The air in the Crescent Wing was thick with the scent of hairspray and expensive perfume. Samantha Caldwell's "Welcome Bash" was the only topic of conversation, and despite the venom Samantha had spewed in class, Jada and Avery were determined to make an entrance.
"If we're going to be targets, we might as well be the most beautiful targets in the room," Jada declared, sliding into a pair of thigh-high boots.
Mary stood before the full-length mirror, exhaling a breath she felt she'd been holding since the gym.
She wore a deep emerald silk miniskirt that hugged her curves and a black lace-up corset top that left little to the imagination. The skirt was short—short enough to show off the toned lines of her legs, a souvenir from years of running—and her black hair with that single platinum streak fell in loose, rebellious waves down her back.
Beside her, Miles was dressed in dark jeans and a crisp black shirt. He looked different tonight.
His usual slouch was gone, replaced by a rigid, watchful posture. When Mary caught his eye in the reflection, his gaze didn't just linger; it flared with an intensity that felt ancient.
"You look... incredible, Mary," he whispered. "But stay close to me. The energy tonight is... foul."
As he reached out to steady her, a spark of blue static jumped from his fingers to hers. He flinched, pulling back as a faint, glowing rune flickered briefly on the back of his hand before vanishing.
"Miles? Your hand..."
"Just static," he lied, but his eyes were dark with worry. The seal was thinning. He could feel his own mage-circuits humming to life, sensing the storm brewing inside the girl he was sworn to die for.
———
The party was held in the glass-walled ballroom overlooking the moonlit cliffs. The moment Mary's group walked in, the music seemed to dip.
The three Alphas were positioned on the high mezzanine, looking down like judges. Kieran's silver eyes locked onto Mary's exposed legs, his pupils dilating until his eyes were almost entirely black.
Axel's tongue swiped across his lower lip, a low, territorial growl vibrating in his throat that sent a shiver down the spines of everyone near him.
Dante stood like a gargoyle, his hands crushing the stone railing, his scent—cedar and rain—spiking with a sharp, possessive musk.
They weren't just looking at her. They were hunting her with their eyes.
Samantha Caldwell saw it. The "Future Luna" moved through the crowd like a snake in silk.
She approached Mary with a glass of dark red wine, her face a mask of faux-sympathy.
"Oh, Mary. I didn't think humans were allowed to wear Davenport emeralds," Samantha sneered, stepping into Mary's space.
"It's a bit... desperate, don't you think? Like putting a ribbon on a stray dog."
Samantha tilted her hand, the wine arching toward Mary's pristine silk.
But the liquid never hit.
Time seemed to stutter. Miles stepped forward, his eyes snapping to a brilliant, crystalline silver. He didn't touch Samantha, but he slammed his fist into his palm.
A ripple of translucent blue force exploded outward—a mage-shield.
The wine didn't just stop; it froze into jagged red ice mid-air and shattered, falling to the floor like broken glass.
The music cut out. The silence was deafening.
"Back away from her," Miles commanded. His voice wasn't a boy's voice; it was the roar of a Guardian.