Aria
“You have to go,” Ivy insists, holding out a plain grey sweater for me. “It is the only truly mandatory event of the year.”
I shake my head, scrubbing at a stubborn spot of rot-magic residue on my uniform. “I am not going. Alyssa will be there. Ronin will be there. I am a target, Ivy. I just want to stay here.”
“Staying here makes you a bigger target,” she argues, her voice soft but firm. “Skipping the bonfire is a direct sign of disrespect to the Alphas. They will see it as defiance.”
“Let them,” I mutter. “They already think I’m an insect.”
“Then do not prove them right by hiding in the dark,” she says, pushing the sweater into my hands. “We will go. We will stand in the back. No one will even notice us. I promise.”
The bonfire is less a party and more a primal ritual. It is deep in the woods, far from the academy’s stone walls. A massive pyre spits embers into the night sky, and the air is heavy with the smell of pine, burnt wood, and cheap alcohol.
Wolves are everywhere. They laugh too loud, their movements sharp and predatory. The elites have claimed the area closest to the fire, passing bottles of liquor around, while the rest of us linger in the shadows of the trees.
“See?” Ivy whispers, nudging me. “We are practically invisible.”
My eyes are drawn to the firelight. Ronin stands there, a bottle loose in his hand, looking bored and dangerous. Alyssa is plastered to his side, her laughter shrill, but he doesn't even look at her. His gaze is distant, cold. Draven is with them, trying to engage his friend in conversation, but Ronin just shrugs him off.
I should look away, but I cannot. It is like staring at a storm on the horizon. Terrifying, but impossible to ignore.
The moon begins to rise above the trees, a perfect white disc in the black sky.
A sudden, searing heat floods my veins. It is a sharp, painful cramp deep in my belly that makes me gasp. My scent, normally nonexistent, bursts from me like a dam breaking.
“What is that?” a boy near us asks, sniffing the air. “Smells like… vanilla?”
Another wolf turns his head, his eyes going hazy. “And rain. After a storm.”
The conversations around us falter. Heads turn. Noses lift to the air. The pheromones in my scent are raw, unplanned, a premature signal of a heat I should not be having for another six months.
“Aria, what is happening?” Ivy asks, her eyes wide with alarm.
But I cannot answer. My gaze is pulled across the clearing, across the dancing flames, and it collides with his.
Ronin’s head has snapped in my direction. His body is rigid, the bottle in his hand forgotten. His eyes, which were cold and bored moments ago, are now wide with utter shock. He sees me. He smells me.
Then it happens. A violent jolt, like lightning striking my soul. It is a chain, white hot and heavy, snapping into place between us. The world dissolves into a roar of sound and a blur of light. There is only him. The connection is brutal, possessive, and agonizing.
Mate.
The word screams in my mind, a truth so absolute it feels like a death sentence. The shock on his face twists, curdling into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. He looks at me not just with disdain, but with the deepest hatred I have ever seen.
