#Chapter 2: The Cufflink

Lila's POV

I stood in front of the door marked 616 and could hear the conversation continuing from inside.

My bf’ voice came through — thick with effort, unmistakable. "God, you're so much better than her," the voice said. The voice that called me every night, that told me I was his, that promised we'd be mated after my birthday. "Who wants a wolfless bookworm? She can't even kiss without freezing up."

The girl laughed. Low, casual, confident.

"So when are you going to tell her?" she said.

"Tell her what? She brings me coffee every morning. She does my homework. Why would I mess that up?"

She moaned again. "She doesn't even know, does she? That I'm the one you come to after practice every night."

"She doesn't have a clue," my boyfriend said. "She never will."

"You're practically dying on top of me. That little bookworm can't satisfy you. Don't tell me you're staying with her out of some childhood obligation."

"Course not." Derek's voice, lazy and satisfied. "Who'd stay with a wolfless girl? Wolfless is just a fancy word for useless. She'd make a decent maid, maybe. Have you seen her? Plaid shirts every day, glasses thick as bottle caps, holed up in the library like that's a personality."

"Has she even slept with you?"

"No." Disgust. Real, bare, undisguised. "She can barely kiss without freezing up. Wants to wait till her Coming of Age, like turning eighteen is going to fix what's broken."

My vision blurred. Tears hit the backs of my hands before I knew I was crying.

Three years I'd brought him coffee every morning. Skipped my workshops. Ironed his jerseys. He said he didn't mind that my wolf hadn't come. He said I was just a late bloomer. And when he didn't push for sex, I thought it meant something. That he was saving our first time for our Coming of Age night, because it mattered to him the way it mattered to me.

He hadn't been saving anything. He'd been spending it next door.

Room 616 wasn't locked.

They were tangled in the sheets. He was on top of her. Neither of them heard me until I spoke.

"We're done."

Brielle screamed. He rolled off, grabbed for the blanket. When he saw me standing in the doorway, robe undone, mascara streaked, his face went from shock to something calculating in under a second.

"Babe, it's not what —"

"I heard every word through the wall." Flat and steady. A voice that didn't sound like mine.

She tugged the sheet to her chin and watched me like I was an interruption. "So you were eavesdropping," she said.

I didn't look at her. I looked at him. The boy I'd been carrying things for since I was fifteen.

"Don't call me. Don't text me. We're finished."

I turned and walked out without looking back.

Something bit into my palm in the elevator. I uncurled my fist.

A cufflink. Cobalt blue enamel inlaid in silver, heavy for its size. The kind of piece that was made once, for one person. I must have torn it from the stranger's sleeve when I pulled away from him.

Whoever he was, he wasn't nobody.

I stood in the lobby in a silk robe and hotel slippers, holding his cufflink and trying to breathe. I hadn't asked his name. The room had been dark the entire time. I'd been blindfolded, and when I finally ripped the silk off he already had his back to me. I never saw his face. All I had was a low voice, the scent of cedarwood, and the memory of hands that moved like they'd done this a thousand times.

I went to the front desk. "The guest in room 619. I need to return something of his."

The woman looked at my face, then the robe. "He checked out fifteen minutes ago, miss."

Of course he had.

I closed my fist around the cufflink and walked into the cold.

My best friend Gemma made tea the next morning and sat on my bed.

"Men are garbage," she announced, after I'd told her the short version. "Absolute, certified, dumpster-fire garbage. I hope his wolf gets fleas."I pulled the blanket over my head.

"I don't want to talk about it."

"Perfect. New topic." She yanked the blanket down, eyes already sparkling with something that had nothing to do with my breakup. "Have you heard about the new combat professor? Professor Aldrich. Pureblooded Alpha. Championship fighter." She grabbed my arm and shook it. "And apparently — I'm talking chiseled-by-the-Moon-Goddess-herself levels — devastatingly hot. Like, half the girls in the academy are signing up for Combat 101 just to stare at him for an hour."

"Sign up with me."

"No thanks."

"Come on —"

"Gemma. I'm wolfless. I'll walk in there and be a punching bag for a bunch of shifted Alphas. That's not a class, that's a beating with attendance credit."

"That's exactly why you should go!" She sat up on her knees, tea abandoned. "You're wolfless, babe. You don't have super strength, you don't have claws, you literally need combat skills more than anyone in this school. And —" She held up a finger. "— you'll get to watch me drool over a hot professor. It's a win-win."

I stared at her.

She stared back, zero shame.

"…You just want me there so you don't look weird sitting in the front row alone."

"I want you there for emotional support and also yes, I can't be the only one giggling. Please. Please please please —"

"Fine."

She squealed and threw her arms around me.

I didn't tell her the real reason I said yes. That she was right — about the wolfless part, not the drooling part. My birthday was in four weeks. If my wolf didn't come, the pack wouldn't wait. And a wolfless girl whose gamma mother shifted at nine? I wasn't a late bloomer. I was a failed experiment. If I couldn't shift, at least I could learn to throw a punch before they threw me out.

The hallway outside the combat gym was packed.

I'd never seen this many people trying to get into a single class. Students lined the corridor wall to wall — leaning on lockers, craning their necks, whispering to each other with the kind of energy usually reserved for concerts or public executions. Half of them weren't even enrolled. They were just here to watch.

Gemma had her arm hooked through mine, vibrating like a tuning fork.

"Okay," she whispered. "I heard from Jessica who heard from that Beta in her chem lab that he showed up to the faculty mixer in all black and didn't speak to a single person the entire night. Just stood in the corner with a glass of whiskey. Like a villain. A hot villain."

"You're sweating."

"I'm excited. There's a difference." She rose on her toes to see over the crowd. "Oh my God. Oh my God — he's coming. He's coming!"

I didn't see him first.

I smelled him.

Cedarwood. Clean, dry, unmistakable. And underneath it, something darker. Warmer. Animal.

My lungs locked.

The crowd parted and went quiet. He walked through the corridor like the bodies on either side were scenery. Tall, dark-haired, jaw cut hard. His fitted black shirt pulled across broad shoulders. He didn't look left. He didn't look right. He pushed through the gym doors without breaking stride, and the crowd funneled in after him like a tide.

Gemma dragged me inside. I couldn't feel my legs.

For one stupid second, I wanted to step closer.

"My name is Aldrich." His voice carried across the gym without effort — low, level, absolute. "This is Combat 101. I don't tolerate excuses. I don't give extensions. If you're here to work, stay. If you're here to spectate, the door is behind you."

A few students near the back quietly slipped out.

I didn't move.

My skin prickled.

I knew that voice.