that hasn’t faded. The night is cold enough to bite skin, but I welcome the sting. My lungs ache for air that isn’t filtered through whispers and classrooms and watching eyes.

A light rustle tells me they’re close.

Ronan emerges first, already in wolf form. Midnight black. Broad. Controlled. His paws make no sound against the frost-hardened earth. When his eyes meet mine, something flickers between us—not command, not concern. Recognition.

Then Jax—grey and silver, sleek and restless. He shifts mid-movement, leaping forward before his form has fully settled, like his wolf is always half a breath from taking over.

They don’t speak.

They don’t need to.

I breathe once, slow, and let go.

The shift comes easier now. Less pain, more flow. Bones rearrange, fur ripples over skin, vision sharpens—and then I’m on four legs, claws pressing into the dirt, heart pounding in a different rhythm.

Mine.

The forest stretches before us—twisting, vast, alive with wind and quiet sound.

We run.

Ronan leads. His pace is solid, unshakable. Each step deliberate, like he knows the path before we take it. He glances back once, just to check, and I push forward to stay at his flank.

Jax follows on the other side, weaving in and out like wind given shape. He bumps my side once—light, teasing—and I nip his shoulder in reply. He howls softly and darts ahead like a challenge.

Ronan doesn’t react. But he subtly speeds up.

So do I.

And the three of us—black, grey, white—cut through the night like one body split in three.

We leap over a fallen log in perfect sync.

Slide across a shallow stream that sparkles with moonlight.

Climb the ridge trail, paws digging into soft earth, breath hot clouds in the cold.

There’s no pack around us.

No stares.

No bruises.

No pressure.

Just heartbeats and motion and the wild hum of something that tastes like freedom—and something that buzzes under our skin whenever we get too close to each other.

I feel it when Ronan brushes past my side on the descent—a sharp pulse that skims down my spine.

I feel it when Jax races ahead and circles back to flank me again—a flare of heat that curls low in my stomach.

They feel it too.

I see it in the way Ronan’s ears flick back toward me, even when he leads. In how Jax glances sideways at my paws, my breathing, as if tracking every subtle shift.

There are no words here.

Just tension.

Tangled and real and rising like the frost in the air.

The forest opens into a clearing by the river. The stars hang low. The water moves slow and silver.

We stop.

Panting.

Breathing.

Close enough that our shoulders nearly touch.

I step forward first and press my wolf’s nose into the snow. Cool, grounding.

Ronan stands to my right, watching the water. Still as stone.

Jax steps behind me and brushes my flank with his, soft and brief, and then sits.

A small gesture.

But my wolf shivers.

I glance at Ronan—and find him already watching.

The air stretches thin.

It’s not a fight. Not a standoff.

But it’s something.

I shift first.

Clothes are stashed in a bundle nearby, and I wrap my coat around myself as the cold hits newly bare skin.

Jax shifts a second later. Then Ronan.

We sit around the edge of the river like we didn’t just feel the world tilt sideways again.

“I didn’t expect it to feel like that,” I whisper.

Jax runs a hand through his damp hair. “The run?”

I nod. “The… us part of it.”

Neither of them speaks for a long moment.

Then Ronan says, voice quiet: “It’s getting harder to ignore.”

Jax sighs, slow and real. “It’s not a game anymore.”

“It never was,” Ronan says.

I sit there, legs pulled to my chest, eyes on the water.

I don’t know what happens next.

But I know this—

Something is coming.

And it’s already running beside me.

17 Tension on the Mat

The halls are louder than usual.

Not in volume but in silence. The wrong kind of silence.

The kind that hushes when I walk past. That stretches too long after whispered laughter. That crackles like static between stares and half-smirks.

They’re not pretending anymore.

They’re watching me now.

I walk faster, gripping the strap of my bag like it might keep me grounded. The bruise on my wrist is nearly gone, but the memory hasn’t faded. Neither has the attention.

“She’s really with both of them?”

“Maybe she’s testing who the mate is.”

“Bet she’s already kissed one.”

“No way Ronan lets someone like her kiss him.”

I turn a corner only to freeze.

Talia’s leaning against the wall ahead, a group of girls around her. They see me instantly.

Talia’s eyes narrow like she’s waiting for this moment.

She straightens, pushes off the wall—and then someone steps between us.

Jax.

Arms crossed, grin lazy, body turned sideways just enough to shield me from the line of sight.

“Aw, good morning, T,” he says brightly. “Still standing around waiting for someone to notice you?”

Talia stiffens.

Jax turns to me and offers his arm. “Walk with me, Moonlight.”

I hesitate then loop my arm through his, grateful and embarrassed in equal measure.

“You heard that?” I whisper as we walk.

“Every word.” He leans in. “And it was all garbage. You don’t have to stand there and take it.”

“I wasn’t going to.”

“Sure. But I know how hard it is to not tear someone’s throat out when they say that kind of crap.”

I glance at him. “Is that what you’re here for? To keep me from starting a fight?”

He grins. “Nah. I’m here to start it for you.”

---

Our first class is combat training.

The gym is already buzzing when we arrive—mats unrolled, students stretching, some warming up in partial shifts. There’s tension in the air that has nothing to do with muscle and everything to do with me.

Eyes follow us the moment we walk in.

Some curious.

Some amused.

Some openly annoyed.

The instructor, Coach Myles, is an older wolf with a limp and a sharp eye. “Pair up,” he barks. “Two rounds. Control and disarm. No shifting unless instructed.”

Before anyone can even turn, Jax raises his hand.

“I’m pairing with Lyra.”

Coach lifts an eyebrow. “Anyone object?”

A few snickers.

A few shrugs.

No objections.

So it’s settled.

He pulls us to the center mat.

“Two rounds,” Coach says. “No blood. No showing off.”

“Define showing off,” Jax mutters.

Coach walks away before answering.

---

We circle each other on the mat, bare feet silent against the padded floor. I’m nervous—but not because of the fight. I know how to move. I know how to react.

What I don’t know is what it’s going to feel like when he touches me again.

He’s grinning. Not cocky. Just… light.

“You good?” he asks, hands loose at his sides.

“I’m ready.”

He nods once.

Then lunges.

Fast.

I dodge instinctively and pivot left, throwing my weight into a hip-check that nearly unbalances him.

He whistles. “Damn. Wasn’t expecting that.”

“Then you haven’t been paying attention.”

He laughs and spins, trying to catch my ankle, but I leap back, breath sharp.

It’s like a dance—more rhythm than aggression.

He tests my left side. I push off. He catches my wrist. I twist out. He goes for a sweep, but I flip and land in a crouch.

“Nice,” he says between breaths.

“Not bad yourself.”

Around us, the room’s attention is fixed. Conversations have stopped. Even Coach is watching closely now.

We move again—faster this time.

I go for a strike to his shoulder, but he catches my arm and pulls me in with a move so quick I barely register it before I’m under him.

Flat on my back.

Pinned.

His hands grip my wrists above my head. His knees straddle my thighs, not crushing but firm. Our breaths are uneven. His face is inches from mine.

And the spark?

It explodes.

Not a whisper.

Not a flicker.

It’s like being struck by lightning.

His pupils dilate.

My wolf rises, pressing against my skin.

We both freeze.

Neither of us speaks.

But the whole room knows.

They can’t look away.

Jax’s breath fans over my cheek. “Still good?” he murmurs.

My chest rises. “Yeah.”

He holds the position a beat longer too long, too intimate and then slowly releases me, helping me up with both hands like he can’t bear to break contact entirely.

When I stand, I glance around.

Dozens of eyes are on us.

Not mocking.

Not amused.

Just… watching.

Something has shifted.

Jax winks at me as he steps back into position.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he says under his breath. “And they just saw it.”

18 Something in the Blood

I’m still flushed when we leave the training hall.

Jax walks beside me, his hoodie slung over one shoulder, hair damp from the workout, skin glowing with smug energy. Everyone in the hall saw how that spar ended. Everyone saw the way he held me.

And more importantly how I didn’t pull away.

“Tell me again,” he says, bumping my shoulder, “that wasn’t the most fun you’ve had all week.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ve had more fun getting clawed.”

“Liar. You liked having me on top of you.”

“Jax.”

“What?” he laughs, grinning wide. “I’m just saying our chemistry’s undeniable. I mean, the sparks—”

“I didn’t kiss you.”

“Didn’t have to. Your wolf was practically humming.”

I elbow him in the ribs—lightly. He grunts with exaggerated pain, but he doesn’t stop smiling.

We reach the door to our next class: Wolf Anatomy and Instinct.

My stomach twists.

“Warning,” Jax says, lowering his voice as we step inside. “This is the weird class.”

“How weird?”

“You’ll see.”

The room is smaller, with layered seating that curves around the front where a tall woman with short silver hair and scarred hands stands beside a whiteboard covered in scent diagrams and hormone charts.

Her name’s Professor Voss, and she doesn’t waste time.

“No wolveshift talk today,” she says, tapping the board. “We’re focusing on heat cycles.”

Several students groan.

Someone near the back mutters, “Here we go.”

Voss turns sharply. “Don’t like it? Shift and run. Otherwise, sit down and learn something about your biology before it ambushes you.”

I blink. “Heat?” I whisper to Jax.

His face is suddenly different. A little tenser. More serious beneath the smirk.

He nods slowly. “You haven’t gone through one yet?”

“No.”

He swallows. “You will.”

I look back at the board.

WOLF HEAT CYCLE: Activation | Instinctual Pairing | Sensory Rejection | Mating Drive

Voss continues. “For unmated wolves, heat can manifest anytime between sixteen and twenty-two. Most suppress it with control, rank, or if necessary chemical regulation. For omegas…” Her eyes scan the room and stop on me.“it hits harder. No pack structure to ground it.”

I shift uncomfortably in my seat.

Jax notices.

He leans over, whispering low. “You okay?”

“I don’t know.”

My whole body feels hot suddenly. Like I’m hearing words I shouldn’t. Like everyone knows she’s talking about me.

“Heat,” Voss continues, “is not just physical. It’s emotional. A chemical storm designed to push wolves toward potential mates. It can be messy. It can be painful. And when someone is already bonded or close to it the reaction gets stronger.”

My cheeks flame.

I can feel Jax’s eyes on me.

But I don’t look at him.

I can’t.

“Tell me,” Voss says, looking at the front row, “how do bonded wolves respond when a heat triggers mid-cycle?”

A girl raises her hand. “They react without thinking. It’s not a choice it’s instinct.”

“And if they’re not bonded?”

“They seek the bond. They’re drawn to whoever they’ve been pulled toward. It’s like gravity.”

Voss nods. “Very good. And if they’re bonded to more than one wolf?”

The room falls dead silent.

She smiles sharp, deliberate. “Rare, but not impossible. It requires an omega, typically. Strong. Unmated. And a pack that accepts imbalance.”

I feel every pair of eyes shift toward me.

I want to disappear.

Jax leans closer again, voice quieter now. Not teasing.

“Lyra. Breathe.”

I do.

But it’s shallow.

Voss’s gaze flicks back to me. She doesn’t call on me. Doesn’t single me out. But her tone shifts.

“If you’re bonded and don’t realize it the heat will tell you. Wolves break. Wolves run. Wolves choose.”

The words slide down my spine like cold water.

When class ends, I’m the first one on my feet.

But Jax catches up to me before I even hit the stairwell. He doesn’t touch me—he just walks beside me, hands in his pockets, eyes forward.

“Do you think…” I start, but my throat closes.

He glances over. “Think what?”

I try again. “Do you think it’s close? The heat?”

He hesitates.

Then answers: “I think your wolf already knows who she wants to burn for.”

I stop walking.

He turns to face me.

I’m not sure what I expect.

More teasing?

A cocky grin?

But Jax just looks at me like I’m something sacred and dangerous all at once.

“I won’t rush you,” he says. “But if it is me don’t run when it starts.”

My heart beats faster than it should.

And I wonder—

if this thing between us…

is already catching fire.

19 A Place at the Table

Lunch used to be the worst part of my day.

I’d grab a tray, keep my head down, and find the emptiest table at the far end of the cafeteria where the heating vents rattled and the food tasted colder than it was.

But now?

Now I walk in beside Jax, who’s too loud and too smug for someone who just spent an entire class whispering dirty jokes during a lecture on heat cycles. He has an apple in his hand that he hasn’t even paid for, and he tosses it up in the air like it’s a prop.

“I think you’re officially infamous,” he says as we step into line.

“Infamous?”

“Yep. Way past just ‘known.’ You’ve moved into legend territory.”

“Because of you.”

He places a hand over his chest, mock hurt. “I prefer to think of it as mutual chaos.”

I roll my eyes but I can’t help smiling.

We load our trays, and as we turn, Ronan is already waiting by a corner table near the windows. Of course he is. Posture straight, expression unreadable, arms crossed like a guard who doesn’t know how to rest.

When he sees me, his eyes soften.

Just slightly.

Jax slaps his tray down first and flops into the seat beside him. I sit across from both of them.

For the first few seconds, we eat in silence.

It’s strangely comfortable.

Outside the windows, snow drifts lazily across the training yard. Inside, the cafeteria is full of clattering plates, hushed whispers, and eyes that flick toward our table but look away just as fast.

We’re being watched.

Again.

But this time it doesn’t feel as cruel.

More like curiosity.

Caution.

Recognition.

“So,” Jax says, mouth half full of fries, “I’m thinking we should get your shift timing fixed.”

I glance up. “Why?”

“Because it’s totally unfair that Ronan gets the evening escort slot. That’s prime ‘wolf sneaking off for a moonlit walk’ time.”

Ronan doesn’t look up from his tray. “She’s not sneaking anywhere.”

“Exactly,” Jax grins. “Which is why I should be in charge of those hours.”

“I’m not a shift,” I mutter. “And you two sound like I’m a prisoner.”

“Please,” Jax says. “You’re the queen. We’re the guards fighting over who gets to stand closer.”

Ronan sighs. “You’re exhausting.”

Jax points at him with a fry. “You’re just mad I’m funnier.”

I shake my head, laughing under my breath. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you two just be brothers before.”

Jax smirks. “We’ve always been brothers. You’re just finally sitting close enough to see it.”

Before I can answer, two figures approach the table.

One is a tall boy with dark curls, warm brown skin, and a cocky grin that rivals Jax’s. The other is a slim, sharp-eyed girl with short black hair, broad shoulders, and a calculating calmness to her walk.

Jason and Becca

They stop beside our table, trays in hand.

“Mind if we sit?” Becca asks, her voice even but firm.

Ronan nods once. “Go ahead.”

Jason drops into the seat beside me, grinning. “So this is the girl who’s got both of you walking around like you’ve swallowed sparks.”

“Jason,” Ronan says flatly.

“What?” Jason nudges my arm. “Don’t worry. He talks about you more then you can imagine which means he absolutely feels something.”

I blink. “Are you always this forward?”

He winks. “Only with people who survive sparring with Jax.”

Jax grins proudly. “Told you she’s strong.”

Becca sits beside Ronan, eyeing me with interest. Not cruelly. Not suspicious. Just measuring.

“You hold your ground well,” she says. “Most omegas would’ve run by now.”

“I’ve had practice.”

She nods. “I’m Becca. Ronan’s second. Strategy and enforcement.”

“Jason,” the boy says, dramatically placing a hand on his chest. “Second to chaos and charm.”

“Jax’s second,” Becca clarifies with a sigh. “When he remembers he has responsibilities.”

Jax flashes a grin. “That’s what I have him for.”

Jason grins back. “Damn right.”

The table settles again. The tension softens.

They’re not just here for the food.

They’re here to make a statement.

By sitting with me, the second in command are doing what the rest of the pack hasn’t figured out how to do yet.

They’re saying:

She’s one of us.

She matters.

Get used to it.

And for the first time since stepping into this new life, I believe I might actually belong.

20 The Ones Who Stand Behind the Alphas

By the time most students finish lunch and drift back to class, our table is still full.

Jason’s already on his second round of fries. Becca eats slower, barely glancing at her food, more focused on the layout of the room than anything on her tray. Jax has propped his feet up on the bench across from him, and Ronan’s… well, Ronan’s still quiet—but his presence is the kind that fills space without needing words.

I glance at Becca. “So… what does it actually mean to be second-in-command? You just give orders when they’re not around?”

Jason snorts. “If only. It’s less ‘giving orders’ and more ‘putting out fires.’ And occasionally, starting a few.”

Becca rolls her eyes. “Ignore him. The role depends on the Alpha. With Ronan, it’s about structure. Enforcement. Tactics. He expects me to see problems before he does and take care of them—cleanly.”

Ronan nods slightly, confirming it.

Jason leans in. “With Jax, it’s more about being his filter.”

“My what?” Jax raises an eyebrow.

Jason grins. “You react too fast. I’m the guy who figures out if the fire is a spark or a full inferno before you start swinging.”

Lyra laughs. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” Jason says, but he doesn’t sound bothered. “But it’s worth it. Second is more than a title. We’re the Alphas’ instincts when theirs are split. Their backup. Their conscience—when necessary.”

Becca cuts in, her gaze landing on me. “We’re also their shields. If something hits the pack, it hits us first. That includes challenges, disputes, and every mess the rest of the wolves bring in.”

“And we can’t show fear,” Jason adds, voice softer now. “Because the pack watches us. If we panic, they break.”

A silence settles.

The weight of what they carry suddenly feels much bigger than it sounds.

“Why you two?” I ask. “Why did they choose you?”

Ronan answers first. “Becca earned her place. She doesn’t make noise—she makes results.”

Becca’s eyes flicker. “That’s high praise, coming from you.”

Jax throws an arm around Jason’s shoulders. “And this idiot? He’s chaos I can trust. He knows when to rein me in. And when to throw fuel on the fire.”

Jason lifts his soda in a mock toast. “To knowing the difference.”

Becca looks back at me. “Second is loyalty. Not blind loyalty—but deep. We don’t just serve the Alpha. We challenge them. Balance them.”

Jason adds, “It’s not about obedience. It’s about standing in front of a threat with them.”

That sticks with me.

Because until now, I’ve only seen the surface of their pack.

Ranks. Roles. Alpha sons and stares.

But sitting here, listening to Becca’s cool steadiness and Jason’s sharp wit, I realize this isn’t just about strength. It’s about trust. Commitment.

Duty.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” I ask quietly.

Jason shrugs. “Sure. Some days I want to punch Jax in the throat.”

“Rude.”

“But I’d still take a hit for him.”

Becca speaks softly. “It’s not easy. But it’s ours.”

I nod slowly.

The table quiets for a moment. Not awkward. Just thoughtful.

Then Becca leans closer.

“You’re not one of us—yet,” she says, tone gentle but clear. “But if this bond is real? If the rumors become truth? You need to understand what it means to stand with them.”

Jason nods. “Because it won’t be just heat or feelings anymore. It’ll be leadership. Eyes on you. Expectations.”

Jax rests his arms on the table, watching me now. Ronan does too.

I sit straighter, the pressure of their attention pressing into my spine like a question I haven’t figured out how to answer yet.

“I don’t know what I’m meant to be,” I admit. “But I’m not going to be afraid of finding out.”

Becca’s lips twitch upward. “Good.”

Jason raises a brow. “You might be Omega, Lyra. But if you can handle us? You can handle anything.”