MARKED IN NEON

“Masks Cost Extra” Selara’s POV I slid into my usual spot in the lecture hall, pushing my glasses higher on my nose. They weren't really prescriptions, just another layer of armor, another reason people overlooked me. No one ever guessed the girl in wire frames and oversized hoodies could also be the one who danced under neon lights. But apparently, invisibility didn’t work for everyone. “Hey, four-eyes.” The voice came from behind me, loud enough to make a few heads turn. I stiffened, already recognizing the smug tone. Hockey guys. Their team was playing on campus this weekend, so of course, half the roster was strutting around like they owned the place. I ignored him, pulling out my notebook. Another voice joined in. “Bet she can’t even see without those things. What do you think, should we check?” Snickers. A hand reached over my shoulder, fingers brushing the frames. Wrong move. Before he could snatch them, I caught his wrist, twisting it just enough to make him flinch. I didn’t even look up. “Touch me again,” I said, my voice calm, almost bored. “And I’ll make sure you can’t hold a stick on the ice this weekend.” A low whistle broke the silence. One of his buddies muttered, “Damn, she’s feisty.” The guy yanked his hand back, muttering something under his breath, but he didn’t try again. Good. I went back to my notes, heart steady, pretending like my pulse hadn’t just spiked. That’s why people never connected me to the girl at the club. There, I wore contacts, makeup, and sequins. Here, I wore glasses, a hoodie, and an expression that said “don’t bother.” It worked on almost everyone. The hockey boys went back to their chatter, leaving me to my notes. My grip on the pen eased, though a ghost of a smile tugged at my lips. Let them think I was invisible, and underestimate me. That was the point. I adjusted my glasses, flipping to the next page, and that’s when I saw him. Rylan Vale. He was across the lecture hall, head tilted back against his chair like the class was beneath him, golden hair falling into his eyes. Even half-slouched, he radiated that bad-boy energy that had every girl in here stealing glances when they thought no one noticed. But I noticed. And for one stolen second, my eyes lingered. He was beautiful in that arrogant, dangerous way that screamed trouble, the kind of trouble I couldn’t afford. I looked away before his gaze could lift, before he could ever realize mine had lingered too long. The rest of the day blurred together, classes, scribbled notes, professors droning on while my mind was already racing ahead. By the time the final bell rang, I was calculating in numbers, not words. How many shifts were left before the rent was due. How much I could squeeze out of tips if the crowd were good tonight. How close I was to covering the surgery my mom needed, the one chance to give her even a fraction of the life she’d lost after the accident. Every dollar had a destination, even if it felt like I was burning pieces of myself to get there. The sun was dipping when I pushed through the back door of the club, trading my backpack for my other life. The bass from inside throbbed faintly through the walls, my heels dangling from the strap of my bag as I adjusted my jacket. I’d barely taken two steps inside when someone bumped me hard enough to jolt me forward. “ Boss wants to see you,” the bartender muttered, brushing past without even an apology. My stomach tightened. Great. That never meant anything good. Mr bartender’s words still echoed in my head as I pushed through the staff corridor and into the office. The door was half open, and my boss sat behind the desk, cigar smoke curling around his head like he thought he was some mob king. “There she is,” he said, grinning like a man who’d already spent the money I hadn’t earned yet. “Big night tonight. Got a private party of high rollers, they asked for a show. You’re up twice on stage, and in one of the private suites after. Oh, and I’m putting you down for an extra shift this weekend.” My jaw clenched. “You’re kidding me.” “Do I look like I’m kidding?” He flicked ash into a tray without even looking at me. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. You’ll make bank tonight. Enough to keep those hospital bills happy.” I muttered a curse under my breath, not nearly quiet enough. “You ever think about asking, instead of just pimping out my time like it’s your name on the bills?” He raised a brow, unimpressed. “Language, princess. And don’t forget, plenty of girls would kill to be in your spot.” I snorted, crossing my arms. “Yeah, I bet. Let me know when they’re ready to trade hospital invoices and tuition statements with me. Until then, shut up and let me work.” His grin only widened, but he didn’t push. I’d earned my bite around here, and he knew it. I stormed out before he could say anything else, heels clicking against the tile as I made my way back to the dressing room. The mirror glared at me again, the same stranger staring back. I sat down, pulled out my makeup bag, and started building the mask piece by piece. Dark liner. Gloss. Glitter that clung no matter how much I scrubbed the next morning. Each stroke of makeup wasn’t just paint. It was armor. I tied my curls into place, snapped the last rhinestone strap over my shoulder, and stared at the woman in the glass. She wasn’t the broke student. She wasn’t the girl who sat in the back of lecture halls, calculating her mother’s chances like math equations. She was the one they paid to see. And tonight, apparently, she was going to be the main event. “Hips Don’t Lie, But Wolves Don’t Share” Rylan’s POV The rogues were getting bolder. I’d caught their scent just before sundown, sharp and sour, like blood rotting in the back of your throat. They didn’t cross the border this time, but they didn’t need to. That stench was enough to curl under my skin, enough to make my wolf prowl with restless fury. They’re testing us, my wolf growled. Pushing and waiting for weakness. I sent the order through the link, sharp and concise. Jace, Double patrols on the west ridge tonight. Don’t argue. A pulse of irritation came back from him. My beta never liked being told what to do without explanation, but his presence shifted immediately, moving fast. He’d handle it. He always did. Still, my wolf didn’t calm down. It never did when I was in this town. Too many people. Too many scents bleeding into each other, perfume mixing with sweat, smoke, liquor, coffee grounds, and a dozen emotions clinging to them like rot. Humans were loud in ways they didn’t even realize. The wolf hated it, bristling under my skin every time I walked through a lecture hall or a cafeteria. That was why I didn’t care for school. Or parties. Or crowds. But that didn’t matter. To everyone else, I wasn’t Rylan Vale, heir of the Blackthorn pack. I was Rylan Vale, campus bad boy, pro eSports star, the guy whose name filled stadiums, whose face lit up streaming platforms. They saw cocky smiles, tattoos, the occasional bar fight, or skipped class. They never saw the wolf pacing beneath it all. Not until tonight. My teammates had dragged me out, claiming a night off before practice. I didn’t want it, but it was easier to give in than listen to them whine. So here I was, letting them drown themselves in shots while I sat back in the booth, watching everything with half-lidded eyes. The bass thudded through the club, rattling the walls, vibrating through my chest. My wolf pressed hard against me, snarling at the press of bodies, at the smoke-heavy air. I was seconds from walking out. And then she stepped into the light. The spotlight caught her first. A figure sliding across the stage with a confidence so sharp it cut through the noise like a blade. Long dark hair, eyes gleaming under the neon glow. She moved with a sin that didn’t belong in this place, not really. Every sway of her hips, every arch of her back, every flick of her wrist was deliberate. Calculated. My wolf froze. Silent. Starved. Certain. Mate. The word hit me like a hammer. My lungs locked, and for a second, I couldn’t breathe. The music, the crowd, the laughter of my teammates, it all fell away until there was nothing but her. I was on my feet before I realized it, moving through the crush of people, shouldering past the desperate hands reaching for her. “Yo, Vale!” one of my teammates hollered from the booth, drunk laughter spilling after him. “p***y-whipped already? Didn’t think you were the type!” The others roared. I didn’t care. All I saw was her. She wasn’t just dancing. She was commanding. The stage bent around her presence, the air sharpened by it. Men clawed forward with bills, but she never faltered. She moved like she owned them, like their hunger only fed her. And f**k, I swore I saw it, that flicker in her gaze, that sharp spark of heat when she realized what her hips, her body, her performance was doing to them. To me. Her scent hit next, cutting through the sweat and smoke. Honeysuckle. Sweet, wild, devastating. My wolf thrashed at the chain of my skin, desperate to claim her. Mine. She was mine. No one else should be looking at her like this. No one else should be throwing money, imagining things they’d never earn the right to touch Then I saw it. She’d slid to the edge of the stage, hips rolling slow, deliberate. A man shoved his way to the front, grinning widely as he waved a thick wad of bills in his hand. He tossed it at her feet, eyes gleaming filthy under the strobe lights. “Dance for me, baby!” he shouted, his voice cutting above the bass. “I’ll give you more than this if you’re good tonight. You can call me daddy all you want, take you home, show you what a real man feels like.” The crowd howled. My wolf saw red. I didn’t remember moving. One second, I was at the edge of the stage. Next, my hand was fisted in the asshole’s shirt, shoving him back so hard he slammed into the floor. Chairs scraped, drinks spilled, bodies rushed in at the sound of violence. The guy cursed, scrambling up, spitting blood. “What the f**k, man?!” he snarled, swinging at me. I didn’t flinch. I barely felt his fist when it connected. My wolf was too close, teeth bared in my chest, demanding I rip him apart for even daring to look at her that way. The fight half-erupted, men surging forward, my teammates shouting somewhere in the background, the boss yelling to cut the music. And then. She was gone. The music died, replaced with shouts and crashes, but my wolf didn’t care. My mate had slipped through my fingers, and every instinct in me roared with the same truth. I would find her. And no one, no team, no pack, was going to keep me from her again. Nothing. “My dreams are not Safe.” Selara's POV It started like any other set. The bass thudded through the club, the lights painted everything in violet and gold, and I slipped into the mask I wore every night. Contacts in, hair down, lipstick red enough to hide how tired I really was. On stage, I wasn’t the girl who calculated medical bills in the margins of her notebook. I wasn’t the daughter of a mother who still struggled to move her legs after the accident. I was untouchable. And tonight, the crowd believed it. Bills rained like confetti, greedy eyes tracked every sway of my hips, let the rhythm flow through me, turned myself into something sharp, dangerous, desirable. And I almost convinced myself it was power. Almost. Then I felt it. That stare. Not the usual leers or hungry glances I got every night. No, this was something else. Intense. Focused. Like heat searing down my skin, following me every time I moved. My body reacted before my brain caught up I arched deeper, rolled my hips slower, feeling… sexy. Really sexy. They were seeing me. I let myself glance toward the crowd, careful, hidden under lashes heavy with glitter. And that’s when I saw him. Rylan Vale. Of course, it was him. Campus bad boy, eSports golden boy, the guy who seemed to own every room he walked into. I knew him, but I didn’t know him. We never spoke. He didn’t even glance my way in class. And yet here he was, moving forward, eyes locked on me like I was the only thing in the building. For one dangerous second, I liked it. I’d slid too close to the edge of the stage, letting the crowd lean forward, teasing them with what they could never have. Some dude threw a thick wad of bills onto the floor, his grin slimy, words slurring out about what he’d do for me if I was “good enough.” Before I could roll my eyes and keep dancing, Rylan moved. One second, he was just there. Next, he had the guy by the shirt, shoving him so hard that chairs went flying. A fist swung, the crowd roared, and the music cut as bodies pressed in. I froze, watching his face, and that’s when I swore I saw it. His eyes For a split second, they weren’t normal. They glowed, molten gold in the strobe lights, wild and sharp. I blinked, heart hammering. When I looked again, they were just eyes. Just Rylan. Just a fight in a strip club. Probably a trick of the lights, I told myself. But my pulse didn’t believe me. Because, for reasons I couldn’t explain, I felt it. That his anger wasn’t random. That somehow, impossibly, he’d been fighting for me. Which was insane. Right? I shook it off, slid offstage with the rest of the dancers when the boss shouted for order. Let Rylan Vale fight whatever fight he wanted. I had bigger problems. Rent. Tuition. Mom. But even when I left the club, walking fast through the night streets with my coat tight around me, his face wouldn’t leave my mind. His stare. That heat. Those eyes. And worse, the way my body had reacted to him, hungry, curious, like a live wire had been pressed into my skin. I didn’t want to admit it, but for the first time in forever, someone had made me feel something beyond survival. By the time I got home, I hated myself for still thinking about it. The apartment was dim and quiet, the faint smell of chamomile tea drifting from the kitchen. Mom had just come back from physical therapy, exhaustion etched into her face, but her smile was soft as always when she saw me. “Hey, baby,” she said, voice thin but warm. “You’re late again.” “Yeah,” I lied easily, kissing her cheek. “The study group ran long. You know how it is.” Her gaze lingered, like she wanted to push, but she just nodded. “I heated some soup. Sit with me a while?” I made her tea, carried her bowl back to the couch, and sat down beside her. For a moment, it almost felt normal. “How was therapy?” I asked. Her face pinched, and she looked down at her hands. “Hard. I don’t know if it’s working the way the doctors promised. Sometimes I think…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “Sometimes I think it’s a waste of money.” I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to stay even. “Don’t say that. You’re getting stronger. It’s just… It’s a process.” “Processes cost money,” she said quietly. “And I don’t know how you’re managing all the bills, sweetheart. Rent, tuition, groceries, hospital payments… It’s too much. I don’t want you drowning for me.” I forced a smile, even as guilt gnawed at my insides. “I’ll manage. I always do.” Her hand brushed mine, light and trembling. “You deserve more than this. More than working yourself to the bone.” The words nearly broke me, because she didn’t know the truth. Didn’t know what I did every night, the things I traded pieces of myself for just to keep the lights on. So I just squeezed her hand. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ve got it handled. You just focus on getting better, okay?” The dream clung to me like smoke. I was back on stage, lights slicing through the dark, my body moving to music I couldn’t even hear anymore. I was aware of only one thing, him. The stranger with the molten eyes. His stare wasn’t passive. It was consuming. Possessive. The kind of gaze that burned through skin and bone. “Candy,” his voice rasped through the haze, low and rough, the syllables drawn out like a promise. "You taste like sin,” he whispered. “Like something sweet I shouldn’t want.” The sound of it went straight through me, heat pooling low in my stomach. My body betrayed me, moving closer, wanting more, my hips tilting like I wasn’t the one in control anymore. I jolted awake with a gasp. Sheets plastered to my skin, chest heaving, a sharp curse slipping out. “Shoot.” Not again. I shoved my hair out of my face, trying to shake the lingering ghost of his voice. Just biology. Just my stupid hormones. Ovulation is making my brain short-circuit with lust. That had to be it. I checked my clock and groaned. “Late. Of course.” The morning blurred into a messy rush: shoving into jeans, tugging on boots, half-brushing my hair before bolting into the kitchen. “Running late ?” Mom asked from the table, coffee mug in hand. “Always.” I snagged an apple, backpack slung over one shoulder. “Don’t forget about book club tonight, okay? You promised.” Her smile was faint, but real. “I’ll be there, Selara. You don’t have to keep reminding me.” “I’m just making sure.” I kissed her cheek quickly, then bolted out, her voice trailing after me like warmth I couldn’t hold onto. The street was alive with morning noise, but all I could hear was him. That fight. Those eyes. The dream whispering Candy like it meant something. No. Stop. It’s nothing. Just ovulation. Just stress. Just me being a freak. By the time I hit the school gates, I spotted my anchors: Nora and Jessa. Both were draped in their usual gothic black layered skirts, ripped tights, and combat boots. Eyeliner heavy, lips painted dark. They looked like they’d stepped straight out of a vampire coven, and I loved them for it. “Selara!” Jessa smirked. “You look like you’ve been haunted. Spill.” “You don’t even wanna know,” I muttered. Nora’s brows arched. “Dreams again? Don’t tell me it was just some boring human nightmare. Did you at least get a demon this time?” I gave her a look. “Why would I dream about demons?” “Because,” Nora said in that clinical way of hers, “lots of people believe erotic dreams are just spirits feeding on your energy. Classic incubus case.” “Or stalker ghost,” Jessa added cheerfully. “Obsessed spirit hovering over you while you sleep, whispering dirty things. Kind of hot if you ask me.” “Wow. Thanks for the nightmare fuel.” I shoved her playfully, though my smile was thin. Because their words, demons, spirits, and obsession were a little too on the nose. They kept talking as we pushed through the halls. The morning crowd smelled of cheap perfume, cafeteria grease, and too many bodies pressed together. Nora launched into her latest theory about the graveyard energy, and Jessa insisted she had proof of shadow people watching her. I usually rolled my eyes, but this morning their chatter scraped at something raw inside me. Because last night hadn’t felt normal. And the dream… God, the dream. We slipped into class just as the second bell rang. My pulse spiked instantly. Rylan Vale. Sitting lazily in his chair, sprawled like he owned the surrounding air. And his golden eyes, those impossible, unblinking eyes, were locked straight on me. Not on Nora. Not on Jessa. Me. The breath stalled in my chest. Fuck.