Chapter 1

Blood drips from my nose in warm, steady pulses, and for a second I honestly can't tell if it's just a split lip kind of bleed or if I've actually broken it.

Then Seb smirks, and I know it's the broken kind of proud.

"You are such a—" I wipe under my nostrils and stare at the red on my glove. "You absolute prick."

"Language," he says, like he didn't just clip me with a perfect elbow.

I lunge.

My fist connects with his shoulder, then his ribs, then I grab his shirt and use his momentum against him the way Dad taught us when we were ten and too small to do real damage. Seb stumbles, surprised, and I don't give him the mercy of a reset. I drive him back again—harder this time—until he hits the wall with a grunt and slides down onto the exercise mat.

"Damn," he mutters, rolling onto his back and patting himself down like he's checking for fractures. "Okay. That one had feelings."

I breathe through my mouth, because my nose is still bleeding and I refuse to pinch it like some delicate human girl in a teen drama. "You hit my face."

"You walked into my elbow."

"I did not."

Seb sits up, dark hair sticking to his forehead with sweat, his mouth curved like he's about to say something stupid. He's bigger than me by a good few inches, and stronger in the obvious, visible ways. He's also the next Beta—officially trained, officially tested, officially annoying about it.

Sebastian Scott. Seb, when he's not being introduced as the future Beta of the Cold Fang Pack.

He lifts his brows. "Come here, Cass. I'll kiss the pain away."

I snort. "You're an ass."

"Love you too, Cassie."

I hate that nickname. I've hated it since I was fifteen, which apparently only made my family love it more. Seb proves it by leaning forward and lightly kicking my shin while I'm busy trying to decide if my nose is crooked.

I glare at him. "Do that again and I'll knock your teeth into your throat."

His grin turns wicked. "Promises, promises."

Behind my eyes, Nova stretches like a cat waking from a nap.

He deserved that, she says, sounding pleased with herself.

I swallow a laugh and wince because it pulls at the ache across my face. He always deserves it.

Nova hums. We're still winning.

We are, technically. But Seb's sharper these days. Not stronger—just... better trained. Beta training is a privilege and a responsibility. And an annoying advantage when your older brother has been drilled in strategy and control while you've been drilled in "try not to kill each other in the basement."

I'm Cassandra Scott. Cass to everyone who knows me. Cassie to my family, because apparently they're incapable of letting go of anything cute and humiliating. I turned eighteen earlier this year—and finally got to shift into my wolf.

Nova.

She's sassy, stubborn, and terrifyingly proud of herself. We fit together like two blades in the same sheath.

Dad's boots sound on the wooden stairs before he appears in the doorway, arms crossed, expression carved from stone. Richard Scott. The Beta of Cold Fang. The man who raised his children like we were half soldiers and half wild animals.

His gaze sweeps over me—blood, bruising, the angle of my nose—and then to Seb on the mat. "Outside," he barks. "Both of you. Shift and heal."

Seb makes a face. "My ribs are fine."

Dad's expression doesn't change. "Outside. And do it before your mother comes home, because I'm not listening to her complain all evening that I'm an irresponsible parent."

Seb's grin returns, softer this time. "Yes, sir."

I press my palm to my nose, trying to stop the bleeding. "It's fine."

Dad's eyes narrow. "Cass."

I hate that I still react to that tone.

We head out the back door into the cold Montana air, the edge of the forest pressing close to our property like it's listening. The packhouse sits nearby—big, solid, built for gatherings and politics and rules. Our house is separate, because we're a big family and my dad likes having space between work and home even if work is always in his bones.

When Seb becomes Beta, he'll move into the Beta apartment at the packhouse. He acts like it's a promotion to king. I think it sounds like living inside a meeting.

Nova prowls at the edge of my thoughts. Shift. Let me fix it.

Not here, I answer, because the yard is open and even though we're on pack land, privacy matters to me.

Seb glances at me as we reach the treeline. "You okay?"

I hate that my throat tightens. I hate that I love him—hate how it turns me soft.

"I'm fine."

He bumps my shoulder gently. "You got me good."

"You deserved it," Nova and I say at the exact same time.

Seb laughs, and we shift.

It's always the same—bones rearranging, skin stretching, the world turning sharper. My wolf form is bigger than most females in the pack, built for power. An Alpha wolf. Pure and dominant. Nova stands tall in my limbs, ears forward, eyes bright.

Seb's wolf is a Beta with Alpha traits. Sleek, strong, controlled. He shakes out his fur and gives me a look that says, still want round two?

I bare my teeth and he chuffs, amused.

We don't fight again. We run, because movement is better than violence when the blood is already drying on my face and the itch under my skin has been scratched. We loop the perimeter of our land, scent-marking out of habit. The pack's territory is familiar, safe, threaded through with the smells of family and home.

Eventually, the ache in my nose fades to a dull throb, then disappears. Healing always feels like relief and victory at the same time.

Back inside, I shift in the bathroom and stand under the shower until the water runs clear and hot and my muscles stop humming with leftover adrenaline. I pull off sweaty clothes and start humming "Cry to Me" under my breath.

From downstairs, Mom's voice carries like she's standing right beside me.

"Cass! Come down after your shower. We have to plan for the mating ball."

My whole body deflates.

"Fuck," I sigh.

"I heard that, Cassandra Scott!"

I roll my eyes at the ceiling. "Enhanced wolf hearing," I mutter.

Nova snickers. You're doomed.

My mother, Margaret Scott, has spent my whole life trying to sand down my edges. She calls it "helping me be more feminine," like being a girl is a narrow hallway with rules and I keep smashing the walls.

She once tried to recruit our Luna, Victoria, to "make a lady out of me."

They gave up.

Thank the Goddess.

I finish my shower, pull on comfortable clothes, and drag myself downstairs like I'm heading to my own execution.

Because a mating ball is exactly that, in a prettier dress.

And Mom is waiting.

Chapter 2

Mom has fashion magazines spread across the living room coffee table like evidence in a trial.

Emily sits cross-legged on the rug beside her, eyes shining with the kind of excitement only a fourteen-year-old can muster over someone else's wardrobe.

"It's about time," Mom says when I walk in, towel-drying my hair. She doesn't look up at first, just flips a glossy page. "Honestly, Cass. You can't avoid this forever."

"I wasn't avoiding," I lie.

Nova sighs inside my head. Yes you were.

Emily squeals. "I can't believe you're getting a designer dress! Please, please, big sis, let me do your makeup!"

I drop onto the couch like my bones have turned to sand. "Oh Goddess, help me get through this," I laugh, because if I don't laugh I'm going to snarl.

Mom finally lifts her gaze to me, expression sharpening into the look she uses when she's about to turn motherhood into strategy. "Cass, you need to be a little more serious about the mating ball."

I gesture vaguely at my face. "I had blood coming out of my nose ten minutes ago."

"And now you're healed," she replies briskly. "Convenient. Which means you have no excuse to look like you've been dragged out of the woods."

"I live next to the woods."

"You know what I mean."

Emily waves a lipstick tube in the air like a wand. "I have this color that would look amazing on you—"

"No," I say instantly.

Emily pouts. Mom's eyes narrow.

"You need to look presentable," Mom continues, "so I don't have to be embarrassed because of you. You will represent Cold Fang. And the Beta family."

I can practically hear Dad groaning somewhere in his office.

"Seb will be there," I say. "And he will actually be Beta. Let him represent the family."

Mom's mouth tightens. "This isn't about Seb."

It never is. Not really.

"It's about your future," she says, softening the words like that makes them less like a cage. "You're eighteen. Your wolf has awakened. You know what that means."

I do know.

That's the problem.

Shifters still live in the modern world. We go to human schools, we pay taxes, we pretend we aren't predators with instincts wired into our bones. Vampires and witches do the same. We all keep the secret because humans can't sense what we are.

But for wolves, there's always the pull of pack life. The longing for our own. The ache that comes from trying to live like a solitary creature when we were never made to be alone.

And then there's mating.

Fated mates.

Chosen mates.

The Moon Goddess, fate, bonds you can't break.

I hate how much of it is real.

Mom taps the magazine page. "The Glacier pack in Wyoming is hosting the ball on the next full moon. Unmated wolves will come. You will attend."

My stomach twists. "I'm not into the mating thing anyway. You know I want college. I want to travel. I want to—"

"Live like a human?" Mom says, and there's something sharp behind it, like she's afraid my dreams are an insult. "You can still have a life, Cass. Plenty of mated women go to school."

"Sure," I mutter. "And plenty of them end up stuck, too."

Mom's gaze flickers. She covers it quickly. "You're being dramatic."

I lean forward, elbows on my knees. "I'm being honest."

Nova rises behind my words, quiet but present. We don't submit.

I've never been interested in pack politics. But hierarchy is in our blood whether we like it or not. Wolves inherit dominant traits, and a dominant wolf changes everything about how others see you. My father is Beta by birthright, but he inherited Alpha genetics. My mother is Beta-born too—she just never trained, never fought, never wanted the kind of life I crave.

And me?

Nova is pure Alpha.

We hide it most days, dulling our scent so we don't attract challengers. Male shifters from other packs love the idea of making a high-ranked female submit. It's ego. It's power. It's the kind of medieval nonsense that makes me want to break bones for fun.

And Mom thinks a mating ball will fix me.

It won't.

Emily bounces closer, practically vibrating. "What if you meet your mate? What if he's, like, super hot?"

I groan. "Emily."

Mom points a finger at me. "Don't mock it. Fated mates are rare. Sacred."

I know the rules. Every wolf does.

Your fated mate can only be identified once your wolf awakens, usually at eighteen. During the full moon, your senses sharpen and your bond with your wolf is loud. The moment you meet your mate, something in you locks. The bond settles into place like it's been waiting your whole life.

You don't get to negotiate.

You don't get to "see how it goes."

It's fate, carved into your ribs.

Rejecting a fated mate is almost unheard of—not because it's forbidden, but because the pull is overwhelming and the bond itself sharpens instinct and strength. Still, the idea that such power comes at the cost of choice unsettles me, especially knowing that breaking the bond requires both mates to agree and leaves them weakened, punished for daring to walk away.

"You haven't found a mate in this pack," Mom says, watching me carefully.

She's right. We do pack runs every full moon, and Nova has never recognized anyone as ours. If she had, I'd know. I'd feel it in my bones like thunder.

Part of me is relieved.

Part of me is terrified.

Mating balls exist because packs need new blood and alliances. Packs with feuds still show up because the chance of finding a fated mate outweighs old grudges. It's survival dressed up as romance.

And then there are chosen mates—partners you pick. Love, companionship, politics. A human-style relationship. Those can end. Those can break. Those can become messy.

But a fated mate?

There are no divorces.

There is no "maybe."

Nothing comes between you and the bond.

Which sounds romantic until you remember wolves have egos and tempers and power.

Mum's voice turns firm. "Cass, you will get a beautiful dress. You will get your hair and makeup done. And you will behave like a lady."

I stare at her. "Or what?"

Her eyes harden. "Otherwise I will make your father pause your training until you do as you're told."

The words hit like a slap.

Training is my oxygen. My release. The way I keep my mind clear when everything else feels like a trap. Mom knows it. She knows exactly where my weak spot is.

Nova snarls silently. She's threatening us.

I know, I answer, jaw clenched.

Mom looks back down at the magazine like she hasn't just declared war. Emily, traitor that she is, starts flipping pages with delighted little gasps.

I exhale slowly, because I'm not going to win this fight in front of my sister.

"Fine," I say, forcing the word out. "Alright. Let's get to it."

Hours pass in a blur of fabric names and necklines and Emily's dramatic opinions about eyeshadow. I nod at the right places. I pretend to care. My smile feels like it's glued on.

At one point, Mom mentions Luna Victoria—how graceful she always looks, how effortless. And an unwanted memory rises up: Victoria at the last ball, laughing politely while a group of older she-wolves hovered around her like she was a prize. How her smile had looked... tight, like a ribbon pulled too hard.

When Mom finally releases me, it's late. My head aches from holding myself together.

In my room, I flop onto the bed and stare at the ceiling.

"I hate this," I whisper.

Nova is quiet for a long moment. Then she says, softer than usual, We won't let anyone cage us.

I swallow hard. "What if fate does?"

Then we bite fate, she answers.

It's ridiculous.

It's perfect.

I fall asleep with the taste of defiance on my tongue and the full moon looming ahead like a promise I never asked for.

Chapter 3

I wake up with a headache that feels suspiciously like punishment for last night's fake smiling.

A hot shower helps. I scrub sleep from my skin, dry my hair, and yank it into a high ponytail. Black sports bra. Black underwear. A faded Metallica T-shirt that's soft from years of washing. Tight blue jeans, leather jacket, and my favorite boots.

In the mirror, I look... like myself.

Not a Luna-in-training. Not a doll. Not an accessory.

A girl who could break a boy's wrist and still pass math.

Nova's voice slides through my thoughts like silk over steel. We look good.

I tilt my head. "Do we?"

Obviously. She sounds offended that I'd even ask. We rock, bitch.

I can't help the grin that tugs at my mouth. Nova has a talent for making confidence feel less like arrogance and more like truth.

My long blond hair behaves for once, brushed straight into the ponytail. My skin's warm-toned, my eyes a hazel-green that shifts depending on the light. I don't bother with makeup—my lashes are dark and long enough on their own. Lip gloss, and I'm done.

I've never thought of myself as hot. More like... normal. Girl-next-door with a temper.

But wolves aren't normal, not really. Even when we pretend we are. Enhanced senses. enhanced strength. Enhanced looks, if we're honest.

Humans notice. They just don't understand what they're seeing.

I grab my protein shake from the fridge because I'm already running late, then bolt out the door and into my car.

Branson High is a human school. It's also a melting pot of secrets. Wolves from three packs. A couple of vampires. A handful of witches. We recognize each other by scent, by energy, by something that hums beneath the skin.

Humans? They're blissfully unaware.

Most of the time.

I park, sling my bag over my shoulder, and head across the yard.

Vanessa is impossible to miss.

She's posted near the jocks like she owns the sunlight, surrounded by her little orbit of girls who laugh too loud and smile too sharp. She's blonde, glossy, and engineered—hair perfect, nails perfect, makeup perfect and of course boobs she got as a birthday present from her parents. She moves like she expects the world to part for her.

When her gaze snags on me, her mouth lifts.

Not friendly. Not warm.

Calculated.

She leans into Damien—one of the vampire jocks—and drapes herself over him like she's claiming territory. It's not subtle. It's meant to be seen.

I keep walking like I didn't notice.

Nova growls low in my mind. She's still trying.

Let her, I answer. I'm not in the mood for her circus.

Damien meets my eyes over Vanessa's shoulder. For half a second, something like regret flickers across his face.

Then Vanessa laughs into his ear and the moment is gone.

I don't let it get under my skin. I never dated Damien seriously. We mostly trained together at my kickboxing club and flirted because it was easy. Safe.

Vanessa has a habit of turning "easy" into "messy."

Her real weapon isn't strength. It's social gravity. She pulls attention like a tide, then drowns people in it.

She tried to bully me a couple years ago. It lasted one day.

One.

I'd shoved her into a locker and broke her nose and told her quietly and precisely, what would happen if she touched me again.

She never did.

Now she keeps it polite to my face—civil, even. But she talks behind my back. I can smell it on her the way her scent spikes when I walk by. Fear, resentment, and something that tastes like obsession.

Inside, the halls are chaos—lockers slamming, people shouting, perfume mixing with sweat and cafeteria grease. I weave through it like I've done a thousand times.

Brianna finds me first.

"Hey, girl!" I call, lifting a hand.

Brianna is a wolf from Red Ridge, the neighboring pack. She's blonde, blue-eyed, and built like a cheerleading poster. Outgoing, loud, fearless. The type of girl who can smile at you and make you feel like you've known her your whole life.

She comes barreling toward me like a missile. "Cass!"

She wraps me in a hug. I grunt, but I don't pull away.

"You look like you want to bite someone," she says brightly, stepping back to study me.

"I had a meeting with my mother and fashion magazines," I reply.

Brianna's eyes light up. "Oh! Mating ball planning?"

I groan. "Don't say that so loudly."

She laughs. "Relax. Humans don't know what we're talking about."

Witches do, though.

Elena appears at Brianna's shoulder like she's been summoned by the sound of drama.

Elena's half witch, half shifter. She inherited the magic fully but sadly a latent wolf. She's shy and smart, the kind of girl who used to hide behind books and hoodies until Brianna decided she was going to drag her into the world by force.

Lately, Elena's been changing—new clothes, new confidence. She's still Elena, but there's something sharper in her eyes now, like she's tired of being overlooked.

"Morning," she says softly, then glances at me. "You okay?"

I shrug. "Define okay."

Elena smiles faintly. "Right."

We walk together toward our lockers, three different personalities threaded into one friendship that somehow works. Brianna talks about cheer practice. Elena mentions a test in chemistry. I listen, half-present, because my wolf keeps brushing against the edge of my thoughts like she's restless.

Nova's attention flicks down the hallway.

Vanessa, she murmurs.

Vanessa is watching us.

Not openly—she knows better—but her minions' eyes follow us like little cameras, catching every movement.

Brianna notices too. Her smile turns sharp. "Ugh. Queen B and her court."

Elena's shoulders tense.

Vanessa's favorite pastime is finding someone's insecurity and pressing until it bleeds.

She's tried it on Elena a few times. Whispered comments. Social traps. Smirks when Elena answers a question in class. Little things that add up until they feel big.

Chapter 4

I warned Vanessa once. Just once.

The next time one of her minions "accidentally" knocked Elena's books out of her arms, Vanessa had stared at me like she was testing the edge of a blade.

Then she'd backed off.

Coward.

Or smart.

Maybe both.

"Don't look at them," I tell Elena quietly. "She feeds on attention."

Elena nods, swallowing.

Brianna rolls her eyes. "If she comes near us today I swear—"

"You'll do what?" I ask, amused.

Brianna grins. "I'll ruin her mascara."

Nova snorts. Violence. I like it.

Not that kind of violence, I reply, but my mouth twitches.

Classes drag. Humans complain about homework like it's oppression. A vampire in my English class stares out the window like the sun personally offended him. A witch doodles symbols in her notebook and pretends it's geometry.

By lunchtime, my patience is frayed.

⸻

The cafeteria is loud in the way only a high school cafeteria can be—chairs scraping, laughter bouncing off the walls, too many conversations competing at once.

I barely have time to scan the room before strong arms wrap around my waist from behind.

"Got you."

I yelp—pure reflex—as my feet leave the ground.

"Lucas!" I shout, instinctively elbowing backward.

He laughs and tightens his grip just long enough to make a point before setting me back on my feet like I weigh nothing. "Relax, Cassie. You're getting slow."

I spin around, glaring up at him. "You're lucky I didn't break your nose."

Luc grins down at me, unapologetic. He's tall—quarterback tall—with an easy confidence that comes from being both popular at school and completely secure in his place in the pack. Dark hair, familiar eyes, and that stupidly charming smile he's had since we were kids.

My favorite cousin.

William's younger brother.

"Missed you too," he says.

I shove him lightly in the chest. "You're an ass."

"Runs in the family."

Nova is amused. I like this one. He doesn't try to dominate.

That's because he knows better, I reply.

Brianna appears beside him like she was summoned by his presence, her expression hovering somewhere between annoyed and pleased. "You almost dropped her, idiot."

"I did not," Luc says. "I had it under control."

I raise an eyebrow. "Since when?"

He chuckles and drapes an arm around Brianna's shoulders like it's the most natural thing in the world. She doesn't push him away. She doesn't lean in either.

Interesting.

I glance between them. "So," I say casually, "are you two on or off this week?"

Brianna rolls her eyes. "Cass—"

Luc cuts in smoothly, flashing Brianna a sideways grin. "Well," he says, voice dropping just enough to be suggestive, "I'm definitely on if Brianna's in the mood."

Brianna swats his chest, laughing despite herself. "You're impossible."

"But charming," he replies.

"Debatable," I say.

Luc grins at me. "You love me."

I do. He's been my partner in crime since we were kids—training together, sneaking out, covering for each other when pack politics got annoying. He's never treated me like something fragile or something to conquer.

Just... Cass.

He nods toward our trays. "Sit with us?"

"Obviously," I say.

As we move toward an open table, I feel that familiar sense of ease settle in my chest. This—this—is pack. Not hierarchy. Not power plays.

Just people who know you.

Nova hums contentedly.

When the final bell rings, I'm halfway to my car when Brianna hooks her arm through mine.

"So," she says, sing-song. "About Friday."

My stomach drops.

Elena appears on my other side like an accomplice. "Brianna already booked everything."

I close my eyes. "Everything?"

Brianna beams. "Everything."

Nova purrs. This is how we die.

I open my eyes and stare at my best friends.

"Just think, you might find the perfect human guy who can finally pop your cherry", she winks.

"Oh, my Goddess, shut up Brianna, someone might hear. There are wolves here"

Brianna is laughing out loud. "You are such a prude sometimes".

Wolves are naturally sexual animals. It's not like I have a holy reason to save myself. I just haven't found a guy tempting enough to rock my world.

"No, no, no! don't you dare to bail on us girl", Brianna looks at me sternly and continues.

"Fine," I mutter. "But if I end up in heels again, I'm blaming both of you."

Chapter 5

Friday crawls toward me like a storm I can't outrun.

All week, Brianna talks about nothing else.

"The city," she says during lunch, eyes gleaming. "A real club. Real music. Real people. Not this small-town nonsense."

"Small-town nonsense is peaceful," I counter.

"Small-town nonsense is boring," she declares, as if that settles it.

Elena listens with a nervous smile, twirling her straw in her drink. She looks excited—genuinely—but there's tension under it, like she's stepping onto a stage for the first time and hoping no one throws tomatoes.

I'm not nervous about the club.

I'm not happy about what it represents.

Being available.

Being the kind of girl my mother thinks I should become, even for one night.

Nova prowls in the back of my mind. We can handle a club.

I'm not worried about the club, I answer.

She pauses. You're worried about attention.

I don't respond, because she's right and I hate it.

On Friday afternoon, Brianna corners us by the lockers with the energy of someone announcing a life-changing event instead of a night out.

"Shopping," she says, grabbing my wrist like I might flee. "Immediately."

"I have training," I protest.

"You can punch your brother tomorrow," she says, dragging me toward the parking lot. "Tonight you're going to live."

Elena hurries after us, clutching her bag. "Brianna, maybe don't kidnap her?"

"Not kidnapping," Brianna replies. "Rescuing."

From the mall parking lot, Nova observes dryly, We're being captured by glitter.

The mall is bright, loud, and full of humans who have no idea they're shopping alongside predators.

Brianna moves like she owns the place, pulling dresses from racks with the confidence of someone who was born to decide what's hot.

Eventually, Brianna bursts out of a fitting room.

"Jackpot!"

She's wearing a tight glittering sleeveless golden dress that barely covers anything. Her boobs look ready to start a rebellion.

"Look at my boobs!" she squeals.

Lizzy claps excitedly.

"It's hot," I admit, watching Brianna spin. "But everyone will see your panties."

"The more the merrier," Brianna winks. "Confidence is sexy."

"With red lipstick and that dress, you'll be queen of the club," Lizzy laughs.

Elena tries things on with a careful kind of hope, stepping out of the fitting room and watching our faces like our opinions might decide her whole future.

"You look amazing," I tell her when she finds a dark blue dress that hugs her curves without screaming for attention.

Elena blushes. "Really?"

"Really," I say, and I mean it.

Brianna claps her hands. "Okay! Now it's Cass's turn."

"No," I say instantly.

"Yes," Brianna says instantly.

I end up sitting on a bench while they disappear into a sea of fabric and hangers. I scroll on my phone and pretend I'm somewhere else. At home. In the basement. Kicking Seb's ass. Anything but this.

Then Brianna returns, eyes gleaming with trouble.

"This," she announces, holding up a black dress.

It's sleek. Tight. Leather-look. Square neckline with a notch that suggests my boobs will be invited to the party whether I want them there or not. The back is... barely there.

My throat goes dry. "Absolutely not."

Elena appears behind her and makes a small sound. "Oh wow."

"Traitor," I mutter.

Brianna shoves the dress at me. "Try it."

"I don't want to."

"Cass," she says, lowering her voice, "you don't have to become someone else. You just have to stop hiding."

"You know very well that I'm not hiding—it's just not my thing."

I grit my teeth and stomp into the fitting room.

Ten minutes later, I step out, and both girls freeze.

Brianna's mouth drops open. Elena's eyes widen.

I stare at them. "Don't."

Brianna fans herself dramatically. "I'm going to pass out."

"It's too much," I insist, tugging at the neckline like I can magically add fabric. "It's not me."

"It is you," Elena says softly. "Just... a version you don't let people see."

I open my mouth to argue, but Brianna is already sprinting toward the cashier with all three dresses slung over her arm like a victory banner.

"Brianna!" I shout.

She calls over her shoulder, "Too late!"

I glare at Elena. "She didn't—"

Elena winces. "She did."

By the time we're back in the parking lot, the bags are in Brianna's trunk and my fate is sealed.

"Why do you always pull stuff like this?" I mutter.

Brianna shrugs, unrepentant. "Because you'll thank me later."

Nova murmurs, Or we'll set something on fire.

No fires, I warn.

We drive to Brianna's house, which is less "house" and more "mansion." Her dad made money in finance before returning to pack life. Omegas aren't servants anymore—just ordinary pack wolves—so Brianna lives like royalty.

Her parents are away. Hawaii.

Which, in Brianna's mind, means rules no longer exist.

We order pizza, spread makeup across the bathroom counter, and start the ritual of getting ready.

I'm last to shower. I'm halfway through washing my hair when Brianna knocks and pushes the door open without waiting for an answer, because privacy is apparently optional in her world.

She holds up a razor like she's presenting a sacred offering.

I blink water out of my eyes. "What."

"You need to shave," she says, dead serious.

My spine stiffens. "I'm shaving my armpits. That's it."

Brianna gasps like I've confessed to murder. "Cassandra Scott, you cannot go out without shaving downstairs."

"Talk to my hand," I say, and close the door in her face.

Nova laughs so hard I nearly choke on shampoo.

I shave my armpits and my bikini line and refuse to go any further, because I'm not fifteen and Brianna is not the boss of my body.

When I finally emerge, wrapped in a towel, Brianna eyes me like she's taking inventory. "Is your bush gone?"

"No," I say.

She sighs dramatically. "You are impossible."

"Thank you," I reply sweetly.

Brianna:

"Okay, real talk. Are we going full free spirit tonight, or are we pretending you're socially domesticated?"

Chapter 6

I don't even look at her. "Neither."

Brianna blinks. "Neither?"

"I'm not grooming myself for anyone's expectations," I say coolly. "Real or imaginary."

Brianna stares at me, then lets out a long sigh.

"I give up. Completely. Total surrender."

She turns away, muttering,

"I try to civilize one feral woman and this is the thanks I get."

Nova sounds deeply satisfied. Feral is a compliment.

Makeup is next. Brianna does Elena's hair first, curling it into soft waves that make her look older, bolder. Elena stares at herself in the mirror like she's meeting a new version of herself.

"Okay," Brianna says, wiggling her eyebrows. "So. Tonight. Is it happening?"

Elena's cheeks flush. She hesitates, then nods, small but determined. "That's the plan."

My stomach tightens. "Elena, you don't have to do anything."

"I want to," she says, giggling. "Invisible isn't my thing anymore. And hello—I'm a wolf. I have needs."

"Oh my God, not you too. Am I seriously surrounded by sex-starved wolves?" I sigh.

Brianna beams. "Yes!"

Nova murmurs, Careful. This is where trouble begins.

Then Brianna turns to me.

My hair is dried into loose waves, a few small braids tucked back Viking-style. She adds subtle makeup—nothing heavy, just enough to make my eyes look sharper, my mouth softer.

I stare at my reflection when she steps back.

It's still me.

Just... dangerous.

Brianna grins. "Seductress."

"I hate you," I mutter.

"No you don't," she replies, and points a finger at me. "Remember: no comfort zone tonight."

Nova's voice slides in, low and warning. Something feels off.

I pause, fingers tightening on the zipper of my bag. What do you mean?

I don't know, she says, unsettled. Just... don't let anyone control you.

A chill crawls up my spine.

Because that's always been what I despise, hasn't it?

Control.

Fate.

Bonds.

And the way one bad decision can turn into a chain.

Brianna squeals from the window. "The limo is here!"

I inhale, shove my phone into my bag, and force my feet to move.

One night, I tell myself.

One stupid night.

The limousine waits outside like something unreal.

Long. Glossy. Excessive.

Brianna lets out a delighted squeal the second she sees it. "Oh my God. This is actually happening."

Elena laughs nervously, smoothing her dress for the tenth time. "I feel like we're doing something illegal."

"Relax," Brianna says, already moving toward the door. "We're just making memories."

I hesitate for half a second before stepping inside.

Leather seats. Dim lighting. A small bar stocked better than anything we could ever afford back home. The door closes behind us with a soft thud, sealing us in, and the engine hums to life.

As the limousine pulls onto the road, something shifts.

The town fades behind us. Rules loosen. Expectations blur.

Brianna pours drinks like this is her natural habitat. Elena giggles, cheeks flushed, excitement radiating off her. I lean back against the seat, watching the city lights grow closer through the tinted windows.

Nova stirs beneath my skin, alert and curious. We're crossing a line, she says.

I know, I answer.

But I don't stop it.

When the limousine finally rolls to a stop, bass thumps faintly through the pavement outside. People turn to look as the driver opens the door, music and light spilling out into the night.

Brianna steps out first—confident, radiant, unapologetic.

Elena follows, shoulders back, eyes bright.

I step out last, heels hitting the ground—with irritation.

I lift my chin, straighten my spine, and walk toward the entrance like I belong there.

I curse Brianna silently for dragging me out here, when I could have been home, barefoot and comfortable, enjoying a perfectly good evening on my own terms.

The doors open.

And the night swallows us whole.

Chapter 7

The club hits me like a wall of sound and light.

Bass thunders through the floor, vibrating up my legs and settling somewhere deep in my chest. White walls explode with color as the lights shift—blue, purple, flashes of pink—turning everything sharp and unreal. Bodies move everywhere, pressed close, laughing, shouting, touching.

Okay. This is... a lot.

Brianna, of course, looks like she belongs here. She strides ahead of us in her heels like she owns the place, hips swaying with confidence, chin lifted. Elena follows close behind, eyes wide but excited, clutching her bag like a lifeline.

I feel exposed in my dress, aware of every inch of bare skin, but when I look around, I realize Brianna wasn't wrong—half the women here are wearing far less.

"Bar first!" Brianna yells over the music.

We fight our way through the crowd, the air hot and thick with perfume, sweat, and alcohol. My head feels... strange. Not dizzy. Not drunk. Just slightly off, like my senses are tuned a little too sharp.

Nova shifts uneasily in the back of my mind. Something's wrong.

It's just the noise, I answer, though I'm not convinced.

The bar is massive, bright and glossy, lined with bottles that look like jewels. Six male bartenders work it like pros, all smiles and flirtatious charm.

"Vodka cranberry for her," Brianna says immediately, pointing at me. "Same for Elena. And surprise me."

The bartender grins. "Coming right up."

We grab stools as two women leave, and Brianna instantly starts scanning the room like she's hunting.

"Oh fuck," she breathes. "This place is stacked."

Elena giggles. "You say that about every club."

"And I'm usually right."

I take a sip of my drink. It's cold and sweet—but instead of dulling my senses, it sharpens them. My skin feels warm, my pulse quickening.

This doesn't feel like alcohol.

The thought lands suddenly, unwelcome.

Nova stiffens. That's because it's not just alcohol.

I narrow my eyes at Brianna. "Did you put something in this?"

She doesn't look at me.

"What?" she says too quickly.

"Brianna."

She sighs dramatically and leans closer. "Okay, don't freak out."

"I'm already fucking freaked out."

"I gave you a wolfsbane pill," she says. "A tiny one."

My jaw drops. "You did what?"

"Relax," she says, waving a hand. "It just slows your metabolism so you can actually feel the drinks. You're impossible to get tipsy otherwise."

Elena blinks. "You drugged her?"

"It sounds worse when you say it," Brianna mutters.

I pinch the bridge of my nose. "You're insane."

"And you're a control freak," she shoots back. "This is a club. You're allowed to loosen the fuck up."

Nova growls softly. I don't like this.

"I swear it's safe," Brianna adds. "I've taken it a hundred times."

"That doesn't make it better."

She grins. "It kind of does."

I exhale slowly. My body feels... good. Loose. Warm. Not out of control—just unguarded in a way I'm not used to.

"Fine," I mutter. "But if I die, I'm haunting you."

"Worth it," Brianna says cheerfully.

Her attention snaps upward. "Oh my Goddess."

Elena follows her gaze. "What?"

"VIP balcony," Brianna whispers. "Look."

I glance up.

A group of guys stands along the railing, laughing. One of them—broad, muscular, unmistakably confident—immediately claims Brianna's full attention.

"That's Logan," she says reverently. "Former quarterback from Jackson High. I've had a crush on his ass forever."

"Literally his ass?" I ask.

"Yes," she says without shame. "Have you seen it?"

Elena clasps her hands. "Please tell me he has hot friends."

Brianna's grin turns predatory. "Oh, he does."

My attention drifts away from Logan almost immediately.

Because the man standing beside him isn't laughing.

He's taller. Broader. Still in a way that makes everyone else look restless. His hands rest casually on the railing, posture relaxed.

And he's staring straight at me.

Not casually. Not accidentally. Just standing there like he's got all the fucking time in the world, blue eyes locked on me like I'm something he's already decided to figure out.

Annoyance flares hot in my chest.

"Oh, fuck off," I mutter.

I look straight at him, roll my eyes deliberately, and mouth the words.

Fuck. You.

For a heartbeat, he just blinks.

Then he laughs.

Not a polite smile. Not a smirk. He actually bends forward against the railing, shoulders shaking as he laughs. One of his friends glances at him, confused, then follows his gaze—and laughs too.

My jaw tightens.

"Fucking asshole."

As if summoned by the universe, a blonde woman appears at his side. Tall heels, too much makeup, glossy lips. Her dress barely qualifies as clothing, and her boobs look painfully fake—pushed up and displayed like an offering.

She leans in close, laughing at something he hasn't even said yet, fingers sliding over his arm. Then she shifts, pressing herself closer, angling her chest practically into his face.

I snort quietly.

Of course.

He glances down at her, distracted for a moment, his attention pulled away from the dance floor. She flips her hair, clearly pleased with herself.

A sharp, irrational spike of irritation hits me.

"Wow," I mutter. "What a fucking man-whore."

Nova's voice is dry. You don't care.

I don't, I answer immediately.

You noticed, she replies.

I tear my eyes away from the balcony, suddenly done with the entire situation.

Fuck him. Fuck his stare. Fuck VIP assholes and plastic blondes.

Brianna stands abruptly. "Okay. I'm going up there."

Elena's eyes widen. "Now?"

"Yes. Before someone else does."

She grabs Elena's hand. "You're coming with me."

"What about Cass?" Elena asks.

I shake my head. "I'm good."

Brianna gives me a look that says liar, then shrugs. "Suit yourself."

They disappear toward the stairs leading to VIP.

I nurse my drink, irritation buzzing under my skin—until Brianna suddenly reappears, breathless and grinning.

"Okay," she says. "Important update."

"If this is about his dick size, I'm not interested."

She snorts. "Please. Not there yet."

She leans in. "I asked Logan about his friend."

My pulse jumps despite myself.

"And?"

"He's human," Brianna says confidently. "No wolf. No vampire. Just a very hot human."

I freeze. "Human?"

"Yep."

Nova stirs immediately. That's what they said.

Human means no mating bond. No hierarchy. No instinct trying to cage me.

"That's the only reason I'm not leaving," I mutter.

Brianna grins. "See? I do care about your issues."

I down the rest of my drink and slide off the stool.

"I'm dancing."

The dance floor pulls me in like gravity.