By morning, everyone knew the Alpha heir had rejected his mate.
Elara didn't need to hear the words spoken outright to know they had already spread like wildfire through the Academy's gossip network. Wolves thrived on hierarchy and scandal in equal measure, and nothing stirred both more than the drama of a mate bond denied—especially when it involved the most powerful bloodline in the northern territories.
Her footsteps echoed down the long marble corridor of Crescent Hollow Academy, each click of her worn boots against polished stone feeling like a countdown to her social execution. The walls, lined with gilt-framed family crests of packs old and powerful, seemed to sneer down at her as much as the students did. Ancient symbols carved in silver and obsidian told stories of conquest and glory—stories her own bloodline would never be worthy to join.
The Nightfall Pack's crest dominated the central wall: a massive black wolf silhouetted against a crescent moon, its eyes set with real diamonds that caught the morning light. Beneath it, smaller crests formed constellations of power—the Ironwood Pack's crossed claws, the Shadowmere Pack's triple moons, the Bloodstone Pack's crimson rose wrapped in thorns.
Elara kept her head high despite the weight of their legacy pressing down on her, her bag clutched tight against her shoulder like armor that might protect her from the stares. But the whispers followed her like a shadow she couldn't shake, carried on the supernatural hearing that every wolf possessed.
"Pathetic..." The word drifted from a cluster of girls near the trophy cases, their designer uniforms pristine and their pack pins gleaming.
"Unwanted..." This came from a group of male students who stopped their conversation entirely to watch her pass.
"Imagine being rejected by your fated mate on the first day. The Moon Goddess must have a twisted sense of humor."
"Better off leaving now. She'll never last a week here. Not after that humiliation."
The scent of their amusement hung in the air—sharp with cruel satisfaction, tinged with the territorial musk that said she didn't belong in their world. Their wolves recognized her as an outsider, someone beneath their notice except as entertainment.
Elara clenched her jaw and stared straight ahead, forcing her own wolf to remain buried deep where it couldn't react to their provocations. Every word dug into her skin sharp as claws, but she refused to let them see her flinch. She'd been through worse than high school bullying. She had survived the Silverfang Massacre, had walked away from flames that devoured everything she'd ever loved.
Still, it hurt in a way she hadn't expected. Not because of Darius Fenrir himself—she didn't want an arrogant Alpha who saw her as beneath him. But because the rejection had painted a target on her back in permanent ink. In wolf society, weakness was blood in the water, and the Academy halls were already circling like sharks sensing an easy kill.
"Elara."
She turned at the soft voice, recognizing the familiar scent of lavender and moonflowers before she saw her face. Celeste Lune hurried toward her, her long silver-blonde braid swinging behind her like liquid starlight. Celeste wasn't flashy—not one of the heirs who commanded attention wherever they walked or one of the social climbers who craved the spotlight. She was steady, dependable, her wolf's aura calm and grounding rather than aggressive.
A friend, even if they'd only just begun to know each other through the Academy's roommate assignment system.
Celeste touched her arm gently, her fingers warm against Elara's chilled skin. "Are you okay?"
The pity in her pale blue eyes nearly undid Elara more than all the whispered cruelties combined. Pity meant she looked as broken as she felt, that her carefully constructed mask was already cracking. She forced a tight smile that felt like shards of glass against her lips.
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine." Celeste's voice carried the gentle persistence of someone who'd grown up mediating pack disputes, her own bloodline known for diplomacy rather than warfare.
"I don't need your pity." The words snapped out sharper than Elara intended, her wolf's wounded pride lashing out at the nearest target.
Celeste blinked but didn't retreat, her steady presence unchanged. "It's not pity. It's solidarity. The whole Academy heard what he said to you behind Blackstone Hall. And they'll keep whispering until something else distracts them—probably another scandal involving pack politics or someone's messy breakup." Her lips quirked in a sad smile. "But you don't have to go through it alone."
The kindness in her voice made something crack inside Elara's chest. She inhaled sharply, guilt threading through her like poison. Celeste meant well—more than well. Maybe she even believed what she said, that solidarity could somehow shield against the brutal realities of pack hierarchy.
But to Elara, comfort felt like another kind of trap. Accepting help meant depending on someone else's goodwill, and goodwill had a way of evaporating when the cost became too high.
"Strength is my only answer," she whispered under her breath, the words a mantra she'd carried since childhood.
"What?" Celeste tilted her head, enhanced hearing catching the murmur.
Elara shook her head quickly, locks of dark hair falling across her face like a curtain. "Nothing. Thank you, Celeste. Really. I just... need to handle this myself."
It was a lie wrapped in truth. She did need to handle it herself—not by choice, but by necessity. The world didn't coddle the weak, and she'd learned long ago that the only person she could truly rely on was herself.
Celeste studied her for a long moment, those perceptive blue eyes seeing more than Elara was comfortable with. Finally, she nodded and stepped back, giving her the space she'd demanded.
"If you change your mind, I'll be around. My door's always open."
Elara walked on, her spine straight as a blade, her wolf restless and wounded beneath her skin like a caged animal pacing its bars. Every step echoed with the vow she'd made years ago, standing in the ruins of her old life with smoke still burning in her lungs: Never again would she be broken by someone else's choices. Never again would she hand her heart over to be shattered by those who saw her as expendable.
The corridor stretched ahead like a gauntlet, lined with tall arched windows that let in streams of golden morning light. Outside, the training grounds glimmered in the sun, where other students were already gathering for combat practice. The sight made her wolf stir with longing—it wanted to run, to fight, to prove that rejection hadn't destroyed her.
But first, she had to survive the walk to class.
She thought she was alone now, the whispers fading as students dispersed to their morning schedules. The Academy's ancient stone walls seemed to breathe around her, holding centuries of secrets and scandals within their depths.
She was wrong.
A shadow detached itself from behind one of the ornate stone pillars ahead, revealing broad shoulders and an easy posture that spoke of predatory confidence. His presence radiated something entirely different from Darius's raw, crushing dominance—something smoother, more dangerous in its practiced charm. Like silk hiding a blade.
His scent reached her first: pine and leather with an undertone of something wild and untamed that made her wolf lift its head in wary interest. Not the scent of her mate—that bond lay wounded and rejected—but something that called to the part of her that recognized danger wearing an attractive face.
His lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his dark eyes, the expression calculated to appear both sympathetic and intriguing.
"Rough first day?"
Elara slowed, every instinct prickling with warning. She didn't know him personally, though she'd glimpsed him around the Academy entrance the day before, surrounded by a cluster of students who seemed to hang on his every word like he was dispensing secrets worth their weight in gold. His dark hair framed sharp, aristocratic features, and his stance held the relaxed confidence of someone who'd never doubted his place in the world.
Everything about him screamed danger wrapped in expensive packaging.
He pushed off from the pillar with fluid grace, closing the distance between them with unhurried steps that reminded her of a wolf stalking through moonlight. When he reached her, close enough that she could see the flecks of amber in his dark eyes, he extended his hand with a gesture that managed to be both courteous and commanding.
"Walk with me, Elara."
Her name on his lips sounded like a promise and a threat rolled into one. The smirk playing at the corners of his mouth promised trouble of the most dangerous kind—the kind that looked like salvation until the trap snapped shut.