Moonlit Scars

Lila's POV The bus rumbles to a stop, and my stomach twists like it’s trying to claw its way out. Crestwood University’s stone gates loom outside the window, ivy curling around them like they’re guarding secrets. I clutch my backpack, the worn straps digging into my palms, and take a shaky breath. Three years ago, Jaxon Reed’s voice echoed in my ears as he rejected me in front of our pack, shattering my wolf spirit. Now, at nineteen, I’m here to rebuild what he broke, but the moon’s pull already itches under my skin. I step off the bus, and the coastal air hits me, salty and sharp. Students swarm the quad, their laughter and chatter a chaotic hum that makes my head throb. My wolf, fractured and restless, stirs, threatening to claw free. I tug my hoodie tighter, hiding my silver-streaked hair—a telltale sign of my rare pelt. I can’t let anyone see it, not yet. My dorm, Hawthorne Hall, smells of fresh paint and old wood. A girl with curly black hair and a grin wider than the moon bounces toward me as I drag my suitcase inside. “Lila Grey, right? I’m Maya, your roommate!” Her energy is a warm burst, like sunlight cutting through my fog. She tosses me a keycard, and I catch it, forcing a smile that feels like lifting weights. Maya’s side of the room is a riot of color—posters, fairy lights, a tie-dye blanket. Mine’s bare, just a duffel bag and a single photo of my mom tucked in my pocket. “You’re a werewolf, huh?” Maya asks, flopping onto her bed. Her bluntness startles me, but her eyes sparkle with curiosity, not judgment. I nod, words stuck in my throat, and she launches into a story about her cousin’s werewolf boyfriend, making me laugh despite myself. The campus tour starts at noon, and Maya drags me along, her chatter a lifeline. Crestwood’s quad is a sprawl of green, framed by Gothic buildings and students tossing frisbees. Werewolves and humans mix here under a fragile truce, a fact that sets my nerves on edge. I scan the crowd, half-expecting trouble, when a familiar scent—pine and steel—hits me like a punch. My heart stutters, and I freeze. Jaxon Reed stands across the quad, his broad shoulders cutting through the crowd like a blade. His dark hair falls over eyes that once held mine during pack runs, before he tore my world apart. He’s talking to a group of werewolf students, his deep voice carrying authority as Crestwood’s liaison. The mate bond, broken but never gone, pulses in my chest, sharp and raw. I clench my fists, nails biting my palms, willing my wolf to stay down. My vision blurs, and my breath catches, shallow and fast. The bond’s pull is a knife twisting in my gut, and my wolf howls, a fractured sound only I can hear. I stumble toward the forest’s edge, away from the crowd, my sneakers crunching on gravel. The trees swallow me, their shadows cool against my burning skin. I drop to my knees, gasping, as silver fur ripples across my arms. I fight it, pressing my forehead to the dirt, the earthy smell grounding me. My wolf spirit, cracked since Jaxon’s rejection, doesn’t listen—it never does during a full moon’s approach. Pain lances through me, like my bones are splintering, and I bite my lip to stifle a cry. The shift stops halfway, leaving me trembling, half-human, half-beast. I’m a freak, even among werewolves. Footsteps crunch behind me, and I whip around, heart pounding. No one’s there, but the air carries a new scent—leather, smoke, and something wild. My wolf quiets, curious, and I squint into the shadows. A low rumble, like a motorcycle idling, vibrates through the trees. Someone’s watching me, and they’ve seen my silver pelt. I scramble to my feet, pulling my hoodie over my hair. The bond still buzzes, tying me to Jaxon, but this new presence feels different—dangerous, yet not threatening. My pulse races as I back away, eyes locked on the darkness. The rumble grows louder, headlights cutting through the dusk. Whoever’s out there knows my secret, and I’m not ready for what that means.