CHAPTER 4

ANTALYA'S POV

I stared at my reflection, rehearsing the lines I'd practiced all night. The girl in the mirror looked haggard, with dark circles under her eyes, but determination blazed in her gaze. This performance had to be convincing. My life depended on it.

When Mom unlocked my door that morning, I was sitting calmly on my bed, hands folded in my lap.

"I've been thinking," I said softly, keeping my eyes downcast in a show of submission that made my wolf bristle with rage.

Mom paused, suspicion written across her features. "About what?"

I swallowed my pride, forcing the words out. "About my responsibility to this family. About... accepting my fate."

The hope that bloomed on her face made my stomach turn, but I pressed on.

"If I must meet Alpha Dominic today, I want to at least look presentable." I glanced up, injecting vulnerability into my voice. "Could I visit Lunar Parlour before he arrives? Just to get my hair done, maybe a manicure? If I'm to be... his... I should at least look worthy of an Alpha."

Mom's eyes welled with tears as she rushed forward, embracing me. "Oh, sweetheart, you don't know how relieved I am! Your father and I have been so worried."

I returned her hug mechanically, fighting the urge to recoil. "I understand now. Family comes first."

An hour later, I sat in the back seat of our car, Dad driving while continuously glancing at me in the rearview mirror as if afraid I might vanish.

"I'll wait right outside," Dad said firmly as we pulled up to the Lunar Parlour. "No funny business, Antalya."

I nodded demurely. "I just want to look nice. That's all."

The salon was busy with morning appointments, wolves from across the pack territory getting primped and polished. The familiar scent of hair products and perfumes filled my nostrils as Emma, the owner, greeted me with a smile.

"Antalya! We weren't expecting you. What can we do for you today?"

"Just a wash and style," I replied, heart hammering against my ribs. "My dad's waiting outside."

Emma nodded, directing me to a chair near the back—exactly where I needed to be.

"I'll have Kira take care of you," she said, gesturing to a young stylist. "I need to mix some color for Mrs. Patterson."

As Emma walked away, I glanced at the emergency exit door just five feet from my chair. Freedom was so close I could taste it.

"I just need to use the restroom first," I told Kira, slipping away before she could respond.

Instead of turning toward the bathroom, I darted through the emergency exit, the alarm mercifully silent. The back alley was empty except for trash bins and delivery crates. I pulled a surgical mask from my pocket—swiped from our home first aid kit—and covered my face, heart racing as I sprinted away from the salon, away from my father, away from the life that had been forced upon me.

Three blocks later, I slowed to a casual walk, keeping my head down as I navigated toward the seedier part of town where a small pawn shop sat wedged between a liquor store and a tattoo parlor. The bell above the door jingled cheerfully as I entered, a stark contrast to the desperation clawing at my chest.

An elderly man with spectacles perched on his nose barely looked up from his newspaper. "Help you?"

"I need men's clothes," I said bluntly, keeping my voice low. "Secondhand is fine. And bandages. And—" I hesitated, lowering my voice further, "I need a scent-concealing potion."

Now the man looked up, eyes narrowing as he studied me. "That's specialty merchandise, girl. Not something I keep on the shelf for just anyone."

I pulled out the emergency cash I'd hidden in my sock. "I can pay."

He snorted, setting aside his paper. "Not with that, you can't. Scent-concealers are rare and expensive."

Panic bubbled inside me. "Please. I need it. I have a bank account, but I can't access it right now—"

"Stop," a woman's voice interrupted from behind a beaded curtain. "I'll help you."

An older woman emerged, her silver hair braided intricately down her back, eyes gleaming with an unnatural amber light. A witch.

"Marla," the shopkeeper warned, "we don't need trouble."

"This girl is already in trouble," she replied, gesturing for me to follow her to the back room. "And trouble finds its way to all of us eventually."

Behind the curtain, shelves lined the walls, filled with jars of mysterious contents. The witch—Marla—moved directly to a locked cabinet, removing a small blue bottle.

"This will mask your scent for six hours at a time. After that, you must reapply." She fixed me with a penetrating stare. "But be warned, child. No potion can hide you from your true mate. The Moon Goddess's magic supersedes all others."

I swallowed hard. "He's not my mate. He can't be."

She smiled sadly. "Then you have nothing to fear. But know this—if he is, this potion will only delay the inevitable."

"I'll take my chances," I replied, pulling out my cash. "How much?"

"Everything you have there, plus something of sentimental value."

My hand instinctively went to my neck, where a silver crescent moon pendant hung—a gift from my grandmother before she passed. With trembling fingers, I unclasped it.

"This is all I have."

Marla nodded, accepting both the money and the necklace. "The men's clothing and bandages are included. There's a bathroom through that door. Transform yourself, little wolf, and may the Goddess guard your path."

In the cramped bathroom, I worked quickly. I bound my chest tightly with the bandages, wincing at the pressure. The men's jeans and flannel shirt hung loosely on my frame, but they would do. Next came the hardest part. I stared at my reflection, at the long dark hair that had always been my pride, then grabbed the scissors.

"For freedom," I whispered, making the first cut.

Chunks of hair fell into the sink as I chopped ruthlessly, fashioning a short, masculine style that emphasized the angles of my face rather than its softness. The girl in the mirror slowly disappeared, replaced by a stranger with determined eyes.

Finally, I uncorked the potion, grimacing at its pungent odor. I tipped it back, swallowing the bitter liquid in one gulp.

The effect was immediate and agonizing. Fire seemed to spread through my veins, and I bit down on my fist to keep from screaming. My skin erupted in angry red hives, an allergic reaction I hadn't anticipated. But I endured it, breathing through the pain as tears streamed down my face.

When the burning finally subsided, I checked my scent—nothing. To any wolf's nose, I would register as a bland, unremarkable male.

I stepped out of the bathroom, and Marla nodded approvingly. "You make a convincing young man. Where will you go now?"

"Alpha Academy," I replied, tucking my remaining cash into my pocket. "To register for the ice hockey tournament."

"Bold," she remarked. "Or foolish."

"Both, probably." I managed a thin smile. "Thank you for your help."

Two hours later, I stood before the imposing gates of Alpha Academy, the premier training ground for male wolves across three territories. No one would think to look for Antalya Andrews here, in this bastion of masculine pride and power.

I approached the registration desk, heart pounding beneath my tightly bound chest.

"Name?" asked the bored-looking administrator.

"Lance," I replied, deepening my voice. "Lance Andrews."

"Pack affiliation?"

I hesitated. "Independent. I was training in the States."

He raised an eyebrow but didn't question further. "Position?"

"Forward," I answered confidently. In California, I'd played ice hockey for two years on an all-girls team—something my traditional parents never knew about. Now those skills would be my salvation.

"Registration f*e is $250."

I handed over most of my remaining cash, praying my meager savings account in the States would sustain me until I could figure out a more permanent solution.

"Welcome to Alpha Academy, Andrews," the administrator said, handing me a key. "Room 312. Try not to get eaten alive."

As I walked through the campus, surrounded by young werewolf men who had no idea a female walked among them, I felt a flicker of hope for the first time since coming home.

"You won't find me here, Alpha Dominic," I whispered under my breath. "Antalya is gone. And Lance is ready to fight."