Chapter 3

I just prayed—silently, desperately—that the teacher would walk in and give me something else to focus on.

Not because I thought he’d protect me. That wasn’t his job, apparently.

He’d seen me get cornered before. Heard the things they said. And he'd done nothing.

But if he came in and started droning on about pack history or wolf law or whatever bullshit lecture he had planned today, maybe I could pretend, just for a little while, that I wasn’t here. That I was somewhere else.

Anywhere else.

I shifted in my seat, arms crossed tightly over my chest. My skin itched with sweat and bleach and embarrassment. I could smell myself—no one else probably noticed, but I did. I smelled like work. Like submission. Like omega.

And that was blood in the water.

Ava leaned backward from her desk in front of me, just enough to whisper over her shoulder, “You should sit outside, you know. You reek.”

I stared down at the graffiti scratched into my desk. Someone had carved a wolf’s head there once, deep and jagged. I liked to trace the lines with my finger when I needed to stay calm. Today I didn’t touch it. Today I didn’t trust my hands to be steady.

Laughter.

I clenched my jaw hard.

One more day. One more minute. One more breath.

The teacher finally walked in, older wolf with greying hair and a limp he never explained. He dropped a stack of papers on the desk and started writing on the board without a glance toward us.

I could still feel Ava’s stare on the side of my neck.

But at least I had something to look at besides her face. Something to think about besides the fact that I didn’t have a wolf. That I might never have one. That my birthday was in three days, and every second felt like it was tightening a noose around my throat.

If it didn’t come—if my wolf didn’t show—I was done. Officially marked as a failure.

Some packs kicked wolfless members out. Others let them stay and suffer.

Silver Claw? They liked to make examples.

My nails dug into my palms as I stared blankly at the notes on the board. I didn’t take them. I didn’t even see them. I was too busy thinking about how many more mornings I could survive like this. How many more bleach-soaked uniforms, how many more smug insults, how many more fake apologies masked as accidents.

Something had to give. Eventually.

Either me, or them.

The thing is… Ava isn’t just some random mean girl with pretty eyes and a mean mouth. No. She’s the Beta’s daughter. That means something in Silver Claw. It means power. It means immunity. It means she can rip someone’s hair out in the hallway and still get praised for having “spirit.”

And her older brother? He’s next in line to be Beta after their father steps down—once Leon takes the Alpha title, that is.

Leon.

Gods, that name.

The moment it crosses my mind, I can feel my stomach twist in that ridiculous way I hate. The same way it does every time I see him. Because Leon isn’t just some powerful wolf. He’s the wolf. The one every girl in this gods-forsaken pack dreams about. He’s twenty-one. Tall, broad-shouldered, with that midnight-black hair and those eyes that look like they were carved out of onyx. Cold. Distant. And he carries it all like he was born with the world under his heel.

Which, let’s be honest, he kind of was.

Leon’s father is the current Alpha, and one of the fiercest leaders Silver Claw has ever had. But tradition binds even the strongest. And here, in our sacred, rule-bound little hell, no wolf can take the Alpha throne without finding their fated mate. The bond has to be sealed before the title is passed down. That’s how it has always been

So, Leon is still waiting to find his.

While everyone else watched

Some wolves find their mates early, just after their first shift. Some don’t find them until their mid-twenties—or not at all. For Leon, the whole pack is holding its breath. The longer he goes mate-less, the more pressure builds. Everyone wants to be the one. Girls throw themselves at him like he's the Moon Goddess reincarnated in leather jackets and growls.

And Ava? She’s made it her life’s mission to convince everyone—including herself—that she’s the chosen one.

Her birthday’s in three days.

Funny. Mine is, too.

The irony could kill me.

She’s everything I’m not. Tall, perfect, vicious in all the right ways. Blonde hair that always falls in perfect waves no matter the weather, ice-blue eyes that command attention, and a voice sharp enough to slice through steel. She walks into a room and people move. I walk in and people don’t even look up—unless they’re checking if I’ve tripped yet.