Chapter 8- Fake It.

Elara’s POV

I’m awake before the sun.

Not because I slept well, far from it, but because my mind never really shut off. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw Claude’s face, tight with frustration. I heard his warning again and again. ‘Stay out of sight, Elara.’

As if I wasn’t already trying. As if I hadn’t done everything possible to disappear last night.

Yet somehow… I became the center of it.

I lie in bed staring at the wooden ceiling beams, listening to the steady hum of the dorm building waking around me. Soft footsteps. Doors opening. The murmur of girls whispering about last night, about the moon glow, about the triplets.

About the heat.

A shiver runs down my spine. Not from the temperature, our room is warm from the radiator, but from the memories of Tessa last night.

Shaking. Burning. Barely able to stay still. Tessa had already been in the worst part of her cycle.

I turn my head.

Her bed is empty.

I jolt upright. “Tessa?”

“Relax,” her voice calls from the bathroom. The door swings open, and she steps out, hair tied up messily, cheeks pink, but looking much healthier than she did last night. “I didn’t combust. I just needed a shower.”

She looks… refreshed. Alive again. The opposite of how she was yesterday.

“How do you feel?” I ask carefully.

She shrugs, walking to her dresser. “Better. Much better. There’s no male scent in this building so it’s not triggering me.” She gives a little laugh. “Thank the moon for female-only dorms.”

I sit at the edge of my bed, watching her search for clothes. “Last night was… intense.”

“That,” she snorts, “was nothing.” She pulls out a white tank top and waves it at me. “Breakfast is going to be the real battlefield.”

A knot twists in my stomach.

Breakfast.

The dining room.

Filled with wolves, male wolves. The strongest scents. The loudest instincts. The kind of energy that would send every she-wolf’s heat spiraling out of control.

And the kind of environment where someone like me, someone without a wolf, would stick out like a cracked jewel on a king’s crown.

Tessa glances over, studying my face. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I lie.

She smirks. “You’re a terrible liar.”

I sigh and rub my temples. “Claude was furious.”

“With you?” She gasps. “What did you do?”

“Apparently I dressed ‘like I wanted to be torn apart.’ His words, not mine.”

Tessa cackles. “Oh gods. If that’s the outfit that set him off, wait till he sees some of these other girls today. You were practically modest compared to half the field.”

“That’s not the point,” I mumble. “He’s worried. And I… get it.”

What I don’t say, but think, is the real problem:

Claude isn’t worried about everyone.

He’s worried about me specifically.

Because I don’t react the way I’m supposed to.

Tessa sits beside me, bumping my shoulder gently. “He’s overprotective. All brothers are. Especially when the heat cycles start.”

I swallow. “Speaking of that… How did you… I mean, how do you know when it’s coming?”

She gives me a look like she’s waiting for a punchline. “Elara. You know what it feels like. Every girl does.”

Silence.

I stare at her.

Her brows pull together. “Wait… you don’t?”

I force a tiny laugh. “My cycle is… slow.”

“Slow?” she repeats, eyes widening as a wicked grin spreads across her face. “Sweet moon, Elara, that’s the worst understatement I’ve ever heard. You’re practically frozen.”

Heat floods my cheeks. “I’m not frozen.”

“You didn’t flush on the field,” she counts on her fingers. “You didn’t vibrate when the moon rose. You didn’t feel the wave everyone felt. And even when your brother came with the triplets…”

“Stop.” I groan, covering my face.

She only laughs harder, flopping backwards onto the bed dramatically. “It’s okay! Some girls have cycles that take longer to trigger. My cousin didn’t get her first heat until she was seventeen.”

“I’m eighteen,” I remind her.

She sits up again. “Well. You’re… unique.”

If only she knew how unique.

She grabs her hairbrush and tosses it to me. “Come on. We need to get ready before the dining hall turns into a den.”

Right.

The dining hall.

Just thinking about it makes my pulse skip.

I head to the mirror above my dresser. Tessa begins curling her lashes while humming some upbeat pop song.

I stare at my reflection, pale, too calm, too normal. Not flushed. Not glowing. Not heated like a she-wolf should be.

If I walk into that room like this, people will know.

Claude’s words echo again. ‘Stay hidden.’

So… I have to fake it.

I open my makeup pouch and pick up the blush brush. My hand shakes slightly as I swirl it into the pink palette. I dab it on my cheeks until they look warm, flushed, almost feverish.

Then my nose. My chin. I even add a little shimmer to imitate the sheen Tessa had last night.

Tessa watches me through the mirror, raising a brow. “Trying to seduce someone?”

“No,” I mutter.

“Trying to hide something?”

“…maybe.”

She doesn’t push. She just tosses me her perfume. “Use this. It’s strong. The males won’t be able to pick apart scents too easily in the morning chaos.”

“Thank you.”

I spray lightly on my wrists and collarbone. The floral scent hits me like a wave, sweet, thick, overwhelming.

Nothing like the natural scent a wolf gives off when their cycle heightens. But maybe it’ll mask the lack of one.

I fix my hair, pulling some strands forward to frame my face. My heartbeat thumps unevenly, not from heat, but from anxiety.

Tessa finishes her makeup and stretches. “Ugh. I feel gross. The minute we step into the dining room, I’m going to melt. I can already tell.”

“You look okay now,” I offer.

“That’s because you’re not a guy.” She laughs. “The scent hits harder when there’s testosterone in the air.”

I pause. “Is it… that strong?”

“Elara.” She turns fully to me, eyes serious for once. “Heat season is intense. Some girls faint. Some can’t sit still. Some get aggressive.” Her voice lowers. “And some… go looking for trouble.”

My stomach drops.

She continues, softer now. “Don’t freak out. You’re probably just… slow to warm up.” Then she grins. “Like a sleepy kettle. You’ll get there.”

She has no idea how wrong she is.

We finish getting dressed in silence, her in a fitted tank top and shorts; me in a simple long-sleeve top I hope makes me look slightly overheated.

When she opens the door, a faint breeze of cooler hallway air brushes my skin. Girls are already murmuring, fanning themselves, tugging on clothes. Everyone seems restless, buzzing, shifting uncomfortably.

But Tessa looks… relieved.

“No male scent yet,” she murmurs. “That’s why I’m functioning.”

We walk side-by-side down the hallway. The closer we get to the main building, the more tense the air feels, not to me, but to her. Her steps grow slower. Her breathing shallower.

She grabs my wrist. “Okay… don’t judge me if I start acting stupid in like two minutes.”

“I won’t,” I promise.

We reach the end of the stairwell. Students crowd the path outside. Some girls cling to their partners. Some sit on the steps, panting lightly. Some giggle nervously as they adjust their clothes.

Tessa presses her lips together. “It’s starting.”

“What is?”

She gives me a strained smile. “The male scent.”

I inhale nothing but bread, dew, and morning air.

No musk. No pheromones. No instinctive pull.

Of course I don’t smell it.

Tessa squeezes my hand tighter as we cross the courtyard. Her fingers tremble. Her cheeks deepen in color. Her pupils widen.

Then I hear it, low whistles. Male laughter. Loud voices. Clattering plates.

We’re nearing the dining room.

Girls exiting the hall look flustered, breathless, some even giggly or dazed.

One girl mutters to her friend, “The triplets are here, of course they’re here, of course my first heat of the year has to be in front of them.”*

My stomach clenches.

Of course they are.

Tessa groans. “If I faint, drag me out. Please. Don’t leave me here.”

“You won’t faint,” I say, voice shaking slightly.

She sniffles. “You smell calm. That’s unfair. Why do you always have a slow cycle?”

Because I have no cycle at all.

We stop right in front of the dining hall doors.

Noise carries through the cracks, deep male voices, footsteps, clattering utensils, the occasional growl or laugh. The energy hits Tessa like a punch; she jerks slightly, breath hitching.

“Elara,” she breathes, clutching my arm, “they’re inside.”

My heart races, not because of heat, but because of fear.

Claude was right.

I shouldn’t be anywhere near them.

Especially not today.

But I have to enter. I can’t avoid the dining room forever. And class starts in half an hour. People will notice if I’m missing.

I smooth my hair, tug at my flushed cheeks, lift my chin and breathe deeply.

You can do this.

Act normal.

Act like everyone else.

Don’t draw attention.

And above all…

Don’t look at Cassian Veyron.

Tessa exhales shakily. “Ready?”

“No,” I whisper.

But I reach for the handle anyway.

My pulse rams against my ribs as I push the door open.

And step inside.