The Moon's Hidden Heir

Chapter 2

Her lips were pressed directly against the mouth of the most terrifyingly beautiful man she had ever seen staring up at her with the darkest eyes she had ever seen.

"Oh," she breathed.

He was beautiful like a perfectly made Olympian god.

"What," he said against her lips his voice was a growl, "do you think you're doing?"

Nyra's brain had stopped working. Her lips were still pressed to his. She hadn't even registered the impact, hadn't registered anything beyond the sudden, searing heat of contact and when she tried to scramble back, her hands slipped on his chest and she fell back with her lips still landing on his.

For one second, neither of them moved.

Then something shifted in his eyes. A ring of gold bled outward from his pupils, and Nyra felt his chest expand beneath her palms, and the sound that rumbled out of his throat was not human.

It was a low deep growl.

Mate.

She didn't hear it with her ears, but deep in her soul, she felt it.

She scrambled off him. He rose in a single fluid motion, and before she could run he caught her wrist.

His hand was hit and his grip firm.

"Who," he said, voice rough as gravel, "are you?"

His nostrils flared. He was scenting her. The potion should have held. It had held for everyone else. But Soren Thornridge tilted his head, and his eyes burned brighter, and Nyra knew with absolute, gut-wrenching certainty that something in him had already found something in her that she could not hide.

"I'm no one," she said, and her voice almost steady. "Thorne. Thorne Astrlyn."

The lie tasted like her brother's blood.

Soren didn't release her. He studied her, his wolf riding the surface of his skin, and when he finally let go, it didn't feel like he was surrendering.

"No one," he repeated, and the corner of his mouth curved into something that was not quite a smile. "We'll see about that, little prince."

The corridor still smelled like him.

Nyra couldn't move. Her lips tingled, and the word "Mate" echoed in her skull like a bell.

"Thorne." A hand waved in front of her face. Finn's voice cut through the fog. "Hey. Earth to the prince. You still in there?"

She blinked. The students was all staring at her, a hundred pairs of eyes ranging from curious to hostile to something that looked uncomfortably like pity. Whispers slithered through the crowd.

"Did you see that? Thornridge caught him."

"Landed right on his mouth. Lucky bastard."

"Lucky? Did you hear what he said? He called him—"

"Alright, show's over!" Finn clapped his hands loudly, stepping between Nyra and the gawkers with a grin. "Nothing to see here. Go on, go find your own dramatic entrances. This one's taken."

The crowd dispersed reluctantly. The dark haired woman stayed longer, but not without glancing at Nyra.

Nyra's voice came out hoarse. "Who was she?"

"Who, Valeria Morvane?" Finn's tone was carefully neutral. "Lecturer in combat strategy, I think. She's been at the academy for years." A pause. "She's also been warming Soren Thornridge's bed during full moons for about as long according to the rumors. Word of advice? Stay far away from that one."

Nyra swallowed. "Noted."

"As for the person who just publicly claimed you in front of half the student body." Finn grabbed her trunk and started hauling it down the corridor. "That was Soren Thornridge. The sword Sovereign. Undefeated in the combat ring for three years running. Top-ranked Alpha in the entire academy. Some people say he's never lost a fight in his life, and I believe them, because have you seen the size of his arms?"

"I noticed."

"I bet you did." Finn teased "You also noticed his mouth. Intimately. With your own mouth."

"Finn."

"I'm just saying! Most people go weeks without attracting his attention. You managed it in under an hour. That's efficiency."

"Not the kind I wanted."

"No one ever does, princeling. That's what makes it fun." He clapped her shoulder, and she stumbled under the friendly weight of it. "Come on. Let's find our dungeon before you trip over any more deadly beautiful men."

Two boys were already inside the dorms when they arrived.

The stockier one looked up first. "New arrivals," he said.

"That's us." Finn dumped Nyra's trunk onto the empty bed near the window. "I'm Finn Harlan. This is Thorne Astrlyn."

"Marek Stone." The stocky boy nodded at them both. "That one's Jasper."

The fourth boy slender, sharp-eyed, with ink-stained fingers and three different books already stacked beside his bunk—lifted a hand in a lazy wave. "Jasper Reed. Beta. Because someone has to balance out all this Alpha testosterone." His gaze lingered on Nyra a beat longer than comfortable. "Astrlyn. That's a heavy name."

"So I've been told."

"You don't look much like an Alpha."

"I'm full of surprises."

Jasper's lips quirked. "I'm sure you are."

The tension hung for a moment before Finn broke it with a dramatic groan, flopping onto his bunk. "Alright, now that we've all done the mysterious staring thing, can we address the real issue? Orientation starts in twenty minutes and I haven't eaten in six hours. I'm going to waste away."

"You'll survive," Marek said flatly.

"That's what everyone keeps saying, and yet—"

Jasper threw a book at him. Finn caught it, laughing.

The grand hall was a cavern of black stone and blazing torches, filled with hundreds of students arranged in rigid rows. The Alphas stood tallest, shoulders back, chins high. The Betas clustered in smaller groups, watchful and sharp.

At the front of the hall, an older man stepped onto the raised dais. His hair was iron-gray, his presence commanding respect.

"Welcome to Shadowmoon Academy."

His voice carried without effort, amplified by the hall's brutal acoustics.

"I am Proctor Vesper Kane. Some of you know my name. Most of you will come to fear it." His eyes scanning the crowd. "You are here because you are the strongest, the cleverest, or the most vicious of your bloodlines. Congratulations. None of that matters anymore."

A ripple of unease passed through the assembled students.

"At Shadowmoon, your name is not your shield. Your father's legacy will not save you. The only thing that will keep you alive in the trials to come is what you can do with your own two hands." His gaze swept across them. "Some of you will break. Some of you will bleed. Some of you will not survive at all. And the academy will be better for it, because weakness has no place in the empire."

"Your first ranking trials begin at dawn. Rest while you can. You'll need it."

He stepped down. The hall erupted into murmurs, students dispersing in clusters.

"Cheerful fellow," Finn muttered. "Really know how to make a guy feel welcome."

The library was vast and silent. Nyra had slipped away from her roommates, desperate for a moment of quietness.

She had not expected to find anyone else here.

"Lost, little prince?"

She spun. A boy leaned against the shelves, arms crossed, watching her with eyes the color of aged whiskey. His hair was dark, his features aristocratic and unsettlingly sharp.

"I'm not lost," she said, forcing Thorne's easy arrogance into her voice. "I was looking for the library. I found it."

"So you did." He pushed off the shelves, moving closer with an unhurried grace. Two other boys flanked him one smirking, the other watchful. "You're the one who fell into Soren Thornridge's arms this morning. Quite the introduction."

"Wasn't intentional."

"Wasn't it?" He stopped an arm's length away. "I am Corvin Eldritch. I saw the incident myself. Fascinating, the way Thornridge reacted to you." His head tilted. "He doesn't react to anyone."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"Don't you?" Corvin's smile was a blade wrapped in silk. "Soren and I have been circling each other for years. He doesn't give ground. He doesn't show interest. And yet a nameless prince falls at his feet, and suddenly he's growling claims in public corridors." His eyes glittered. "What are you?"

Nyra's heart hammered against her ribs. "I'm a student. Same as you."

"No," Corvin murmured, "I don't think you are."

He held her gaze for a long, suffocating moment. Then he stepped back, his smile never wavering.

"Come, Lucian. Orion. We have work to do."

The smirking boy Lucian threw Nyra a lazy salute as they passed. The other, Orion, gave her a look that was almost apologetic.

And then they were gone, and Nyra was alone among the books, her hands trembling where she'd hidden them in her pockets.

The training hall reeked of sweat and iron.

Soren Thornridge moved through his drills with perfect precision, each strike of his blade a killing blow aimed at an enemy only he could see. His muscles burned. He didn't stop.

Ragnar Blackfang leaned against the wall, scarred arms crossed, watching him.

"So," Ragnar drawled. "The prince."

Soren's blade cut the air. "What about him?"

"You growled at him. In public. Called him yours." Ragnar's scarred face split into a grin. "Should I be worried? Are you finally tired of Valeria's charms and developed a taste for pretty little heirs?.

I'm not tired of anything."

"Then what's the deal? You've never looked twice at anyone before. Valeria's been throwing herself at you for years and you barely tolerate her during your cycles. Now some scrawny royal trips into your arms and suddenly your wolf's staking claims?"

Soren's blade stopped mid-swing. He stared at the wall.

"There's something about him."

"What?"

"I don't know yet." Soren resumed his drill, faster now, harder. "His scent. It's wrong. Or right. I can't place it. It's like—" He shook his head, jaw tight. "Like nothing I've ever smelled before. And when he fell on me, something inside me woke up."

"Your wolf?"

"My everything." The admission came out rough. "I felt him in my bones, Ragnar. In my blood. Like he'd been there all along and I'd just never noticed."

Silence.

Then Ragnar let out a low whistle. "That's either the most romantic thing I've ever heard or the most terrifying."

"It's neither. It's a problem." Soren sheathed his blade, his dark eyes burning. "I'm going to watch him. Closely. Until I figure out what he's hiding."

"And if he's hiding nothing?"

Soren's silence was answer enough.

---

The water was black glass under the moon.

Nyra had found the spot by accident, a small stone bank at the edge of the academy's lake, hidden from view by a curtain of weeping willows. She had walked for nearly an hour after leaving the library, her feet carrying her farther and farther from the dorms.

There was no one here thankfully.

She sank onto the cold stone, wrapped her arms around her knees, and let the grief she had been holding crash over her like a wave.

"Thorne." Her voice breaking "Thorne, I'm so sorry. I'm trying. I don't know how I don't know how to do this without you. You were supposed to be the strong one. You were supposed to—"

The sobs came then, tearing out of her chest with a violence that left her breathless. She cried for her brother. For everything she had lost and everything she was about to lose. She cried until her throat was raw and her eyes were swollen.

She did not hear the footsteps.

She did not sense the presence until a voice, low and rough, cut through the dark.

"Who the hell is disturbing my peace with all that crying?"

Nyra's head snapped up.

Soren stepped through the willow curtain, his dark eyes fixed directly on her.

She couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.

He stared at her tear-streaked face. At her trembling hands.

"Well," he said, low and dangerous. "This is unexpected."