Chapter 1

Chapter 1

EVANGELINE POINT OF VIEW

The bus wheels screech against wet pavement as we pull up to the gates. My stomach twists into knots. Through the rain-streaked window, Blackclaw Academy looms like a monster made of stone and shadows. Gothic towers pierce the gray sky. Gargoyles stare down with hollow eyes that seem to follow me.

I press my face closer to the glass, the cold surface numbing my cheek. Students move across the courtyard in perfect groups. Their uniforms are crisp. Their movements confident. They belong here in ways I never will.

My fingers trace the edge of my acceptance letter. The paper is worn from folding and unfolding it so many times. Uncle Marcus gave this to me three weeks ago. His dying wish. The only thing he ever asked of me.

"For your future, Evie," he whispered with his last breath. "Promise me you'll take this chance."

So here I am. Keeping promises to dead men who believed I could be more than what I was born to be.

The bus door hisses open. Rain hits my face as I step down onto the cobblestone path. My worn backpack feels heavier than it should. Everything I need for school fits inside it. Books from the library sale. Notebooks with bent covers. Pens that barely work.

Other students push past me without looking. Their bags are leather and expensive. Mine is canvas and falling apart at the seams. The scent of their expensive perfumes mingles with the crisp autumn air, making me painfully aware of my cheap soap and secondhand clothes.

I pull my hood up and start walking toward the main building. Each step echoes against the stone walls. The sound makes me feel smaller somehow. Like I'm shrinking with every breath.

This is a school for werewolves. For pack royalty and future leaders. Not for girls like me who shift into wolves barely bigger than house dogs.

A group of girls blocks my path. They're everything I'm not. Blonde hair that catches light even in the rain. Skin that's never known hunger or fear. The subtle scent of power that marks them as high-ranking wolves.

"Look what crawled out of the woods," one of them says. Her voice drips with disgust.

My chest tightens. I try to step around them, but they move to block me again.

"Isn't that the Omega from Crescent Moon?" another girl whispers. The word hits like a slap. "The one with no pack family?"

"I heard she lived in the slums," the first girl continues. "With that drunk uncle of hers."

Heat floods my cheeks. My hands shake with anger, but I keep them at my sides. Fighting will only make things worse. It always does for wolves like me.

"What's wrong?" The blonde girl steps closer. Her wolf's dominance presses against mine, making me want to bare my throat in submission. "Cat got your tongue, Omega?"

The word burns. It's supposed to be just a rank. The lowest in our world. But the way she says it makes it sound like something dirty. Something shameful.

I find my voice. It comes out smaller than I want. "Excuse me."

They laugh. The sound echoes off the stone walls and comes back to hurt me twice.

"Did you hear that?" one says to the others. "She thinks she has a right to speak."

"Someone should tell her," another adds. "This isn't a charity school for strays."

My throat closes up. I can't breathe properly. The familiar panic starts in my chest and spreads outward. My wolf whimpers inside me, wanting to run and hide.

Not here. Not now.

I push through them harder this time. My shoulder bumps against the blonde girl. She stumbles backward with a gasp.

"Don't touch me!" she shrieks. "You probably have mange!"

More laughter follows me as I hurry toward the entrance. My face burns with shame. This is exactly what I expected. What Uncle Marcus tried to prepare me for. But it still cuts deeper than I thought it would.

The main hall takes my breath away. Marble floors stretch in every direction, so polished I can see my reflection. Chandeliers hang from ceilings so high they disappear into shadows. Portraits of former Alphas line the walls, their painted eyes seeming to judge me as I pass.

The air itself feels different here. Charged with the power of generations of strong wolves. It makes my skin prickle with awareness.

Students fill the space like they own it. Which they do, in a way. Their families built this place. Their bloodlines earned them spots here. I'm the mistake that slipped through the cracks.

I find the administration office and wait in line behind other new students. They chat easily about summer homes and family vacations. About which packs their parents lead. About arranged matings and political alliances.

I have nothing to add to these conversations. My summers were spent working odd jobs to help Uncle Marcus pay rent. My family consists of graves in an unmarked cemetery. My future is whatever I can scrape together with my own hands.

"Next," the secretary calls.

I step forward on unsteady legs. She looks me up and down with barely hidden disapproval. Her nose wrinkles like I smell bad.

"Name?"

"Evangeline Cross."

She types something into her computer. Frowns. Types more.

"There must be some mistake," she says finally. "We don't have any Omegas enrolled this semester."

My heart sinks. "Please check again. Marcus Cross was my sponsor."

Recognition flashes in her eyes. Then something else. Pity, maybe. Or disgust.

"Oh," she says. "You're that one."

That one. Like I'm not even worth a name. Like Uncle Marcus calling me Evie with such love meant nothing.

She hands me a schedule and a locker assignment. "Building C. Third floor. Try not to cause any trouble."

The dismissal stings. But I take my papers and leave without another word.

The hallways are a maze of polished marble and gleaming brass. Everything here screams wealth and power. Students move between classes like they're walking on air. Their laughter echoes off the walls. Their conversations buzz with excitement.

I clutch my schedule tighter and try to find my first class. The cold metal of my locker key bites into my palm. The numbers on the doors don't make sense. Nothing here makes sense.

"You look lost," a voice says behind me.

I turn to find a girl with dark hair and kind eyes. She's pretty in a quiet way. Her uniform fits perfectly, but she doesn't wear it like armor the way others do.

"I'm Luna," she says softly. "You must be the new student everyone's talking about."

Everyone's talking about me. My stomach drops.

"I'm Evangeline," I manage. "But my uncle used to call me Evie."

"Come on, Evie," Luna says with a small smile. "I'll show you to your first class. What do you have?"

I check my schedule. "Advanced Literature with Professor Kane."

Luna's eyes widen. "That's... ambitious for a first day. Professor Kane doesn't go easy on anyone."

Great. As if this day couldn't get worse.

She guides me through the maze of hallways. Students stare as we pass. Some whisper behind their hands. Others don't bother hiding their curiosity.

"Don't mind them," Luna says quietly. "They'll find something else to gossip about soon enough."

I doubt that. Being the only Omega in a school full of Alphas and Betas makes me a walking spectacle.

We reach the classroom just as the bell rings. Professor Kane is already at the front, arranging papers on his desk. He's older with silver hair and sharp eyes that miss nothing.

"Ah," he says when he sees me. "Miss Cross, I presume. How good of you to join us."

Every head in the room turns to stare. I want to disappear into the floor.

"Take a seat anywhere you like," Professor Kane continues. "We were just discussing the symbolism in classical literature."

I scan the room for an empty chair. Most students sit in groups, leaving single seats scattered around the edges. I choose one near the back and try to make myself invisible.

The lesson begins. Professor Kane talks about themes and metaphors. About hidden meanings in old stories. His voice is smooth and engaging, but I can barely focus. Too many eyes keep glancing my way.

A paper airplane lands on my desk. I unfold it carefully.

"Omega trash doesn't belong here," it says in neat handwriting.

My hands shake. I crumple the paper and shove it into my bag. Keep my eyes fixed on the front of the room. Pretend my heart isn't racing.

Another paper lands. Then another.

"Go back to the gutter."

"No one wants you here."

"Pack reject."

Each one cuts deeper than the last. I bite my lip to keep from crying. Show no weakness. That's the first rule of survival for wolves like me.

The bell rings after what feels like hours. Students file out quickly, chattering about their next classes. I stay in my seat until the room empties. Give myself a moment to breathe.

"Miss Cross," Professor Kane calls. "A word?"

I approach his desk on shaking legs. He studies me with those sharp eyes.

"I've heard about your circumstances," he says carefully. "I want you to know that in my classroom, everyone is judged by their mind, not their bloodline. Work hard and you'll do fine."

The kindness in his voice almost breaks me. "Thank you, sir."

"However," he continues, "I should warn you. Not all of your professors will be as understanding. Some believe strongly in the traditional pack hierarchy."

Translation: some of them will make my life hell.

"I understand," I say.

"Good. Now get to your next class. You don't want to be late."

The rest of the morning passes in a blur of hostile stares and whispered comments. In History, a boy "accidentally" knocks my books off my desk. In Science, my lab partner refuses to work with me. In Math, the teacher assigns me to work alone while everyone else gets partners.

By lunch time, I'm exhausted. The constant tension has drained every bit of energy from my body. I want nothing more than to go home and hide under my blankets.

But home is a tiny apartment I share with three other girls. Uncle Marcus left me just enough money for rent and food. Barely enough. I can't afford to quit school. Can't afford to give up on his dreams for me.

The cafeteria is chaos. Hundreds of students fill long tables arranged by pack hierarchy. Alphas sit near the windows where the light is best. Betas take the middle sections. And there, in the back corner near the kitchen doors, a few scattered Omegas pick at their food in silence.

I grab a tray and get in line. The food looks amazing compared to what I'm used to. Real meat. Fresh vegetables. Bread that's still warm and smells like heaven.

I pile my plate with more food than I've seen in weeks. The mashed potatoes taste like clouds. The roasted chicken falls apart under my fork. For a moment, I forget about everything except the simple pleasure of a full meal.

Luna waves me over to where she's sitting with a few other students. They look friendly enough. Normal. Not like they want to tear me apart with their eyes.

"How's your first day going?" Luna asks as I sit down.

"It's... challenging," I say carefully.

She nods with understanding. "It gets easier. Eventually."

I hope she's right.

The conversation flows around me. They talk about teachers and assignments. About weekend plans and family visits. Normal teenage things that feel foreign to me.

I'm halfway through my sandwich when the cafeteria goes quiet.

The silence spreads like ripples in a pond. Conversation dies table by table until the only sound is the clatter of silverware. Even that stops as students turn to look toward the entrance.

A group of five students enters like they own the place. Which they probably do. They move with the confidence that comes from never being told no. Never being made to feel small.

Power radiates from them in waves. The air itself seems to thicken with their presence. Even the teachers straighten when they pass.

"The future Alpha and his inner circle," Luna whispers beside me. "Ronan Nightbane and his friends."

I follow her gaze to the center of the group.

And my world stops.

He's devastating in ways that steal breath and reason. Tall and lean with muscle that speaks of hours spent in wolf form, running wild under the moon. Dark hair falls across his forehead in waves that catch the light.

But it's his eyes that make my heart stutter.

Storm gray with flecks of silver that seem to glow from within. They sweep across the cafeteria with casual authority. Taking in everything. Missing nothing.

This is what an Alpha looks like. What power and strength and danger wrapped in human skin looks like.

He moves with fluid grace, like a predator who knows he's at the top of the food chain. His uniform fits him perfectly, emphasizing broad shoulders that could carry the weight of leadership.

The scent of pine and rain and something wild drifts across the room. My wolf sits up and takes notice, a whimper caught in my throat.

Everything about him screams dominance. Authority. The kind of raw magnetism that makes people follow without question.

And I can't look away.

My heart hammers against my ribs. My mouth goes dry. There's something about him that calls to every instinct I have. Something that makes my wolf restless and wanting.

The group moves toward a table at the front of the cafeteria. An elevated platform that sets them apart from everyone else. Like royalty holding court.

Ronan Nightbane settles into his chair with easy confidence. His friends arrange themselves around him like planets orbiting the sun. Even sitting still, he commands the attention of the entire room.

This is the future of our world. The next generation of leaders.

And I'm just an Omega girl from the wrong side of town, staring at something I can never have.

But I can't stop staring.

He's cutting his meat with precise movements. Everything he does is graceful. Controlled. Even something as simple as eating looks elegant when he does it.

What would it be like to be noticed by someone like that? To be worthy of his attention?

The thought is dangerous. Impossible.

But I can't help wondering.

As if he can feel my gaze, Ronan Nightbane looks up from his plate. His storm-gray eyes scan the cafeteria lazily.

And then they find mine.

Time stops.

The world narrows to just this moment. Just him and me and the electric tension crackling between us.

His eyes widen slightly. Something flickers across his perfect features. Surprise, maybe. Recognition.

I can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything but stare back at the most beautiful boy I've ever seen.

And he's looking right at me.