5

Zoey

The heat inside me doesn’t fade when I step back from the doorway.

It changes.

It tightens, pulls inward, and then twists into something heavier, something sharp enough to hurt. My body reacts before my head can catch up, before logic can remind me to breathe or move or pretend this didn’t just happen.

She has a mate.

The knowledge settles into my chest like a stone, dragging everything else down with it. She is marked, claimed in the way our kind understands down to the bone. She belongs to someone who looked at her and chose her, who wrapped himself around her without hesitation or doubt. She has something solid and unquestioned, something that does not flicker or disappear.

Something I do not have.

Something I have never had.

And she knows it.

I see it in the way her mouth curves when she notices me in the mirror, in the lazy satisfaction in her eyes even as her breath breaks and she moans his name like it’s a promise she gets to keep. She doesn’t look embarrassed or interrupted. She looks victorious.

He lifts his head just enough to meet my gaze through the reflection, his eyes locking onto mine with unsettling clarity. The connection is brief but brutal, a spark of awareness that sends a surge of fresh heat tearing through my body. Jealousy follows right behind it, bitter and corrosive, curling through my chest like it wants to burn everything down from the inside.

“You like to watch?” he asks, his voice low and rough, threaded with warning. His lips pull back from his teeth, not fully bared, but close enough to make the threat unmistakable. “Because if you were a man, I’d break your fucking neck for it.”

The words land hard, but they don’t cut as deep as what he does next.

She tightens around him, her legs locking at his hips as if she’s claiming him all over again. Her hands slide up his neck, fingers threading into his hair, and she pulls his face down to hers. The kiss is deep and messy and unashamed, the kind that doesn’t perform for anyone else. He lets himself be dragged into it without resistance, his focus narrowing until I cease to exist.

He chooses her.

Again.

Whatever awareness he had of me evaporates as if I were never there at all.

That is what finally breaks the spell.

My legs unlock, my body remembering how to move even if my pride hasn’t caught up yet. I turn away from the doorway before my face can give me away, pushing through the swinging door and stumbling into the hallway. The air outside feels colder, thinner, like I’ve stepped out of a pressure chamber.

I stop just long enough to get my breathing under control, one hand braced against the wall as my pulse pounds in my ears. My skin feels too tight, like it doesn’t fit right anymore.

Two girls approach from the far end of the hall, towels slung over their shoulders, chatting too loudly.

I straighten, forcing my voice steady. “Bathroom’s out of order,” I tell them, gesturing sharply down the hall toward the other wing. “You’ll want to use the ones near the stairwell.”

They glance at each other, mildly annoyed but compliant, and turn away without questioning me.

The second they’re gone, I move.

I don’t walk so much as flee, my steps quick and uneven as I head for my room. I shove the door open, toss my things inside without caring where they land, and turn right back around. Staying here feels dangerous, like I’m standing too close to something volatile.

I push through the outer door and step into the night.

The air hits my face like a slap, cool and damp, but it does nothing to calm the riot under my skin. I feel off-kilter, unbalanced, like something inside me is wound too tight and looking for a way out. It feels ugly and sharp and almost… violent.

My feet start moving before my thoughts line up, carrying me along a path I know better than any other. The new moon leaves the forest in near-total darkness, but I don’t need light to find my way. I’ve walked this route too many times, memorized every bend and root and rise in the ground.

I could do it blindfolded.

“This is stupid,” I mutter under my breath, though I don’t slow down. “You’re being stupid.”

The words don’t help.

The path opens up as I push through the last stand of bushes, the scent of water cutting through the night air. The lake lies before me, dark and still, its surface reflecting the silhouettes of towering pines and spruces that ring it like sentinels. The humans who made it are long gone, their reasons buried under decades of history and bloodshed, but the water remains.

Waiting.

I don’t hesitate.

I strip my clothes off in frantic motions, barely registering the cold against my skin before I’m running straight into the lake. The water closes over me in an instant, stealing my breath and wrapping around my body like a shock. I duck under immediately, forcing myself deeper until the world goes quiet.

Down here, there are no eyes on me.

No expectations.

No pack watching to see if I finally become something worth keeping.

My heart pounds in my ears, loud and insistent, the only sound left in the darkness. I let myself sink until my lungs start to protest, the pressure squeezing in from all sides. The thought crosses my mind, unbidden and dangerous, that maybe I could keep going. That maybe I could touch the bottom, if the lake even has one.

I shove the idea away and kick back toward the surface before it can take root.

When I break the water again, gasping, the night rushes back in around me. The cold seeps into my muscles, grounding me in a way nothing else can. I float for a moment, staring up at the stars, my breathing slowly evening out as the heat under my skin begins to fade.

I swim without urgency, long steady strokes that cut through the water and pull me back into my body. This is the only place my mind ever quiets. There is nothing to prove here, nothing to plan for, nothing to defend.

Just movement and breath and existence.

By the time I turn back toward shore, the sky has darkened further, the stars sharp and distant. The welcoming ceremony will be starting soon. I should go back before someone notices I’m missing and decides to make it a problem.

Not that my presence means much.

Still, I’m the beta’s daughter. My parents sit on the council. Absence would draw more attention than staying invisible ever could.

I’m halfway back when the scent hits me.

It’s unfamiliar, sharp and masculine, carrying an edge that prickles along my nerves. I slow, treading water as I try to place it, but it doesn’t belong to anyone I know. There are too many wolves here now, too many strangers with unknown intentions.

“You shouldn’t be out here alone,” a voice says from the shore.

I turn toward the sound, my heart kicking hard against my ribs. A figure stands near the waterline, tall and solid, his presence pressing outward like a physical force. I can’t see his face clearly, but I feel him, the weight of his attention sliding over me.

“I could say the same to you,” I call back, my tone sharp despite the tension curling in my gut.

He laughs softly, the sound carrying easily across the water. “You could. But I’m not the one naked in a lake after dark.”

Anger flares hot and immediate, burning away the last of my unease. “You think that makes me weak?” I snap. “You think because I’m alone, I’m easy?”

“I think,” he replies slowly, “that you’re furious, and you don’t know what to do with it.”

My hands clench in the water. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know enough,” he says, his voice steady. “I know you’re shaking, and it’s not from the cold.”

I swim closer, stopping just short of where the water shallows. “If you’re here to threaten me,” I warn, “you picked the wrong night.”

His silhouette shifts as he crouches slightly, not retreating, not advancing. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he says. “But if you think I won’t defend myself, you’re wrong.”

“Good,” I answer, my pulse roaring. “Because I’m done backing down.”

Silence stretches between us, thick and charged.

Then he straightens. “Get out of the water,” he says quietly. “You’re going to freeze.”

I don’t move.

“I said,” he repeats, firmer now, “get out of the water.”

I laugh, harsh and breathless. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”

His gaze doesn’t waver. “No,” he agrees. “But I get to tell you this. Whatever you’re carrying right now is going to tear you apart if you don’t let it out.”