SLOANE
The sky bleeds from black to gray outside my window. I've been standing here for hours, watching the darkness thin, my phone still warm in my palm from the video call I ended twenty minutes ago.
Twenty minutes, and I can still see his face in my mind—those silver-blue eyes wide with fear and something else, something he's desperately trying to hide. The way his breath had caught when I'd leaned closer to the camera. The pulse hammering in his throat that I'd wanted to put my mouth on.
'Sweet dreams, beautiful.' I'd meant it as a threat, a promise or maybe both.
My wolf won't shut up. She's been clawing at my ribcage since the moment I ended the call, howling the same word over and over until I want to scream: MATE MATE MATE—
"Shut up," I snarl at the empty room but Tala doesn't listen, she never does. She's been screaming since the party, since I caught his scent across the room and something ancient in my chest recognized him before my brain could process what was happening.
I'd crushed it down immediately. I had wanted to kiss him to prove it was just chemistry, just biology, nothing deeper.
He'd rejected me away. Those firm words 'I'm not interested' burn deep into me.
My reflection stares back at me from the window glass—dark circles under my eyes, jaw clenched so tight my teeth ache, and something feral lurking beneath my skin.
I should be sleeping. I have a pack meeting with my father at eight, my senior thesis is due in three weeks, and I'm supposed to be focused on graduating, on preparing to take over as Alpha when he steps down but instead, all I can think about is Bryce Carter.
I replay the video call for the hundredth time. The way he'd tried to sound firm, unaffected, even as his pupils dilated every time I spoke. The way he'd leaned closer to the screen despite himself, drawn in by the same pull I'm feeling.
Tala surges forward again—MATE, WE NEED TO PROTECT AND CHERISH CLAIM—
I slam her down so hard I taste blood.
"He's not my mate. I don't have a mate. I don't want a mate."
The words echo in my bedroom, they sound hollow even to me.
Mate bonds are chains. I've seen it—Alphas going soft, making stupid decisions, giving up everything that matters because their biology tells them to. My father loved my mother so much that when she died, he nearly destroyed the pack. He couldn't function for months and had to be physically restrained from his grief-fueled rage.
I swore I'd never be that weak, never let anyone have that kind of power over me.
I'm Sloane Pierce, I take what I want because I want it and not because some ancient instinct tells me to but the pull towards Bryce is stronger than anything I've ever felt, and it makes me furious—this loss of control, this wanting that has nothing to do with choice and everything to do with biology screaming at me that he's mine.
"This is just wanting what I can't have," I tell my reflection. The alpha in the glass doesn't look convinced. "Once I have him, it'll stop."
It has to stop.
I remember the party. Scanning the room after that stupid dare, looking for someone interesting. Then his scent hit me—fresh and clean with an underlying sweetness that made Tala sit up and howl. It cut through everything else—the alcohol, the sweat, the artificial fragrances like a beacon calling me home.
I'd found him standing near the edge of the room, looking uncomfortable and out of place. Tall for an Omega, absurdly tall, with tousled dirty-blonde hair and eyes like winter storms. Beautiful in a way that made my chest tight.
I'd tried to kiss him to prove it was just attraction but he'd rejected me right in front of everyone.
The insult still burns but it's morphed into something else now. Something darker, something that makes my wolf pace and my hands clench.
I don't just want him anymore, I want to own him, crack him open and dig my fingers into all his soft parts until he can't remember what it felt like to tell me no.
I want to watch him break beautifully, and systematically until there's nothing left but the truth—that he's mine, that he's always been mine, and that fighting me only makes it worse because he dared.
He dared to think he was above me and he dared to walk away. Nobody walks away from Sloane Pierce.
I move to my desk, flip open my laptop. The screen glows blue in the pre-dawn light. I open a new document, type at the top: BRYCE CARTER - RESEARCH.
The cursor blinks and waiting.
I already have the basics from Kai's initial reconnaissance. Scholarship student, sophomore, Medieval Literature major. Works at the campus bookstore and some coffee shop downtown. No pack affiliation. Mother and sister back home in some nowhere town I can't even remember the name of but I need more. Every weakness, every pressure point and every vulnerability I can exploit.
I scroll through my contacts, stop on a name: Vesper Thorne.
Perfect.
I hit the call button. I don't care that it's barely five in the morning. They answer on the third ring, voice sleep-rough but alert.
"Sloane… this is unexpected." Vesper, his voice husky.
"I need you to watch someone for me."
A pause, I can almost hear them sitting up in bed, suddenly interested.
"Watch as in observe or watch as in guard?" He asked.
"Observe." I pace to the window, stare out at the campus quad where a few early joggers are already making their rounds. "Constantly. Twenty-four seven. I want to know everything."
"That's comprehensive surveillance." Vesper's tone doesn't change—neutral, professional. "Who's the target?"
"Bryce Carter. An Omega in his sophomore year. Medieval Lit major."
Another pause, longer this time. "That's very comprehensive surveillance. Some might call it stalking."
"It's research." I told him, I can hear the faint smile in their voice. "Right, so when do I start?"
"Now, he has morning classes. Find him and stay invisible." I pull up his schedule on my laptop—already memorized, but I like seeing it in black and white. "I want to know what scares him, what he needs, what keeps him up at night and who matters to him and how much. Report every single thing he does back to me"
"Any specific vulnerabilities you're looking for?"
'Everything. I want to know every single thing that makes him tick.' I wanted to say but I shook my head because that would make me look weak.
"I want every weakness I can exploit," I say instead.
Silence. Then: "So you're going to destroy him."
"I'm going to make him mine." I answered plainly.
"Same thing, probably."
My jaw tightens. "Probably, is that a problem?"
"No." Vesper sounds genuinely unbothered. "I don't judge. What you do with the information is your business but Sloane—"
"What?"
"Does Kai know about this?" Vesper asked and my hand clenched around the phone.
"No and he's not going to. This stays between both of us."
"He always finds out eventually, you know that right?"
"Let me worry about Kai. Just do your job. " I end the call before they can argue.
My reflection stares back at me from the window—dark circles, tight jaw, something feral in my eyes. Senior year. Final year. Four months until graduation. Limited time to make Bryce Carter mine.
I have to work fast but also thoroughly. I can't just force him—tried that at the party, and he pushed me away. I can't just corner him—he'll run, and I'll lose whatever fragile connection we have.
No, I need to break him down systematically, make him need me, make him beg for me and then, when he's broken and desperate and can't imagine a world where I'm not there—
I'll own him completely and then destroy him.
'WRONG WRONG WRONG,' Tala howls, throwing herself against my ribs. PROTECT MATE NOT HURT MATE CHERISH—
"He's not our mate, I won't repeat myself again." I snarl back at her. "He's just our little prey to have fun with."
I shove her down brutally, feel her whimper and retreat. Good, I'm in control here, not some ancient instinct, and definitely not biology just me.
I pull clothes from my closet—black jeans that cost more than most people's rent, a fitted burgundy sweater that makes my skin glow, boots that add two inches and sound like power when I walk. I look at myself in the full-length mirror, adjusting the collar, and smoothing non-existent wrinkles.
I look like money, like power and like someone who gets what she wants.
My phone buzzes. Text from Dad: Pack meeting at 8. Don't be late.
I type back: I'll be there.
But first…
I pulled up Bryce's schedule one more time. Medieval Literature, 10 AM, Richardson Hall, Room 204. He prefers the seat near the back left, by the window where he can watch the quad.
I smiled at my reflection because it was time to remind him I'm everywhere, time to make him squirm and time to start the hunt properly—not with force, but with patience, with strategy and with the absolute certainty that he's already mine and he just doesn't know it yet.