Chapter Three
2076 Words
KENJI
She's heading for the east wing like she wants to die.
I track her through hallways that smell like formaldehyde and failed experiments, following that wrong-right scent that makes my fire burn backwards. The text from Sasha sits on my phone like a command: Find her. Now.
But I was already hunting before he asked.
The east wing's been sealed since freshman year. Since Melody Chen opened the wrong door and found something that used to be human but had too many joints. They said it was a gas leak that made her scream for three days straight. They lied.
Mina's heading straight for it like she knows exactly what's waiting in those abandoned labs. Like maybe she's counting on it.
My temperature spikes without permission. The prayer beads around my wrist sear fresh patterns into old scars, punishment for wanting things I shouldn't. But I can't stop thinking about biology class—how she didn't flinch when I burned that paper, how she wrote prove it like she was daring me to try.
How she smells like the deepest part of the ocean where things with too many teeth live.
I round the corner and there she is. Standing at the east wing entrance like she's reading a menu, head tilted just enough to show the curve of her throat. She's changed since this morning—traded the nervous scholarship kid act for something hungrier. The late afternoon light hits her through the dusty windows, and for a second she looks like something out of my grandfather's old stories. The ones about creatures that drag you underwater and make you grateful for drowning.
"Following me?"
She doesn't turn around. Knows I'm here without looking. Predators always know when they're being stalked.
"My friend's worried."
"Your friend's an obsessive dickhead. There's a difference."
"Most people would run from obsessive alphas."
"Good thing I'm not most people."
She pushes the door open. The hinges scream like they're trying to warn us, but she walks through anyway. I follow because apparently I've got a death wish shaped like a girl who shouldn't exist.
The east wing swallows sound wrong. Our footsteps echo in frequencies that make my teeth hurt. She moves like she's been here before, navigating debris and caution tape with the kind of confidence that comes from practice or insanity.
"You know what happened here."
Not a question. She pauses at a classroom door, fingers tracing symbols carved into the wood. Warnings in languages that predate human memory.
"I know they tried to breed things that shouldn't exist. Know they succeeded."
"And you're here because...?"
"Same reason you are."
She turns then, and the full weight of her attention hits like a physical thing. In the dim light, her eyes catch and hold shadows. Not reflecting them—collecting them.
"I'm here because Sasha asked me to babysit."
"Liar."
That word again. She's got a thing about lies, about truth. Makes me wonder what she's hiding under all that carefully controlled surface.
"Fine. I'm here because you interest me."
"Interest." She tastes the word, rolls it around like candy. "That's a boring word for what's happening."
"What would you call it?"
"Hunger."
The word drops between us like a lit match. My fire responds without permission, temperature climbing until the air shimmers. She doesn't step back. If anything, she leans in, and I realize—
She runs cold.
Not just cool. Cold like the deep ocean, like things that live in trenches where sun's never touched. My heat hits her and just... disappears. Absorbed. Devoured.
"You're not human."
"Neither are you."
"But you're not anything else either. Not vampire, not witch, not fae. Definitely not wolf."
"Disappointed?"
"Curious."
She smiles then, and it's nothing like the nervous thing from this morning. This smile has too many teeth, metaphorically speaking. Makes me think of nature documentaries where they show the pretty fish right before something massive swallows it whole.
"Curiosity's dangerous here."
"Everything's dangerous here. That's the point."
She pushes open the classroom door. The smell hits immediately—old blood, older magic, something sweet-sick underneath like fruit rotting in summer. But she walks in like it's perfume.
The room's been stripped mostly. Tables gone, equipment removed. But they missed things. Scratches in the walls that look like claw marks but aren't. Stains on the floor in patterns that made your stomach turn to look at. And in the corner—
"Shit."
She says it soft, like prayer. Moves toward the corner where someone's drawn a summoning circle in what looks suspiciously like dried blood. But that's not what's got her attention.
It's the photos scattered in the circle's center. All omegas. All missing.
All wearing the same expression in their last school pictures—like they knew something was coming.
"You know them."
Another not-question. She kneels at the circle's edge, careful not to break the lines. Smart. Some circles are just decoration. Others are bear traps waiting for something stupid enough to step inside.
"I know of them. They're part of a pattern."
"What kind of pattern?"
She looks up at me, and for the first time since she walked into Blood Moon, I see something crack in her armor. Just for a second. Just enough to glimpse what's underneath.
Rage. The kind that burns cold instead of hot.
"The kind that got my mother killed."
My phone buzzes. Sasha again: Status?
I ignore it. This feels more important than pack politics.
"Your mom was the anthropologist. The one studying Otherkind."
Her whole body goes still. Not human-still. The kind of still that happens right before something strikes.
"How do you know that?"
"I pay attention. Also, your fake records aren't as clean as you think."
"They're clean enough."
"For humans maybe. But we're better at spotting our own."
She stands slowly, and I realize she's positioned herself between me and the door. Subtle. Professional. The kind of thing you learn when running's your first language.
"I'm not your own."
"No. You're something else. Something that makes my fire want things it's never wanted before."
The words come out before I can stop them. Too honest. Too hungry. But she doesn't laugh, doesn't look away. Just tilts her head like she's solving an equation.
"What does your fire usually want?"
"To burn things. Break them down to component parts. Reduce everything to ash and start over."
"And with me?"
I step closer. She doesn't retreat, but I feel the temperature drop another degree. Like standing next to an open freezer if the freezer was also somehow the ocean and also possibly going to kill you.
"It wants to see how deep the cold goes. Wants to find out if you burn different than everything else."
"Everything burns eventually."
"That sounds like experience talking."
Something flickers across her face. Memory maybe, or promise.
"My mother thought she could study them safely. Thought academic distance would protect her. She was wrong."
"Them?"
"The ones who run things. The shadow families that treat species like currencies. The ones who—"
She cuts off, eyes going wide. I hear it too. Footsteps in the hallway. Multiple sets. Moving with the kind of coordination that means either military or pack.
"Friend of yours?"
"Nobody's my friend here."
The door explodes inward. Three wolves, fully shifted, which is illegal as hell during school hours. They circle us, lips pulled back from teeth that could punch through steel.
"Okay. Definitely not friends."
Mina backs up until she's pressed against me. The contact sends shock through my system—her cold against my heat creating some kind of feedback loop that makes my vision blur. But I keep my hands up, non-threatening. For now.
The biggest wolf shifts partially, enough to speak through a muzzle that shouldn't exist.
"Omega. You come with us."
"Pass."
"Wasn't a request."
"f**k off. I'm not going anywhere with you."
I feel Mina tense against me, muscles coiling in ways that feel wrong for her build. Like there's more of her than what shows on the surface. Way more.
"Back off." I let my temperature climb, just enough to make the wolves step back. "She's under F4 protection."
"F4 doesn't have authority here. Not in the east wing. Not over unclaimed omega."
The wolf's grammar sucks but his point's valid. The east wing exists outside normal territory. Anything goes here. Which is probably why Mina picked it.
"I'm claiming protection right." Her voice cuts through the growling. "Sanctuary until moonrise."
The wolves exchange looks. Even I'm surprised. Sanctuary's old law, older than the school. Once claimed, it can't be refused. But it only lasts until moonrise.
Which is in three hours.
"Fine." The big wolf spits the word. "But when moon comes up, you run or you submit. No other choices."
They file out, but not before the biggest one marks the doorway. The smell makes my eyes water—possession, threat, promise all rolled into one biological nightmare.
When they're gone, Mina sags against me for just a second. I feel something under her skin ripple, like muscle moving in directions that shouldn't exist.
"Want to explain what just happened?"
"No."
"Want to explain why wolves are hunting you on your first day?"
"Really no."
"Want to explain why you smell like—"
She spins, presses a hand over my mouth. Her skin's so cold it burns.
"Stop. Asking. Questions."
But I can't. Because this close, with her hand on my face and her body pressed against mine, I can feel what she's hiding. The shape of her is wrong. Not the surface—that's perfect, beautiful, designed to make stupid boys like me do stupid things.
But underneath. Underneath there's something massive. Something patient. Something that's been pretending to be small for so long it's forgotten its real size.
"What are you?"
I ask it against her palm. Feel her shiver.
"Hungry."
She drops her hand, steps back. The loss of contact hits like withdrawal.
"Three hours until moonrise. They'll come back with more. Probably alert whatever passes for omega trafficking in this place."
"So run."
"Can't. Not yet."
"Why?"
She looks at the photos in the circle. At the missing omegas who might be dead or might be worse.
"Because I made a promise. And unlike everyone else in this place, I keep mine."
My phone buzzes again. This time it's not Sasha.
Unknown number: Your sister's waiting. Chemistry lab. Come alone or she dies. Again.
Everything in me goes cold. Which is ironic, considering.
Mina sees my face change. "What is it?"
I show her the text. Watch her process, calculate.
"It's a trap."
"Obviously."
"You're going anyway."
"Obviously."
She nods like this makes perfect sense. Like walking into clear traps is just something people do on Mondays.
"I'll come with you."
"They said alone."
"They said you should come alone. Didn't say anything about what follows you."
The way she says it makes my skin prickle. Makes me think of nature documentaries again. The ones where they show the seal swimming happy and free.
Right before twenty feet of death launches from underneath.
"Why would you help me?"
She's already moving toward the door, checking the hallway with professional paranoia.
"Because you didn't let them take me. Because your fire feels good against my cold. Because—"
She pauses, looks back at me with eyes that hold too much.
"Because I know what it's like to lose family. And I know what it's like when they use that loss against you."
We move through the east wing like we've been partners for years instead of hours. She goes first, checking corners. I follow, watching our six. Somewhere between the abandoned labs and the main building, I realize I'd follow her anywhere.
Which is probably going to get me killed.
But there are worse ways to die than burning for a girl who might be the ocean incarnate.
"After we save your sister, we need to talk."
"About?"
"About why every omega who's gone missing had bite marks that didn't match any known species. About why they were all last seen in places that shouldn't exist. About why you're really here."
"That's a lot of talking."
"Good thing we've got time."
"Three hours."
"Three hours."
She smiles that too-many-teeth smile again.
"A lot can happen in three hours."
Yeah. That's what I'm afraid of.
That's also what I'm counting on.
- Writer
