Between Two Moons: The Scent of a Stranger

Chapter 2: The Human Girl

Alex POV

"That shot in the third period? Unreal, man." Milo clapped me on the shoulder so hard my teeth rattled. I grinned, letting the warmth of his praise soak in, even as I tried to play it cool. "You’re gonna get scouted before the season’s even over."

That was Milo, always making it sound easy, as if any of us would be so lucky. As we pushed through the door of The Rusty Nail, the noise from the bar hit us like a wall, thick with laughter, music, and the sticky-sweet smell of spilled beer. Half the team was packed in behind us, flushed from the win and already halfway through the first round of drinks. There was chanting my name this time, and for just a moment, I let it wash over me. I let myself believe I was just Alex, the guy who scored the last goal, not the son of an Alpha, not the heir, not the wolf who could never quite fit into his own skin.

I tried to hold onto that feeling as we jostled our way to our usual table, Milo’s hand still heavy on my shoulder. For a few hours, I could just be a college guy surrounded by sweat and noise, the future and the past held at bay by the simple magic of a team win.

That’s when I smelled it.

At first, it was barely there, like a memory, like moonlight after rain, moss and earth, and something wilder underneath. It was so out of place in the Rusty Nail, so clean and sharp, that for a moment I thought I was imagining it. But then it hit me full force, threading through the stink of old beer and fried food, and my wolf—the part of me I usually kept leashed so tight—sat up inside me, alert and electric.

"Mate."

The word slammed through my skull. Everything else faded: Milo’s voice, the music, the aftershocks of the game. I blinked, trying to focus, feeling like the ground had tilted under my feet. Milo didn’t notice; he was already waving at someone across the room, shouting for a round of shots. My teammates swept me along, crowding into the booth, everyone talking at once, replaying the game and laughing at the way I’d nearly tripped over my own skates after that final shot.

But I wasn’t really there. I was already searching for her.

My gaze swept the bar, skipping past the regulars, the couples pressed close in the booths, the bartenders hustling behind the counter. My heart hammered. I didn’t even know what I was looking for, not until I saw her.

She was small, her hair chopped short and dyed black with streaks of blue that glowed under the neon. She moved fast, weaving through the chaos with a tray balanced on her hip, dodging outstretched hands and spilled drinks with the ease of someone who’d been doing it forever. There was something about the set of her shoulders, the way she squared her jaw, that made it clear she was exhausted but stubborn. She’d stand upright even if the roof caved in.

Human. Completely, unmistakably human. I could tell by the way she flinched at nothing, the way she kept her distance, the invisible walls she built around herself. No wolf would carry themselves like that, all sharp edges and silent, simmering strength.

And yet, the scent was hers.

I watched as she passed a corner booth and some guy reached out, grabbing her wrist like he owned her. I felt something hard and ugly twist in my chest, a possessive, furious urge to break his hand right there. I was half out of my seat before I realized what I was doing, already bracing to step in.

But she didn’t need it. She didn’t even blink. In one smooth move, she twisted out of his grip and glared, her voice so flat and cold I could almost hear it from across the room. The guy laughed, the way drunk guys always do when they’re embarrassed, but he let go.

I sat back, breath leaving my lungs in a rush. Relief. Frustration. Admiration. My wolf wanted to bare his teeth, but all I could do was watch.

Milo slid into the booth next to me, his phone buzzing. He glanced at the screen, frowned, and excused himself. The table felt weirdly empty without him, and for a moment, I just stared at the bar, watching her work. She moved like she had too much to do and not enough time. I watched her wiping down the bar, refilling drinks, and dodging another drunk who slurred something in her direction.

I wondered what it was like for her working here every night, dealing with this crowd, holding her own against the constant tide of idiots and creeps. I wondered what she’d do if she knew a wolf was watching her.

Milo came back, looking even more tense. "Your father called," he said. His voice was low, but I could hear the warning in it.

"Why do you torture yourself answering?" I barely looked at him, unable to drag my eyes away from the bar.

He gave a tired shrug. "Someone has to."

"I told you a hundred times, I'm not going back—" My voice was sharp, and this time, I tore my gaze away from her, searching his face.

"Well, you might not have a choice," he said, choosing his words carefully.

My stomach clenched. "Why? Did someone die?" I tried to sound flippant, but it came out too flat.

He shook his head. "No. Uh—" He hesitated, glancing at the table, then up at me. "Your engagement is—"

I didn’t even let him finish. I was on my feet, anger snapping through me like a whip. I moved before I thought. I crossed the room in three long strides, just as the guy from the corner booth reached for her again, except this time, he grabbed her waist, pulling her toward him. I didn’t see red. I saw nothing but the way her eyes widened, the way her tray clattered to the floor, the way she looked for a second like she was bracing for something worse.

I got there before she had to handle it alone. Before I knew what I was doing, the bottle was in my hand, and then it shattered against the guy’s skull, sending glass, beer, and blood spraying onto the table. The bar exploded. Chairs went flying. Someone screamed; maybe it was her, maybe it was someone else. I didn’t know.

His friends jumped up, fists clenched, but I turned and met their eyes, and the wolf in me was right there on the surface, daring them. They backed down. Milo was at my side, breathing hard, eyes wide.

"Okay," he said quietly, "that’s one way to change the subject."

I barely heard him. All I could see was her. She was standing behind the bar, breathing hard, eyes fixed on me like she wasn’t sure if I was her hero or a bigger threat.

I wanted to say something. I wanted to apologize, to explain, and to ask her about the blue in her hair, about the tired set of her shoulders, and about why she smelled like a miracle. But my throat closed up, and all I could do was stand there, waiting for her to say something, anything.

The bar was a mess. The owner was shouting. People were staring. But all I could think about was that I wasn’t leaving until I found out her name and found some excuse to see her again, to figure out why the universe had decided to throw us together in the middle of all this chaos.

For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be, no matter how much trouble was waiting for me outside.