Fated to a Human

Chapter 24

Friday arrived with a buzz of electric excitement. Juniors and seniors had the entire day off for prom—a sacred tradition at Oceanside High. Appointments were booked back-to-back across town: nails, hair, spray tans, last-minute dress adjustments and boutonniere pickups. Everyone was doing something. The entire senior class was practically vibrating with anticipation.

Nathan, however, had a different kind of tension.

He stood in front of Peter’s massive full-length mirror, adjusting his black suit jacket for what felt like the tenth time. The tailored fabric hugged his broad shoulders perfectly, and the burgundy button-up beneath made his bright blue eyes pop with intensity. A sleek black tie sat knotted at his throat.

He looked sharp. He felt sharp.

But he was barely holding himself together.

The full moon was tonight. His wolf stirred beneath his skin with every passing hour, agitated, impatient. Normally, he could control it—but being around her on a night like this?

Dangerous.

Nathan grabbed the bottle Madame Lucy had given him—a bitter herbal concoction with a foul smell and even worse taste. He tilted it back and chugged the rest, grimacing hard as it burned down his throat.

Peter strutted out of his room like he was walking a Met Gala carpet. His tux was bold—royal blue with floral embroidery that shimmered like wet paint, paired with a rose-gold bowtie and matching pocket square. He struck a dramatic pose. “Tell me I look like a chaotic gay peacock prince.”

Nathan smirked. “You look like Elton John’s secret love child.”

“I’ll take that,” Peter beamed, grabbing his phone. “C’mon, let’s get Rory.”

Nathan pulled out his phone and texted:

You ready? Be there in a few.

A second later:

Rory: Almost! Door’s unlocked, just come in.

They headed outside and stepped into the sleek black stretch limo waiting in Peter’s driveway. The driver—Hank’s idea of luxury—held the door open with a little bow and a smirk.

Inside, the leather seats were soft and cool. Peter immediately popped a bottle of champagne, raising it in mock celebration as they drove off.

Nathan stared out the tinted windows, tapping his knee with restless energy. The drink hadn’t fully kicked in yet. His wolf was still too close to the surface, pacing in his chest like a caged beast.

They pulled up in front of Rory’s house, Nathan stepped out and smoothed his jacket, walking up to the door with Peter beside him.

They knocked first, then let themselves in like she said.

Inside, the place was surprisingly simple. Clean lines. Neutral colors. Warm lighting. It didn’t scream rich girl, it whispered lonely home.

Nathan’s eyes wandered to the staircase, then to the framed photos on the hallway wall. He paused in front of one.

A family portrait.

Rory was about ten, caught mid-laugh in the photo. Her dark hair was shorter, her face still rounded with childhood, but her eyes were the same—lively, sharp, full of spark. Beside her stood a handsome Italian man with salt-and-pepper hair—her father, no doubt. But it was the woman that stole Nathan’s breath.

She was stunning. A beautiful Hispanic woman with flowing black hair and eyes just like Rory’s. Her skin was golden, her smile radiant. She looked like someone who lit up every room she walked into.

That had to be her mother.

“Dude,” Peter whispered, hitting Nathan lightly in the arm.

Nathan turned—and then everything stopped.

Rory stood at the top of the stairs.

And he forgot how to breathe.

She stepped down slowly, each movement fluid, the soft rustle of her dress the only sound in the room.

The gown clung and flowed like magic—deep burgundy silk pooling around her legs, catching the light like liquid wine. A thigh-high slit revealed long, graceful legs that moved with elegance and purpose. The bodice was sheer beneath black lace that twisted up her torso like dark ivy, delicate and sensual without being overt. It was sleeveless. Backless. Fearless.

The black lace framed her collarbones and dipped into a subtle illusion neckline, making it look like flowers were blooming directly across her skin.

Her hair was in a fishtail braid swept to the side, a few soft strands loose to frame her face. Her makeup was dark and sultry—smokey eyes that made her hazel irises gleam, and burgundy lipstick that matched her dress perfectly.

She wasn’t just beautiful.

She was devastating.

This wasn’t a prom dress.

This was armor.

Nathan’s jaw slackened slightly, and his chest tightened like he’d just been punched and kissed all at once.

Peter whistled low under his breath. “Damn, mama.”

Rory rolled her eyes playfully as she stepped off the last stair.

Nathan still hadn’t moved.

Still hadn’t spoken.

Still hadn’t blinked.

“Earth to Nate,” Rory teased, glancing at him. “Do I have lipstick on my teeth or something?”

He swallowed. “You… you look incredible.”

Rory’s smile turned warm. Just a little softer. A little realer. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He took a step forward, offering his arm. She looped hers through his, and the touch of her skin on his sent a warning crackle down his spine.

His wolf howled softly beneath the surface, Mine.

He ignored it.

Barely.

“Shall we?” Nathan asked.

“Let’s go make some memories,” Rory said.

And with Peter following behind like a fabulous peacock, they stepped into the night—toward the limo, toward the music, toward the chaos waiting at prom.

The limo pulled away from Rory’s house, its sleek silhouette disappearing down the quiet street under the faint glow of dusk. Prom night had officially begun.

But back at the house… someone else had just arrived.

A silver car rolled to a smooth stop a few houses down. Brook stepped out of the passenger seat in a tight champagne-colored prom dress that barely left anything to the imagination. Her heels clicked across the sidewalk as she adjusted her clutch and smoothed her sleek ponytail.

Next to her was a guy in a wrinkled tux, too tall and too eager, with greasy hair and a permanent smirk. His name was Cam, some burnout she met on a dating app and paid fifty bucks upfront with the promise of more if he did what she wanted.

Brook kept an eye on the house.

Empty.

Perfect.

“You sure the door’s not alarmed or something?” Cam asked, nervously fidgeting with a lockpick kit he probably bought off sss.

Brook rolled her eyes. “She’s seventeen and spoiled. Her dad’s never home. The place is practically a museum.”

He knelt in front of the door, popping the lock open in under a minute. “We’re in.”

They slipped inside, the click of the door closing behind them sounding far louder than expected. The house was dark, empty, and silent except for the occasional creak of the old wood floors beneath their shoes.

Brook led the way upstairs like she’d done this before. She knew exactly which room was hers, it was the only one that was set up and had a bed in it.

Once inside, she closed the door and immediately began to rummage.

Makeup. Clothes. Books. A photo on the nightstand of Rory and her mom. Brook hesitated for a second—but only a second—before pushing it facedown and moving to the desk.

“This girl’s hiding something,” Brook muttered under her breath. “I know it.”

Cam wandered over to the vanity, poking around while staring at himself in the mirror. “She got any lingerie in here or what? C’mon, give me something juicy.”

Brook ignored him.

Then, tucked between some sketchbooks and fantasy books, she found it.

A small black notebook.

No label. No lock. Just thick pages and tight, slanted handwriting.

Brook flipped it open—and smiled.

Bingo.

The first few pages were old diary entries. Innocent stuff. Notes about her fear of thunderstorms. One entry detailed the night of her accident in Texas, describing how she felt responsible. Another entry about Nathan.

Rory had written her wet dreams about him.

Brook grinned like a kid on Christmas morning. “Oh my God. Skylar’s going to love this. She’ll explode.”

She stuffed the notebook into her purse, zipping it tight.

Behind her, Cam cleared his throat. “Alright. We got what you wanted. Time to pay up.”

Brook raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

He stepped closer, grinning. “You said I get a full boob grab. That was the deal, right? After we find the thing?”

Brook’s smile went ice cold. She adjusted her purse strap higher on her shoulder and narrowed her eyes. “After prom. That was the deal. Don’t get greedy.”

Cam’s expression twisted into something sour. “You better not be messing with me.”

She leaned in just enough to let her words sting. “You think I’d let you touch me now—after breaking into someone’s house? You’re not even the type of guy I’d fake flirt with in public.”

Cam stepped back, jaw clenched, but he didn’t say anything else.

“Be useful,” Brook snapped, walking toward the door. “Make sure everything looks untouched. I don’t want the b***h to know we were ever here.”

As they quietly made their way out the door and into the night, Brook’s mind was already racing.

This was her moment.

And if everything went right, Rory Rodriguez was going to wish she’d never messed with Skylar.