The only reason I came to the Academy was to survive. Love was never in the plan.
The words repeated like a mantra as Elara Bennett walked through the wrought-iron gates of Crescent Hollow Academy, her worn boots crunching against gravel that gleamed like crushed diamonds under the moon's silver gaze.
The campus loomed ahead—part fortress, part university. Modern steel and glass collided with age-old stone towers that had stood for centuries, their surfaces carved with ancient pack symbols that seemed to writhe in the shifting shadows. The main spire stretched toward the heavens like a claw, topped with a massive silver wolf that howled silently at the moon. This place was the heart of wolf society, where the heirs of packs across the region came to sharpen their instincts, master their wolves, and prove their dominance.
And Elara wasn't supposed to belong here.
She tugged her duffel strap higher on her shoulder, the worn canvas rough against her palm. The scent of pine and earth mingled with something sharper—the musk of wolves, the metallic tang of spilled blood from training sessions, the electric charge that came from so many predators gathered in one place.
Every single conversation around her seemed to stop the moment she stepped onto the cobblestone path. She felt eyes crawl over her skin—curious, suspicious, hostile. Their wolves were testing her, reading her scent, cataloging her as prey or threat. The air itself seemed to thicken with their attention.
"Is that her?" The whisper came from a cluster of girls near the fountain, their designer luggage gleaming like armor.
"Bennett blood." Another voice, dripping with disdain. "Tainted."
"I heard her wolf's broken. Barely surfaced during her Awakening."
"My father says the Silverfang Pack fell because they were weak. Guess we know where she gets it."
Elara's jaw clenched, but she kept walking. If she turned her head, if she flinched even once, she'd prove them right. Wolves lived off hierarchy, and weakness was blood in the water. The Academy's motto was carved into the stone arch above her: Strength Through Unity, Unity Through Strength. But unity was earned, not given.
She swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth. Just survive. That's all I need to do here.
But survival wasn't so easy when her name carried the shadow of tragedy.
The fire. The screams. The night everything she loved had been swallowed in smoke and ash. The Silverfang Pack had been their home until betrayal tore it apart from within. Her family had paid the price in blood, and now she was here—the "charity case," admitted to the Academy not because anyone believed in her potential, but because her uncle Marcus had called in every favor he had.
Keep your head down, Elara. Don't give them a reason to look too close.
The voices followed her anyway, sharp as winter wind.
"She doesn't belong here."
"The Alpha heirs will eat her alive."
"Imagine being stuck with a wolf like that. No bite, just bark."
Her nails dug crescents into her palms, but she didn't turn around. The Academy's dress code required midnight blue blazers with pack crests embroidered on the chest, but Elara's was plain—no crest, no lineage, no claim to power. Just empty fabric where belonging should be.
The path opened into the Academy's central courtyard, where the training grounds sprawled wide under a canopy of stars. Ancient stone bleachers ringed the space, worn smooth by generations of wolves who had come to test their mettle. Elara slowed, her breath catching at the sight before her.
Dozens of wolves in training gear sparred under the pale glow of floodlights that hummed with barely contained energy. Young men and women moved with lethal grace, their wolves pushing through their skin in flickers of golden eyes, sharpened canines, and half-shifted strength. Muscles rippled beneath human skin as wolf instincts took hold. Every strike was a test of dominance, every dodge a refusal to submit.
The air crackled with power—raw, electric, dangerous. This was what she'd only heard about in whispered stories. True wolf combat, where human strategy met animal instinct in a deadly dance.
A sharp crack echoed across the courtyard as two fighters collided, their impact sending tremors through the earth. Students gathered in excited clusters, money changing hands as bets were placed. The hierarchy was on display here—Alphas commanded the center rings, Betas formed supportive circles, and Omegas lingered at the edges, content to observe rather than challenge.
Elara forced herself forward, hugging the edge of the grounds, not daring to step closer. But her wolf stirred uneasily inside her chest, restless, like it sensed something it couldn't name. The beast that had been silent for so long suddenly pressed against her ribs, awakening with a hunger she'd forgotten existed.
That was when it happened.
A flash of motion drew her gaze toward the center ring. Two Alphas clashed, their strength shaking the ground beneath her feet. One was broad and brutish, all raw power and rage, his wolf bleeding through in patches of coarse black fur along his arms. The other—taller, leaner, precise in every movement—moved like dominance was bred into his bones. His strikes were efficient, merciless. He didn't fight to prove himself. He fought because he already knew he was stronger.
Her breath hitched.
He was beautiful in the most dangerous way possible—dark hair damp with sweat, a jaw cut from granite, shoulders that carried authority like a mantle woven from moonlight itself. Even from across the courtyard, she felt the weight of his presence pressing down on her, making the very air seem thinner.
The crowd fell silent as he delivered a final, devastating blow that sent his opponent sprawling. Victory looked natural on him, like he'd never known anything else.
And then he looked at her.
It was only a second. Just a flicker of dark, storm-gray eyes locking with hers across the training ground. But it felt like the world tilted on its axis, like every star in the sky had suddenly realigned to point at this single, impossible moment.
Something inside her chest snapped tight. A jolt of heat seared through her veins, sharp and undeniable, as if lightning had struck her very soul. Her wolf roared awake, pressing against her skin with desperate urgency, every instinct screaming at her to close the distance between them.
Her bag slipped from her shoulder, hitting the cobblestones with a dull thud that seemed to echo forever. Elara barely noticed. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe, couldn't do anything but stare into eyes that seemed to see straight through her carefully constructed walls.
The Alpha stopped mid-victory pose, his opponent forgotten and groaning on the ground. His chest rose and fell hard, his jaw clenched so tight she could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin. For a heartbeat that stretched into eternity, it was like the courtyard had emptied of everyone else.
Her wolf whispered the truth she didn't want to hear.
Mate.
The word slammed into her like a physical blow, rattling through every inch of her being with the force of destiny itself. She staggered back a step, shaking her head in denial. No. This wasn't possible. She hadn't come here for love, hadn't come here for the fairy tales other girls dreamed of. She'd come here to survive, to honor her promise to the dead, to stay invisible until she was strong enough to matter.
But there was no escaping the mate bond. Not when it snapped into place around her like chains forged from starlight and inevitability.
And then, louder, rougher, deeper—another voice joined hers. Not her own. Not human.
A growl rumbled through the connection that now blazed between them, low and feral, as if the very earth had found its voice.
Mate.
Her heart stuttered to a complete stop. The sound didn't come from her wolf.
It came from him.
From Darius Fenrir, heir to the most powerful Alpha bloodline in the region, future leader of the Nightfall Pack—and the last wolf in the world who should want anything to do with a broken girl like her.