"Psst. Nessa? Ness! You shouldn't be staring at him," Riley, my bench mate tells me in a rushed whisper, trying but failing to be discreet. Her thick brows are raised and knitted together, even though her eyes look straight ahead at Mrs. Robinson — our biology teacher — who is blabbering about frogs. Ew
She places her hand over mine, trying to grab my attention. But I ignore her.
Despite her continued whispered warnings, I don’t take my eyes away from him. I want to, but I just can’t. Not today.
I don’t see it, but I know Riley's bulbous eyes are widening as her voice grows restless. She sounds surprised.
Riley isn’t a friend — even though we sit together in every class we share and she hangs out with me and my boyfriend, Niall. I can’t label her as an enemy either. She’s just a human cousin that I have to tolerate since we were born in the same year on the same island, Bellpond, which is isolated from the mainland by a long, wide bridge.
"Why are you staring at him?" she asks again and I bury the urge of sealing her lips shut. What is that question even supposed to mean? Why wouldn't I stare at him? Riley says it like it’s an odd thing to do — look at Jordan — when literally every other girl in the class and some boys do the same.
I pass her a wide-eyed, warning glare, and that shuts her up.
Mrs. Robinson moves on to lizards. Double ew.
Jordan Hale, the target of my eyes and the center of attraction during that class, is completely unaware of my presence. Or of the fact that I have been looking at him for the whole while.
I never do this, ever, but today is different. Like the previous day was.
Jordan is quiet, unlike his usual self, and his amber eyes are lowered to the desk where his elbows rest. That bothers me a lot. I’m used to admiring him inconspicuously — his cheery voice booming through the classroom. And for the past two days, he has barely said more than a syllable in replies, and that too, in answer only to unavoidable questions.
The reason?
Well, his father died in a tragic fire accident three days ago. I did not know Mr. Hale up close, but every time I had the chance to see him, I had seen him as the cool dad, a great alpha to his pack, and a loving husband.
Jordan's behavior is completely justifiable. He is now the alpha — not something anyone wants to be. Not on our island.
But I can’t see him that way.
Needless to mention, I had a huge crush on him throughout middle school. He is a smart guy—good at everything. You name it. And despite his pack's reputation, he is nervous around people.
For someone who can’t stop talking, I couldn’t utter a single word clearly in front of him and that’s what had made me realise.
So I started embracing my one-sided feelings for him, sure that one day, I’d gather up the courage and ask him out. But then as I got older and wiser — as per my mom — I learnt the harsh truth of reality from my grandma. He is the forbidden fruit. A member of the not-rival, Blood Moon pack. Someone my grandma does not want to see me talking to.
No one openly expresses their enmity to each other because it is all cleverly hidden behind our facade of pretence. The two packs act friendly to each other but deep inside, each pack member's heart burns with the fire that was lit decades ago.
Bellpond is prone to fights among its resident packs. About six decades ago, one such skirmish escalated into a full-blown war. According to the elders of my pack, the Silver Crescents, the conflict ignited with a werewolf from the Blood Moons. However, I'm certain the reports would differ if the other party were questioned.
During that tragic period, a significant portion of the werewolf community perished, including my grandfather. My dad was just a few months old then. It was also the phase when the human inhabitants of the island discovered our secret. Fortunately, they were understanding and made peace with the packs, promising to safeguard our secret until their graves. Since then, werewolves in Bellpond have found human mates. Despite the surface-level pretense of harmony between the packs, deep-seated hatred lingers within, a potent fuel waiting for that one spark—a flame that could engulf all of Bellpond.
But let's shift focus. That evening, my twelve-year-old self experienced what I described as a breakup, even though I've never been in a relationship with Jordan. I vividly remember crying through the night. Although I no longer harbour a crush on him, he seems more attractive than ever.
‘Not as attractive as Niall, though,’ I reassure myself.
Lost in thought, I continue observing Niall with concern, biting my lower lip. Suddenly, to my complete surprise, Jordan lifts his head, and our gazes meet. Panicking, I turn my head quickly, but it dawns on me, with a heavy weight on my chest, that I'm too late.
He's caught me.
*Five weeks later* Nessa woke up to a start, gasping for air. Her fists clenched the bedsheets in a poor attempt to calm herself. A moment ago, she was falling from an enormous cliff into an abyss, but that was just another nightmare. She had woken up to a reality that was far more miserable. Perspiration lined her body and her arm was bleeding again, the blood soaking into her white bed sheets. She ripped the useless bandage apart and gave the bullet wound a brief look before getting up. Outside, the world was still enveloped in darkness. Bellpond was quieter now than it had been before and one could smell the despair with every breath. Nessa found remnants of the herbs in one of the chest drawers. Hastily, she rubbed it over the wound. A hiss left her lips as the wound sealed itself, burning as if in contact with acid. There was no more left. That meant she'd need to see that wretched hybrid once more. Pulling a hoodie over her head, Nessa jumped out of the window and lande
“Thought you weren’t ready to kill her. Like ever,” Carol confesses in a mocking tone. Cole regards her for a moment. “You want me to be honest? I’m not. Look at that face,” he says, pointing at Nessa with the sharp end of the stake. “If she’d sided with us, we could’ve made a great team. Too bad I never asked her.” Carol rolls her eyes and looks behind her, a frown starting to form on her face. “Where are Megan and Dan?” “Guarding the cave entrance.” “They don’t need to guard it,” she hisses. “My spell will keep it sealed.” He gives her a wide smile that is in all ways fake. “They might be screwing each other for all I care.” Carol crosses her arms, taking a step forward. “They should be here for the big end.” “Darling, this is only a small start,” he claims, and I understand they have forgotten me for the moment. The siblings like to ramble on and on. If anything, I want to be done with this so I won’t have to hear their voices again. “What do you think Dad will say when we fi
A rancid stench in the cave forces me to open my eyes. It’s not the first time I’ve done that, but based on how my body feels, it could very well be the last. The notion of death scares me. And that, in turn, makes me angry. I’m yet to avenge the death of those I’ve lost. Dying is not an option. Nor is being scared. My eyes always have the same view—a hunter looming over me, holding a silver stake in hand; spitting mocking words if it's either Megan or Dan. If it’s Cole, then the words are more threatening; he never fails to call me darling. Carol, however, needs no stake. All she does whenever I regain consciousness is twirl her fingers in the air. I know I hate nothing else more than what follows that action. But this time when I open my eyes, I see something else. Someone else. Riley. The human holds no silver stake in her hands. In that state, Riley is as harmless as an infant, lying too still across me on the wet floor. With a sniff, I raise my head—something I haven't manag
Long after, Jordan and I are still lying on the bed, wrapped in each other’s arms. It’s still dark outside and cold, I think to myself, glancing out of the window, but the warmth of the fireplace and my mate are comforting. “How much has changed in so little time,” he comments, his fingers lightly brushing up and down my arms. “I’ve lost so much and gained too.” I watch the side of his face intently, but my mind wanders. A frown forms on my face, despite not wanting to let myself get hurt at the moment. “I’m not going to let them take anything more from me,” Jordan continues. A sigh leaves his lips as his head turns to look directly at me. “I should’ve told you earlier. My dad didn’t die in an accident. Hunters murdered him.” That shakes all the senses out of me. I gape at him. “What?” “I know it sounds crazy. I didn’t know before. My mom told me the truth the evening we found the man at the beach. They found my father staked in the heart with silver. But I still have no idea why
Several minutes later, I stand outside the Blood Moon packhouse, gaping at its enormity. I'm already out of breath from running in the night as I wanted to get there as soon as possible. Whatever Melony had done to me—causing the nose bleed and the burning ear pain—had left me weakened. But as I take every step closer to Jordan, my body is slowly gaining strength. What am I going to say to him? I had called Jordan on my way to get the location of the packhouse. It was protected by the same magic that kept humans from finding the Luna’s temple. Only werewolves could locate the place. I had been eager to be there but now as the three-story concrete and glass house stands boldly in front of me, I feel hesitation rise in my chest. My thoughts are interrupted by the sudden opening of the double door entrance, guarded by two betas of the Blood Moon pack. The duo moves aside, giving way for Jordan to come out. The moment our eyes meet, I hear him sigh, and his tense shoulders immediately
For a moment while in the air, I wonder how many bones I’ll be breaking from the fall. But I land firmly on my feet, spraying sand in all directions; I feel only slightly affected by the impact. The sand here is darker and feels sinister as I take steady steps towards the trees. The silhouette stands still as though alerted by my presence. I don't take my eyes away from it, feigning confidence, but my heart hammers louder with each step that brings me closer to the spirit of the rogue werewolf I’m about to confront. Or so I believe. When I'm close enough to see her face clearly, I feel the urge to stop but I don't. The woman in front of me stands with her hands clasped together, wearing a plain dirty gown. She bears a solemn look on her face that's scarred—a long healed gash running from her left eye to her right cheek across her nose. Her matted hair reaches beneath her knees and she smells terrible. But I had expected her to be old and a spirit. The one I see appears only to be a