1: The Boy Who Smelled Like Fire

~ Kaia ~

The pill slipped from my fingers and bounced once against the wooden floor, then again, before disappearing beneath my bed.

"Seriously?"

I dropped to my knees, reaching into the darkness — dust, a missing sock, the corner of an old hockey puck, but no pill. A knot tightened in my stomach. It was just one pill. Dad always packed extras. Still, something about losing it made my skin prickle.

The bedroom door swung open before I could crawl back out.

"There you are." Dad stood in the doorway, already dressed, a small paper cup in one hand. His eyes went straight to the empty space in my palm. "Did you take it?"

"No." I pushed myself up, brushing the dust from my knees. "I dropped—"

His expression changed. Not annoyance. Fear. Real fear.

"Take another." His voice cracked through the room like a whip.

"It's just one—"

"It's not just one."

The paper cup rattled slightly in his hand. His fingers were shaking, and that scared me more than anything else. Dad never panicked — not when money was tight, not when I broke my wrist at fourteen, not even when Elena crashed the family truck into the mailbox. But a missing pill made him look like the world was ending.

He crossed the room and pressed another white tablet into my palm. "Take it."

I obeyed without another question. The pill slid down my throat dry, same bitter taste, same warmth settling into my stomach. Dad didn't relax until he watched me swallow.

"There," he murmured. "Better."

Better for who?

The question rose to my lips and stayed there. Whenever the conversation drifted toward my condition, his answers never changed. *You inherited something unstable from your mother. The medication keeps it under control. Trust me.*

So I had. For nineteen years.

"You look awful."

Elena leaned against my bedroom door, grinning.

"Good morning to you too."

"You've got your nervous face."

"I don't have a nervous face."

"You absolutely do." She pointed dramatically. "Your eyebrows get all—" she attempted to imitate me "—like you're about to fail a math test."

"I've never failed a math test."

"Exactly. Which somehow makes the face even more annoying."

I laughed despite myself. Seraphina appeared behind her, carrying a black duffel bag, and tossed it onto my bed without ceremony.

"Enough. Your clothes."

Everything inside was black — loose hoodies, training shirts, cargo pants, nothing remotely feminine, nothing that would make anyone question Kai Blackwood.

Not Kaia. Kai. The boy who had earned a scholarship to Crescent Moon Academy. The boy who would spend the next four years pretending to exist.

"You packed everything?" I asked.

Sera nodded, ticking items off. "Chest binders."

"Check."

"Voice spray."

"Check."

"Identity papers."

"Check."

"Hockey gear."

I smiled. "Triple check."

The drive to Crescent Moon Academy took almost three hours. Dad barely spoke, rain tapping softly against the windshield while forests rolled past outside.

Finally he broke the silence. "Kaia."

I looked up. His hands tightened around the steering wheel.

"Promise me something."

"What?"

"When you get there, don't draw attention to yourself."

"I'll try."

"No." He glanced at me. "I need your word."

"I'll keep my head down."

"And if you ever feel strange—"

"I know." I smiled. "I'll take another pill."

His jaw clenched. "Good."

Something about his expression unsettled me, like he wanted to say more and almost did. Instead he turned back to the road.

Crescent Moon Academy looked less like a school and more like a kingdom. Stone towers climbed into the clouds, banners fluttering above ancient walls, students crossing the grounds in hockey jackets embroidered with silver wolves. The arena dominated everything — huge, beautiful, alive. My heart skipped. I was finally here.

Dad parked near the entrance. Neither of us moved.

"I wish your mother could've seen this," he said quietly.

I looked at him. It wasn't often he mentioned her.

"I'll make her proud."

"You already have." He forced a smile, but his eyes darkened again. "One last thing."

I reached for my bag.

"If anyone asks—"

"I know. I'm Kai."

"No." He caught my wrist, his grip unusually firm. "If you ever meet the Pierce family—"

The air seemed to leave the car.

"Stay away from them."

I frowned. "The royal family?"

He nodded once. "They're dangerous."

"Dangerous how?"

"You don't need to know."

That answer irritated me. "I'll be playing hockey with half the royal heirs in the country."

"Not them." His voice went almost pleading. "Promise me."

"I promise."

He finally let go.

The arena buzzed with noise — freshmen hurrying between equipment racks, coaches barking instructions, the scent of sharpened skates and cold ice wrapping around me like home. For the first time all day, I could breathe.

This was why I'd lied. Why I'd trained in secret. Why my sisters helped hide who I was. The ice didn't care whether I was a girl. Only whether I could skate.

"Blackwood!" a coach shouted. "Locker room. Five minutes."

I hurried inside, past rows of lockers, guys laughing and shouting and arguing over hockey sticks. Nobody looked twice at me. Good. That meant the disguise was working.

I changed into practice gear, adjusted the binder beneath my jersey, and lowered my voice before introducing myself to the player beside me. "Kai Blackwood."

He grinned. "First year?"

"Yeah."

"I'm Mason."

A horn echoed through the building, and everyone rushed toward the rink. I followed.

The moment my skates touched the ice, everything else disappeared — the nerves, the lies, the pills. Only speed remained. Years of skating before sunrise had taught my body things no coach ever could. On the ice, I never felt broken.

I pushed off, the cold air stinging my lungs, the puck finding my stick almost instinctively. One defender. Fake left. Spin right. Shoot.

The puck slammed into the top corner. The goal horn exploded.

Then silence.

Not because of the goal. Because every player on the ice had stopped moving. I frowned, wondering why everyone was staring behind me.

The arena doors swung open.

Conversation died first. Then the laughter. Even the coaches stopped talking.

Four men walked onto the ice like they owned it.

Maybe they did.

Each wore the academy's black captain jacket. Each moved like the ice itself had cleared a path out of habit, not permission. Nobody breathed too loud. Nobody looked away either.

"The Pierce brothers," someone whispered. Future Alpha Kings.

My stomach tightened for reasons I couldn't explain, and the warmth behind my sternum returned — hotter, sharper than before. I swallowed. Not now. I'd taken my pill. I should've been fine.

The tallest brother, cold grey eyes and an unreadable expression, looked directly at me. He didn't react the way the others did. He simply watched me — cold, measuring, like he already knew I didn't belong here. For a split second the entire arena seemed to disappear, his gaze locked with mine, something inside my chest twisting painfully.

Across the rink, another brother went suddenly still. His nostrils flared. His eyes widened.

The blond one beside him grabbed his arm. "Van."

But Van wasn't listening. His golden eyes never left me, like he could smell something no one else could. I stumbled backward, heat exploding beneath my ribs. Too much. Far too much. My hand reached instinctively for the emergency pill I always carried.

That's when I saw it.

Van's lips barely moved. No sound reached the rest of the arena, nothing loud enough for the coaches, for Mason, for anyone thirty feet away to catch. Just a shape his mouth made, quiet and certain, meant for no one but me.

*Mine.*

I couldn't have heard it. Not from that distance, not over the noise of skates and shouting still settling around us. But I felt it anyway, low and dark and thunderous, like it had bypassed my ears completely and landed straight in my chest.

The bottle slipped from my shaking hand and hit the ice.

Van's golden eyes dropped to it, then rose slowly back to mine, like he'd just confirmed something he already knew.