Fated to a Human

Chapter 2

The California morning was crisp, a rare coolness lingering in the ocean breeze as Peter's sleek black Tesla purred down the quiet road toward Oceanside High.

As the palm trees passed them by, Nathan found himself staring out the window, his thoughts drifting to the day they met.

He was twelve. Just a scared, angry kid running from a world he didn’t want any part of.

Montana felt like another lifetime. His father had expected so much—pressured him to embrace the title of Alpha-in-training before he even hit puberty. But Nathan couldn’t shift yet. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t him yet. So one night, after another fight and another disappointed stare from Garrett Grey, Nathan packed what little he owned and ran.

California had been a blur of hunger and cold nights until he wandered into a park in a suburb near the coast. He remembered it like it was yesterday. A group of older boys were shoving a smaller kid, calling him names Nathan didn’t understand at the time but knew were meant to hurt.

“Hey!” he had barked, stepping forward without thinking.

The boys turned on him, but they underestimated just how strong Nathan was—even unshifted. He knocked the leader down with one punch, the crack of bone echoing off the monkey bars. The others scattered quickly, spooked by the wild strength in the eyes of the stranger.

Nathan offered a hand to the boy still on the ground. He had tear-streaked cheeks and a bloody nose but managed a brave smile.

“Thanks,” he said, sniffling. “I’m Peter.”

“Nathan.”

Peter wiped his face. “You new?”

Nathan hesitated. “Yea, just I don’t really live anywhere.”

Peter blinked. “Like… you’re homeless?”

Nathan shrugged.

Peter’s face softened. “My house is kinda boring. My parents are never around, and Hank’s just… old. You could crash there if you want. My room has a pullout bed. Plus, you saved my ass.”

Nathan had expected pity. He didn’t expect kindness. Or loyalty.

And so, Nathan moved into Peter’s massive home. What was supposed to be a few nights turned into weeks, then months. And despite the wealth surrounding him, it was Peter who made him feel rich in something he never had before: friendship.

When Nathan finally shifted—his first change hitting him like a freight train at thirteen—it had happened in Peter’s room. Peter had just hotboxed the place, high as a kite, watching cartoons with a bowl of cereal in his lap.

One minute, Nathan was doubled over in pain. The next, a pitch-black wolf with piercing blue eyes stood in the middle of the room.

Peter blinked, blew out a puff of smoke, and said, "Dude, you didn’t say you were a werewolf."

It wasn’t until the high wore off that Peter had a mini freakout. But to Nathan’s surprise, Peter didn’t run. He didn’t scream or out him to the world. He just listened.

Nathan told him everything—about his lineage, the expectations, why he ran.

Peter nodded and said, “Well, that explains the muscles.”

And from that day on, Nathan had someone who knew everything. Someone who kept his secret, no matter what.

The Tesla pulled into the Oceanside High parking lot.

Students were already mingling out front, cliques forming like magnets. Jocks with their varsity jackets. Cheerleaders with perfect smiles. Nerds huddled around Chromebooks.

Nathan and Peter stepped out, heads already turning.

The second Nathan and Peter stepped onto school grounds, it began.

A wave of giggles and perfume-smothered whispers rushed their way like a stampede. Nathan barely made it five steps before he was surrounded by a cluster of cheerleaders, each one batting their lashes, tossing their hair, leaning just a little too close.

“Hey, Nathan,” one girl purred, pressing her chest forward under her crop top.

“You look extra pumped today,” another said, running a hand down his bicep.

“I heard you gave Kayla the ride of her life,” a third whispered, biting her lip.

Peter made a gagging noise behind him, then muttered under his breath, “I feel like I need holy water just standing here.”

Nathan chuckled, charming as ever, throwing a smirk at one of the girls before sliding his arm around Peter’s shoulder and gently maneuvering them both through the crowd. “Easy, ladies. It’s not even first period yet.”

But from across the quad, another presence made herself known.

Skylar Bouge.

Strawberry-blonde, tan as hell, and wrapped in a tiny pink skirt and an Oceanside cheer hoodie zipped just low enough to be deliberate. She was lounging against the gym doors, flipping her fake platinum hair and laughing far too hard at something the team’s backup quarterback was saying.

Nathan’s eyes flicked to her instantly.

She saw him.

Her body tensed just slightly before she laughed louder, leaned in closer to the guy’s chest, and placed her hand on his bicep like it was the first time she’d ever seen a muscle. Her eyes slid back to Nathan to see if he was watching. He was.

Peter snorted. “Wow. Subtle.”

Nathan rolled his eyes. “She’s mad about Kayla.”

“She should be mad at her surgeon for that nose job,” Peter muttered.

The bell rang before Nathan could reply, and the crowd started shuffling toward the building.

Then he heard it.

The unmistakable growl of a motorcycle engine pulling into the lot.

It wasn’t the usual obnoxious rumble. No. This was a low, purring sound. Controlled. Sexy.

Nathan turned just as the bike rolled into view. A matte black Harley, sleek and deadly, like a panther prowling through the jungle. The rider wore black from head to toe. Her tank top clung to her curves like a second skin, exposing just enough of the soft rise of her breasts to be distracting. A cropped black denim jacket hung off her shoulders like it didn’t care if it stayed or fell.

Her black jeggings hugged her hips and thighs like they were custom-painted on.

Nathan’s breath hitched.

She swung her leg off the bike with a grace he’d never seen. Not even Skylar walked like that. The movement was effortless—predatory. She pulled off her helmet, but just as she did, the tide of students shoved Nathan forward, sweeping him into the building before he could see her face.

“What the hell was that?” he muttered to himself, glancing back, but the crowd had blocked the doors.

“Come on, Casanova,” Peter said, nudging him toward class. “You can stalk your mystery biker chick later.”

Nathan nodded, but his mind wasn’t in the hallway. It was still in the parking lot.

He didn’t even see her face.

But her body?

Burned into his brain.

Something about her felt…different.

Dangerous.

And Nathan Grey always had a thing for danger.

Rory swung her leg over the Harley and landed on the pavement with a soft thud, the thick soles of her worn black boots kissing the asphalt. She pulled off her helmet slowly, the soft black strands of her hair tumbling free, catching the early morning sun like strands of ink. Her dark brown eyes scanned the campus in front of her with quiet disinterest, the same way someone might look at a half-finished puzzle—dull, easy, predictable.

With a small sigh, she hooked her helmet over the handlebar of her bike and adjusted the small black backpack slung over her shoulder. It had a few band pins on it—Avenged Sevenfold, Bryce Savage, a small stitched-on mandala lotus flower near the zipper. That one, she’d sewn on herself.

She pulled the collar of her black denim jacket up to cover the tattoo peeking on the side of her neck—a lotus in delicate detail. Most people wouldn’t even notice it, but she always liked keeping parts of herself hidden. Let them guess. Let them wonder.

She hated the way schools always looked the same—these weird beige buildings trying too hard to seem welcoming with cheap banners and motivational slogans in Comic Sans. “Home of the Oceanside Sharks!” a giant blue banner read.

Rory rolled her eyes. How original.

She took a deep breath, exhaling slowly through her nose as her gaze traveled across the campus. A few students still lingered outside, staring at her like she didn’t belong. Which, to be fair, she didn’t. Not here. Not anywhere, really.

She didn’t dress like them—no pastels, no designer bags, no forced smiles and hair extensions. Her vibe was more... midnight in a motel parking lot. All black everything, eyes like secrets, and that aura of don’t even try it that most people instinctively avoided.

Good.

She preferred it that way.

Her black tank top clung to her body in the breeze, exposing just enough skin to make someone look twice, and her fitted jeggings were soft and worn in all the right places. Her body was curvy, toned, like she could throw a punch if she needed to—and she had, more than once.

Rory didn’t just look tough. She was tough. You had to be when you practically raised yourself.

California was her fresh start. Again. Her dad and stepmom had sent her ahead of them while they “finalized the move,” which was code for leave Rory to figure it out while we do whatever we want. Her house was big, cold, and empty—just like her family. Most nights she cooked for herself or she'd use the Black Card her father gave her to order take out. She’d gotten good at surviving. Good at hiding.

Still, part of her hoped maybe this place would be different.

She stuffed her hands in her jacket pockets and started walking toward the front entrance, her thick black boots thudding softly against the pavement. Her dark eyeliner making her brown eyes vibrant, and her lips were a soft cherry red—a subtle contrast to her otherwise shadowed appearance.

As she passed a group of staring girls, one of them whispered something and laughed.

Rory didn’t flinch. Didn’t break stride.

Instead, she turned her head just enough to meet the girl’s eyes and gave her a slow, unapologetic smirk—just a flick of her lip that said: I dare you.

The girl looked away.

Typical.

Then, as Rory reached the front steps, she felt it.

A prickle—a strange tingle in the air. Like static. Like someone had walked over her grave.

Her eyes scanned the crowd and caught sight of him.

Tall. Lean. Stupidly handsome. His light brown hair was tousled like he just rolled out of bed, but somehow it worked—like every detail about him had been handcrafted for attention. He was laughing at something his friend said, but his eyes… they weren’t laughing. Not really.

They flicked her way for a second. Just a second.

And for that moment—time stilled.

He didn’t see her face. But she saw his.

And for some reason her heart thudded once, hard.