MOONBOUND: THE HUMAN HEART

Chapter 3 – The Four Alphas

I didn't sleep for the rest of the night.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw the pup. Its tiny body. Its slit throat. The way its blood had spread across my sheets like something alive, reaching for me, claiming me.

But when the morning light finally crept through my window, I looked at the bed.

The sheets were clean.

No blood. No fur. No body.

Just crisp white linen, freshly washed, folded neatly over a mattress that showed no sign of what had happened just hours ago.

I stood there for a long time, staring.

Had I imagined it?

No. I hadn't imagined the cold wetness against my leg. I hadn't imagined the scream that had torn from my throat. I hadn't imagined the laughter from the hallway.

Someone had been here.

Someone had cleaned up their mess.

And that someone wanted me to question my sanity.

A uniform was laid out on my desk.

Gray jacket with silver buttons. White blouse. Black skirt that fell just above the knee. Knee-high boots made of soft leather that molded to my calves like they'd been custom-made.

No note. No explanation.

I put it on.

The fabric was heavier than it looked, warm despite its thinness. When I moved, I could feel something shift against my skin—runes, maybe, or symbols sewn into the lining. Protective magic.

Or maybe I was imagining things now.

Maybe the wolf pup had been a hallucination.

Maybe the boy with ice-blue eyes had been a dream.

Maybe I was losing my mind.

The dining hall was worse than the Great Hall.

Bigger. Louder. More crowded.

Hundreds of students sat at long wooden tables, laughing, talking, throwing food across the aisle at each other. The ceiling was painted with a mural of wolves running across a moonlit sky, their eyes following me as I walked.

I kept my head down. Found an empty seat at the end of the farthest table. Sat down without looking at anyone.

"What's a human doing at Silvermoon?"

The voice came from my left. A girl with cropped black hair and a nose ring was staring at me like I'd just crawled out of a sewer.

"I'm a student," I said.

"Students have wolf blood." She leaned closer, sniffed. "You don't. So what are you?"

I didn't have an answer.

She laughed—a short, sharp sound—and turned back to her friends. They whispered behind their hands. Pointed. Stared.

I stared at my plate.

Bread. Cheese. Some kind of roasted meat I didn't recognize. It smelled good, but my stomach was too tight to eat.

"Heads up. The alphas are coming."

The whisper rippled through the hall like wind through grass. Heads turned. Conversations stopped. Even the girl with the nose ring shut her mouth.

I looked up.

Four boys were walking through the center of the dining hall.

They moved like they owned the place. Because they did.

The first one I recognized immediately. Lukas. The blonde from the bus. He was smiling that same empty smile, his green eyes sweeping across the room like he was cataloging every face. A girl reached out to touch his arm as he passed. He didn't acknowledge her.

The second one was new.

Dark skin. Close-cropped black hair. A silver ring through his left nostril that caught the light. He wasn't as tall as Lukas, but he moved with a quiet grace that made him seem larger than he was. His eyes were brown—warm brown, like coffee with cream—and they found me immediately.

He didn't look away.

The third one walked like he didn't care about anything.

Messy dark hair, falling across his forehead. A leather jacket over his uniform, zipped halfway, showing a t-shirt underneath with a band logo I didn't recognize. His hands were shoved in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, his eyes half-closed like he was bored out of his mind.

And the fourth—

The fourth was him.

The boy from my doorway. The one with ice-blue eyes and the face carved from winter.

He wasn't looking at me. He wasn't looking at anyone. His jaw was set, his hands clenched at his sides, his whole body radiating a voltage of pure, unfiltered hostility.

The four of them reached the center of the hall and stopped.

Lukas raised his hand.

The room went silent.

"Good morning, Silvermoon," he said, his voice carrying without effort. "As you all know, the trials begin next week. Four alphas. One throne." He smiled, showing teeth. "May the best wolf win."

A cheer went up. Students pounded the tables. Someone howled.

I watched the other three alphas. The dark-skinned one was still looking at me. The bored one had closed his eyes completely. And the ice-eyed one—

He was looking at me now.

And he looked furious.

The dark-skinned alpha found me after breakfast.

I was walking back to my dorm, trying to memorize the path, when he fell into step beside me like he'd been there all along.

"You're Ela."

Not a question. Just like Lukas on the bus.

"I'm Kai," he said before I could respond. "Kai Wilder. I'm sorry about how people are treating you."

I stopped walking. "You're sorry?"

He stopped too, turning to face me. Up close, his eyes weren't just brown. They were flecked with gold, like sunlight through autumn leaves. And his face—his face was kind. Genuinely kind, not the performative kindness I'd learned to recognize in people who wanted something.

"Silvermoon isn't easy for anyone," he said. "But for someone like you…" He trailed off, searching for words. "It's going to be harder than you think."

"Someone like me," I repeated. "You mean human."

"I mean alone."

The word hit harder than I expected.

I looked down at my boots. "I'm used to being alone."

"I don't think you are," Kai said quietly. "I think you've been alone for so long you've forgotten what it feels like to not be."

I didn't know what to say to that.

He didn't wait for an answer. He just nodded once, turned, and walked away.

I stood there for a full minute, watching him go.

Kai Wilder.

The first person at this school who hadn't looked at me like I was a disease.

Lukas cornered me in the library.

I'd gone there to hide—to find a quiet corner where no one could stare at me, whisper about me, throw things at me. But the moment I walked through the door, he was there, leaning against a bookshelf like he'd been waiting.

"Ela." That smile. That empty, beautiful smile. "You look lost."

"I'm fine."

"Are you?" He pushed off from the shelf and walked toward me, slow and easy, like a wolf circling prey. "Because from where I'm standing, you look like someone who just realized they've made a terrible mistake."

"I haven't made a mistake."

"No?" He stopped inches from me. Close enough that I could smell him—pine and snow and something darker underneath. "Then why are you hiding in the library instead of eating lunch? Why are your hands shaking? Why do you look like you haven't slept in days?"

I stepped back. "That's none of your business."

"Everything at Silvermoon is my business." He tilted his head, studying me. "I told you on the bus, Ela. You should be afraid. But you should also know—" He reached out and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers brushing my skin. "—not everyone here wants to hurt you. Some of us want to help."

"Like you?"

"Especially me."

He smiled again, and this time there was something real underneath it. Something hungry. Something patient.

Then he walked away, leaving me standing in the stacks with my heart pounding and my skin burning where he'd touched me.

I met Thorne in the courtyard.

He was sitting on a stone bench, alone, sharpening a knife with a whetstone. The blade caught the sunlight, throwing silver flashes across his face.

He didn't look up when I approached.

"You're Thorne," I said.

"Congratulations. You can read name tags."

I blinked. "I—"

"Look, human." He finally looked up, and his eyes were gray—dark gray, like storm clouds. "I don't care who you are or why you're here. I don't care about your problems, your feelings, or your inevitable breakdown. Just stay out of my way, and I'll stay out of yours."

He went back to sharpening his knife.

I stood there for a moment, waiting for something else. A joke. An explanation. Anything.

Nothing.

"Okay," I said finally. "I'll stay out of your way."

"Good."

I turned to leave.

"And Ela?"

I looked back.

Thorne's gray eyes met mine. For just a second, the coldness cracked, and I saw something underneath. Something tired. Something broken.

"The pup in your bed," he said quietly. "That wasn't a threat. That was a promise. Leave before they make good on it."

He stood up, pocketed his knife, and walked away without another word.

The sun was setting by the time I made it back to Moonshadow Hall.

I was exhausted. Emotionally drained. Every interaction today had been a battle—against whispers, against stares, against the constant weight of not belonging.

I just wanted to sleep.

But when I reached the bottom of the stairs, he was there.

Nikolai.

Standing in the shadows of the staircase, his arms crossed, his ice-blue eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch.

"Not you again," I said.

He didn't respond. Just kept staring.

"What do you want?" I tried to sound braver than I felt. "If you're going to threaten me, just do it and leave me alone."

He moved.

So fast I didn't see it. One moment he was ten feet away. The next, he was right in front of me, so close I could feel the heat radiating off his body, could see the tiny scar above his left eyebrow, could count the flecks of darker blue in his irises.

I froze.

He leaned down.

And inhaled.

Right next to my neck. Right where my pulse hammered against my skin. His nose brushed my throat, and I felt his breath—warm, uneven, almost shaky.

"What are you—"

"Your scent," he murmured.

His voice was different now. Rougher. Lower. Like the words were being dragged out of him against his will.

"Why does it smell so familiar?"

My heart stopped.

He pulled back just enough to look at my face. His eyes were wild. Confused. Hungry. The same look I'd seen in the wolf at my window—the one that had nodded at me like it knew something I didn't.

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

"Liar."

He stepped back. Then another step. Then another, his hands opening and closing at his sides like he was physically restraining himself.

"I can't—" He shook his head, jaw clenching. "I can't be near you."

"Then don't be."

"You think I have a choice?"

His voice cracked on the last word.

Then he turned and walked away.

Not slowly. Not casually. He fled. His long legs eating up the distance, his shoulders rigid, his hands shoved into his pockets like he was trying to keep them from reaching for me.

I watched him go until the shadows swallowed him.

And I stood there, in the dark, with my hand pressed to my throat where his breath had touched my skin.

His scent.

Why does it smell so familiar?

I didn't have an answer.

But something told me I was going to find out.

And I wasn't going to like it.