Fated By Blood and Moon

I learned Alexander Montclaire’s name before I ever learned how much I would hate it. It echoed through the hallways of Blackwood High like a crown being dragged across marble floors, Alex, teachers said with forced politeness. Montclaire, girls whispered like it was a spell that might change their lives if spoken aloud. Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark-haired. Always surrounded. And always looking at me like I was something he’d scraped off the bottom of his shoe. I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve that look. I only knew I’d had it since freshman year. “Don’t look now,” my best friend Mia muttered beside me as we stood at our lockers, “but Montclaire is breathing the same air as us.” I slammed my locker shut harder than necessary. “Good for the air. It’s about time it suffered.” Mia snorted. “You’re going to get wrinkles if you keep scowling like that.” “Wrinkles are the least of my problems.” Because the real problem was that Alex Montclaire existed in my orbit like a storm, unavoidable, loud, and dangerous. Our eyes met across the hallway. There it was again. That cold, assessing stare. Like he was measuring me. Judging me. I held it. I always did. I refused to look away first. His lips curled, not a smile, not quite a sneer. Something in between. Then he turned, laughing at something his friends said, and the knot in my chest tightened like it always did. I hated him. Not because he was rich. Not because girls followed him like satellites. Not even because he was captain of the football team and teachers bent rules for him. I hated him because every time he looked at me, it felt like he knew something about me that I didn’t. “Sophia,” Mia said softly. “Ignore him.” I nodded, even though my pulse was racing for no reason. “I am.” It was a lie. The love triangle everyone talked about wasn’t really a triangle. It was a mess. Alex. Me. And Isabella Kingsley. Isabella had perfected the art of pretending to be sweet. Long blonde hair, delicate laughter, always dressed like she stepped out of a catalogue. She followed Alex everywhere, batting her lashes, touching his arm just a little too much. Everyone thought I was jealous. I wasn’t. I was furious. Because Isabella didn’t like Alex. She liked his money. His last name. The way being near him made her important. And somehow, in her twisted mind, I was the obstacle. “Why does she always look at you like she wants to stab you?” Mia asked once as we watched Isabella glare at me from across the cafeteria. I stabbed a piece of chicken with unnecessary force. “Because she’s insecure.” “Pot, meet kettle.” I shot her a look. “Excuse me?” Mia sighed. “You act tough, Soph, but you’re always tense. Like you’re bracing for something.” I didn’t answer. Because how could I explain the things I didn’t understand myself? How sometimes my senses felt… too sharp. How loud noises made my head ache. How sunlight burned my skin faster than it should. How my temper flared hot and fast, then vanished just as quickly, leaving guilt behind. How I never quite felt human enough. My dad said I was imagining things. That grief did strange things to people. My mom had died when I was little. A “sudden illness,” he’d said. End of discussion. So, I swallowed the unease. I learned to stand on my own. I learned to be independent because depending on people meant they could leave. Alex Montclaire was just another thing I didn’t need. Senior year arrived like a ticking clock. Graduation banners went up. College letters were whispered about like secrets. The hallways felt tighter, charged with endings. And somehow, Alex and I were paired for a final project. “Absolutely not,” I said flatly when our teacher announced it. “Life doesn’t care about your feelings, Miss Carter,” Mr. Halloway replied. “Neither does college. Learn to work with people you dislike.” Alex didn’t argue. That annoyed me more than if he had. “Don’t worry,” he said coolly as we walked out of class. “I won’t make this harder than it has to be.” I stopped walking. “You act like I’m the problem.” He turned, eyes dark, jaw tight. Up close, he was even more intimidating. There was something… animalistic about him. Controlled. Coiled. “Maybe,” he said quietly, “you should ask yourself why you feel the need to be so defensive all the time.” My heart slammed against my ribs. “You don’t know anything about me,” I snapped. His gaze dropped to my throat. Lingered. Then, for the first time, something flickered there. Not hatred. Curiosity. “Yeah,” he murmured. “That’s what scares me.” He walked away before I could respond. I stood there, shaking, my skin buzzing like I’d touched a live wire. I told myself it meant nothing. I was wrong. Because graduation was coming. And with it, the end of who we were… …and the beginning of everything we were never meant to be.