Mate on thin ice

WAKING UP TO RAGE

~MABLE POV~

I woke up choking on the smell of rain and the sound of a flatlining heart.

One second, I am flat on my back in the street, headlights blinding me, the taste of blood filling my throat. Next, I am sitting straight up in my dorm bed at Blackridge U, the sheets tangled around my feet like they’re trying to keep me from escaping.

Third time. Third fucking time.

My heart is trying to punch a hole through my sternum. I press both hands to my chest, gasping, but the pain isn't just in my ribs. It’s lower. A sharp, stabbing cramp in my abdomen that feels like a ghost trying to claw its way back to life.

I doubled over, squeezing my stomach. The phantom pain.

I shouldn’t feel this. In this life—this "reset"—I am supposed to be eighteen. I am supposed to be "whole." But my body remembers what my mind is trying to process. It remembers the second heartbeat that stopped right along with mine when that car hit me in Life Two.

I reached for my backpack on the floor, my hands shaking so hard I could barely unzip it. I shouldn’t have been looking for it. I shouldn’t have known it was there. But tucked inside the inner pocket, right next to my fake ID, was a crumpled piece of thermal paper.

An ultrasound photo.

It was dated two years from now. The ink was still wet, as if it had just been printed in a future that hadn't happened yet. A glitch in the loop.

A reminder from the Moon Goddess that I didn’t just lose my life last time—I lost my legacy.

I dug my nails into my palms until it stung. No tears this round.

First life, I sobbed until I couldn’t breathe. Second life, I screamed until my throat was raw. This time? All I felt was cold. Harsh. Like stepping on broken glass and deciding the pain was the only thing keeping me awake.

I am done begging the Moon Goddess. Done acting like Lola’s just a jealous bitch instead of the girl who literally made sure two heartbeats stopped at once.

This time, I burn everything.

I kicked the sheets off and stood. My legs were shaky, but they held. I stood under the freezing spray of the shower until my skin turned red, letting the water rinse off the ghost-blood I could still feel on my thighs.

In the mirror, I cleared a line through the fog. It was the same face. Dark waves plastered to my neck, hazel eyes too bright, too angry.

Same girl. Different monster underneath.

I skipped my morning lecture. No point pretending I give a shit about Media Ethics when I already know how this story ends.

Outside, Blackridge was doing its usual thing—drizzling rain that never apologized. I pulled my hood up and cut through the quad. And there they were.

Aiden and Lola, leaning on the brick wall by the arts building like they were shooting a thirst trap for the pack’s I*******m.

He had that lazy grin, blond hair messy, green eyes catching the light. Lola was glued to his side, her platinum waves perfect, laughing at whatever bullshit he just said. Her hand slid up his chest, slow and claiming.

My stomach flipped. The phantom ache screamed.

Aiden didn’t know. In this life, he hadn't even rejected me yet. He had no idea that in another timeline, he had called me "unworthy" while I was carrying a piece of him. He didn’t deserve to know.

I turned away before I did something dumb, like march over and show them exactly how a "weak" girl looks when she’s already died twice.

My shift at Brew & Blade started at eleven. The shop sits right across from the campus rink—big windows, nonstop views of hockey guys in practice jerseys. Usually, the sound of pucks thudding against the boards calms me.

Today, it felt like someone dragging nails down my spine.

I tied my black apron, yanked my hair into a knot, and fired up the espresso machine. Above the counter, the TV was muted, captions rolling over a face I knew too well.

Darin Salvator.

Black hair, ice-blue eyes, and a jawline that could cut glass. He was Aiden’s uncle, the pack’s pro-athlete disaster. The headline crawling across the screen made me huff a laugh: ‘PLAYBOY PRO CAUGHT IN CLUB BRAWL—REBELS AGAINST PACK TRADITION.’

Jess, the other barista, bumped my elbow. “You think he’s actually that bad? Or is it just the PR?”

“Worse,” I muttered, staring at his eyes on the screen.

There was something in the way he looked at the camera—bored, numb, like he was waiting for the world to end just so he could stop pretending to care.

I felt a weird jolt of understanding. He looked exactly how I felt.

Maybe he is the weapon. The thought hit gently but clearly. It is risky.

I could lie. I could tell the pack I was dating him. I could walk into that mating ceremony on the arm of the most powerful, scandalous wolf in the bloodline and watch Aiden and Lola choke on their own smugness.

Aiden would be humiliated. Lola would lose her status. And me? I would have the ultimate shield.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I dragged it out with a steady hand.

Aiden: ‘We need to talk. Meet me after your shift?’

In my last life, this text would have made my heart soar. Now, I just looked at the ultrasound glitch tucked into the back of my phone case.

My thumb suspended over the screen. I wasn't going to meet him. I was going to replace him.

I looked back at the TV, at Darin’s cold, beautiful face.

‘Sorry, Uncle Darin,’ I thought, a dark smirk tugging at my lips for the first time. ‘But you’re about to become the best mistake I ever made.’

I didn’t reply to Aiden. I just deleted the thread.

Everything was about to change. And this time, I wasn't the only one who was going to bleed.