Eastmoore College

~Soren~

So here's the deal with my life: it's dull.

While Georgina is due to marry Alpha Donovan, now husband number five for anyone keeping score, I live in the dorm at Eastmoore College. I share a tiny room with a girl who hoards toenail clippings.

My pack is tiny and negligible. Nothing ever really takes place there except for the occasional stray scare, and Mrs. Henderson’s feline climbing up trees again.

I don’t party. I don’t keep track of pack gossip. I don’t really know who’s who apart from “that one is an alpha, don’t make eye contact.”

So when people at Eastmoore mention Felix Dimitri in passing — some rich kid from Elsbridge Pack — I glaze over. The problems of the rich are not my problems.

Until they are my problems.

And now I stand in front of a sprawling manor house and I am waiting for a driver that Georgina insists on because clearly walking to the bus stop like a normal person just isn’t in the Dimitri Image.

Felix is nowhere to be seen.

Shocking. After that text last night,

he’s out of sight. He skips dinner, he won’t see me this morning, and he has his door shut.

The door of the car is opened by the driver, a middle-aged wolf named Thomas who looks too kind to be in this line of work.

“Ready, Miss Soren?”

“Just Soren is fine.”

He smiles. “Soren it is.”

The drive to campus holds steady in silence. he never probes or pries for conversation.

We stop at the front door, and then the relief and the dread hit me like a double slap as I look up at the campus.

Relief, because I know this place.

Dread, because nothing feels the same anymore.

“Have a good day,” Thomas says.

“Thanks.”

I sling my backpack over my shoulder and make my way toward the quad.

The Eastmoore College attempts to appear intellectual with its brick buildings and towering trees, and students dotted around the lawn as if to work while scrolling TikTok.

I see my friends immediately.

Indie is on our usual bench then, sketchbook opened, most likely sketching something peculiar but stunning. Jazz scrolls her phone as she’s plunged in someone’s I*******m. Kyle is reclining on the grass with sunglasses and a look that says he’s either philosophizing or napping.

“SOREN!” Indie shouts.

She throws herself at me as soon as I reach them. “Oh my god, you vanished! Your mom got married, then nothing. No texts, no calls. I thought you died.”

“I didn’t die.”

“She lives,” Kyle says without sitting up. “The prodigal bestie returns.”

Jazz lifts her gaze. “Spill the tea. How was the weddin’? Is your new stepdad hot? Does he have money? Please say he has money.”

I plop down on the bench. “He has money.”

Jazz pumps a fist. “At last! One of us hit the jackpot. Can I come over? Is the house huge? Do you have a pool?”

“Yes. And yes. And I fell into it.”

“On purpose?” Indie asks.

“Long story.”

“We have time,” Kyle says, finally sitting up. “Class starts in twenty minutes.”

So I tell them.

Just the basics: Georgina marries a rich alpha, the house is ridiculous, there is a stepbrother, and yes, the pool incident happens, thanks to a drunk idiot named Carter.

“Wait,” Jazz says, raising a hand.

“Stepbrother. You have a stepbrother.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Is he hot?”

I choke. “What?”

“It’s a fair question. Rich family, good genes. Is he hot?”

“I hate him.”

“That is not an answer,” Indie says.

“He is…” I look for a safe something. “Infuriating.”

“So yes,” Kyle says. “He’s hot.”

“I never said that.”

“You didn’t have to. It’s in your voice.”

“There is no voice.”

“There is,” Jazz says. “What’s his name? I want to stalk him.”

“Felix.  Felix Dimitri.”

Silence.

The three of them glare at me.

“I’m sorry,” Indie says. “What did you say? Felix Dimitri?”

Yes?”

Jazz Squeaks. “FELIX DIMITRI?”

“The Felix Dimitri?”

I blink. “There are two?”

“Oh my god.” Jazz grabs my shoulders. “Soren. He goes here. To this school. He is campus royalty.”

My stomach drops. “What?”

“How do you not know this?” Indie asks. “He’s everywhere. Hot biker guy. Always surrounded by girls. Rides that freaky ass motorcycle.”

Jazz squeals. “Your stepbrother?”

“I didn’t know he was a student here.”

“How is that possible?” Indie asks. “He is impossible to miss.”

Jazz is already scrolling. “I follow him. Look.” She pushes her phone toward me.

It is Felix. On his motorcycle, leather jacket, the entire hide-ously perfect package.

One hundred and twenty-seven thousand followers.

“He never dates anyone publicly,” Jazz says. “Girls throw themselves at him. He doesn’t care."

“He is definitely gay,” Kyle says.

Indie and Jazz’s voices overlap: “He’s not gay.”

“Bi then.”

“Goodness me, please,” I snap. “Can we talk about anything else?”

“No,” they say in unison.

Lunch is served too quickly.

We sat at our regular outdoor table underneath the big oak tree. I am halfway through my sandwich when Indie gasps.

“Oh no,” Jazz says.

“What?” I look up from my book.

The two of them are gazing beyond me.

I turn around.

Felix is strutting across the quad like he owns the place. Black shirt. Jeans. Leather jacket rests on his shoulder. Hair perfect. Face perfect. Everything is perfect.

His friends are walking with him, Carter included.

They are laughing. Heading for the cafeteria.

“Holy shit,” Jazz mumbles. “That’s him.”

“Your stepbrother,” indie says.

“Unfortunately.”

Kyle looks thrilled. “This is historic.”

Is not. It is a dream from which I want to wake.

Felix looks up and his eyes find mine.

The bond slams into me like heat under my skin. Sharply and immediately and I look away first.

“Did he just—” Jazz starts.

“He’s coming over,” Indie whispers.

“What?” I snapped my head toward them.

Too late.

Felix heads straight for our table.

He halts before us, with his hands in his pockets.

“Siren.”

Jazz utters a strangled noise like a pregnant cat.

“Felix,” I say through clenched teeth. “What do you want?”

“Checking in.” He glances at my friends. “Making sure you got here safely.”

“I’m fine.”

“Good.” His jaw tightens. “Dad wants me to make sure you get settled.”

“Well, I’m settled. You go ahead.”

“Rude,” he says, though there is a slight smile on his lips. “You aren’t gonna introduce us?”

“No.”

He bicycles through that. “I’m Felix.” He nods at them. “Soren’s stepbrother.”

“We know,” Jazz blurts. “Everyone knows.”

“Flattering.” He turns to me. “You’ve been talking about me, Siren?”

“Don’t call me that.”

“It suits you.” His voice lowers. “Sirens lure men to their doom.”

I can feel my face burning.

“This is kind of strange,” Kyle says.

“Very,” Felix says, not breaking his gaze from me. “See you at home, Siren.”