Chapter 2

The man at the front of the classroom was young and sharp-jawed, with dark hair pushed back from his forehead. Mr. Valerius. Our disciplinary instructor.

He moved between the rows of desks with a stack of papers, setting one sheet on each desk with practiced efficiency.

"As you know," he said, his voice steady and measured, "the mating dance is a tradition that goes back generations. Every student has the right to participate."

He held up a blank form. "Write the name of the person you care about on your wish letter. Post it on the confession wall in the east hallway. If they accept, they'll take your letter down and you attend the dance together."

He set the form down and crossed his arms.

"The school encourages honest expression. Even if you're nervous. Even if you think the answer will be no."

His gaze swept the room. "For most of you, this is the year you awaken. The year you meet your wolf. Some of you will find your fated mate that night."

He placed the last paper on a desk near the window. "Think carefully about what you want to say."

A wish letter landed on my desk. Thin paper, rough at the edges, the Academy crest embossed in the corner. A blank line in the center where a name was supposed to go.

I stared at it.

The paper smelled of cedar, the same ink-and-wood scent as every year.

My fingers knew the weight of this form. I'd filled it out three times. Three years running, I wrote Adrian Blackwell's name in my neatest handwriting and pinned it to the wall.

Three years, three rejections. The entire school knew.

Some people called it romantic. Most just called it pathetic.

Every year, I stood at that wall and watched Adrian walk past my letter without touching it. A polite nod. The same nod he gave strangers.

Every year I told myself next time would be different.

The fourth year, it was.

The classroom door opened. Adrian walked in.

He was the same as I remembered at eighteen. Tall, lean-muscled, broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, the kind of build other boys envied and girls stared at without pretending otherwise.

His blazer was unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves pushed up to his forearms. Son of the Blackridge Pack Alpha. The most talked-about student in the Academy.

He moved through the room nodding to friends, that calm half-smile on his face. Patient, warm, approachable.

And I knew what lived behind that patient smile. A man who poured poison with steady hands and checked his reflection while his wife bled out on the floor.

My stomach turned over.

As Adrian passed my row, the whispers started.

"Three rejections and she's still going to write his name, isn't she?"

A girl behind me giggled. "Remember last year when she said she had thick skin? Classic."

"She's shameless. It's kind of impressive."

"I heard she cried the second time. Then came back the next year anyway."

The words were the same as last time. Same people, same casual cruelty disguised as amusement. In my past life, I'd swallowed it all, convinced that their laughter was the price of devotion.

In my past life, this was the moment I'd blushed scarlet and announced to the room that chasing your feelings was never something to be ashamed of. I said it with fire, meant every syllable, believed every word. But the second Adrian turned those warm, steady eyes on me, I went quiet and shy and stared at my desk.

I remembered the confession wall, too. The fourth year. I'd walked up braced for another rejection, stubborn and ready.

Instead, Adrian was standing there with my letter in his hand. He smiled at me. Not with politeness. With warmth.

He held it up and said, "I'd like to take you to the dance, Kaia."

My chest had filled with something so bright I thought I'd burst. Three years of humiliation, three years of the whole school laughing at me, and in that moment none of it mattered. I'd won.

I won nothing.

The memory tasted like ash now.

A girl next to me leaned over. She had the pitying face of someone who thought she was being kind.

"Kaia, you're pretty. Good family, strong bloodline. There's no reason to keep chasing someone who doesn't want you."

She touched my arm. Her fingers were warm. "Three rejections is enough. Sometimes it's better to pick someone who likes you back."

Across the room, Adrian settled into a seat by the window. He stretched his legs and glanced toward me. Our eyes met.

The taste of blood and wine rose in the back of my throat.

"You're right," I said.

The girl blinked. She hadn't expected me to agree.

I picked up the wish letter, tore it in half. Then in quarters. I kept going until the pieces were too small to hold and let them fall onto my desk like snow. Three years of humiliation, confetti on a wooden desk.

The classroom went dead silent.

Not a whisper. Not a chair creak. Not a breath.

Even the boys horsing around in the back row stopped moving. Everyone stared at me, the girl who'd spent three years chasing Adrian Blackwell in front of the whole school, who'd sworn she'd never give up.

I didn't look at him. I didn't need to.

I could feel his gaze on the side of my head, sudden and sharp, the first real attention he'd given me in three years. The weight of it pressed against my temple like a fingertip.