3.. Rhea
1273 Words
Our pack lands go on forever.
Not the poetic kind of forever. I mean the real kind—miles and miles of pines dumped like the Moon Goddess got bored one night and decided to terraform an entire continent just to see if wolves could keep up. If I ever tried to walk the whole territory, someone would eventually find my corpse tangled in roots, clutching an empty canteen and a journal accusing rogue squirrels of homicide.
Ridge Storm never stops expanding. Every Alpha in our history has treated borders like a competitive sport, and now our territory stretches wider than almost any in Lycandra. Pines whisper to each other under strips of silver light. Lakes glow like someone spilled moonstone dust across the water. And our waterfall—the famous one—looks so annoyingly perfect it’s practically a mating-mark advertisement. The cliff face is carved with old sigils: Valorian glamour anchors at the basin, dormant Drakon heat-sigils baked into the rock from some treaty, and lunar script woven over all of it like a signature you can’t scrub out.
Normally, I’d stare at it. Today, the storm in my head swallows everything else whole.
Ethan drives us toward the capital, one hand steady on the wheel, the other brushing the gearshift—barely aware, but grounding. Warding sigils hum across the dashboard, soft silver pulses forming a shield around the SUV as we cross district lines. He doesn’t ask what’s wrong, because he already knows. That’s the thing about growing up beside someone—you learn their weather. You can smell their storms before they break.
Ethan Hayes. My boyfriend. Two years. My safe place. The one future I’ve let myself imagine without flinching. He believes we’re fated. A traitorous part of me believes it too. Or wants to.
But my wolf is about to wake.
In a handful of days—eighteen—my bond, if I have one, will either snap into place… or stay silent forever. And Ethan? His shift is tonight at midnight. He’ll know first. The Moon will choose or She won’t.
And I can’t outrun the question chewing holes in my chest:
What if She doesn’t choose him?
What if She doesn’t choose me at all?
“Rhea.” Ethan’s voice cuts through my spiral. “You’ve been quiet the whole drive.”
I bite my lip, then—because subtlety is not my ministry—I just blurt it out.
“Have you ever thought about what happens if we’re not mates?” My voice wobbles. “Would you still want me?”
The question hangs in the air just as Silver Ridge Academy rises ahead—carved into the mountain like a myth too stubborn to die.
The spires catch late sunlight, glowing pale moonstone and obsidian. Sigils crawl along the walls like veins of fire, pulsing with the academy’s heartbeat. At the wrought-iron gates, runes flare bright as they scan us—identity, intent, oath. Accord law lives in every layer of this place: Valorian glamour anchors in the pillars, Lycan’Dra governance knots at the archway, Drakon heat wards dormant but waiting under the stone.
Magic shifts the second we cross the threshold—thick, heavy, alive. The air tastes like night-bloom flowers and secrets. Students from every realm weave through the courtyard—wolves, fae, dragon-bloods, a few brave humans. Unity in theory; ego in practice.
It’s beautiful. Powerful.
And right now, it feels like it belongs to everyone but me.
Ethan pulls up in front of my dorm archway. The Ridge Storm crest gleams above the stone, wolf head carved into silver, moon rune beating faintly like it recognizes my heartbeat. The doorway lattice flares—identity, intent, truth—and I swear the wards hesitate on me longer than usual.
He turns to me. Cups my jaw. His palm is warm; the ward mark glows softly against my cheek.
“Even if the Goddess assigns us to different people—which I don’t believe—” his voice doesn’t shake, not even once “—you’re still stuck with me.”
The runes behind him flare, reading his truth, pleased with it.
His smirk softens. “And if someone else ends up being your mate? They better wake up every morning and thank Her.”
My chest squeezes painfully. So I shove the feeling down, as always.
“Go before someone decides you’re trying to romance me in a parking lot.”
“Tragic,” he says dryly. “Imagine the scandal.”
I shove his shoulder. “Go.”
He lingers a beat. There’s something in his eyes—something wistful, heavy, almost like he already knows.
Then he’s gone.
Inside the suite, the universe immediately regrets letting me have peace.
Because there, tangled on the couch like a warning label for PDA, are Lila and Theo.
She’s straddling him, fingers in his hair, mouth fused to his, while Theo’s hands sit low on her hips—territorial, smug, borderline illegal. The wall sigils flare red with his dominance, practically cheering him on.
“Really?” I drop my bag. “On the couch? I nap there.”
Lila smirks against Theo’s lips. “You’re welcome. Pre-heated.”
Theo glances over her shoulder, mouth kiss-bruised. “Critique my form?”
“No,” I say, wheeling toward my room. A kitchen rune flickers like it’s rolling its eyes with me.
Theo ruffles my hair as I pass.
“Theo!” I swat. “Stop doing that!”
“You look cute when you’re mad.”
“Oh, you think I’m cute? Watch me commit a felony.”
I’m muttering murder when Bree and Nora walk in.
Bree drops onto a chair, already judging. “Do you two need a bucket of water?”
Instead of embarrassment, Lila springs off Theo and tackles me.
And suddenly I’m on the rug, shrieking, while Bree joins in (traitor) and even Nora gets dragged into the chaos.
The dorm wards glow a soft blue—joy feeding the lattice with warmth. For a moment, it feels like home. Like nothing can touch us.
The door opens.
Finn. MJ. Evan. Ethan.
Everything stops.
His eyes find mine instantly. The wards above the door flare gold.
Finn claps. “Suit up, chipmunks. And Rhee—might wanna wear something unforgettable tonight. Ethan’s got plans.”
Heat slams into my face. “Finn, I swear—”
“Oh come on,” he chirps. “Little lace, little silk—”
“Red,” Ethan says quietly.
The girls explode into laughter. The kitchen runes flicker.
I shove them all out, embarrassment boiling off me so hard the wards literally glow with it.
When the room clears, Ethan lingers one second longer.
Then he walks away.
It shouldn’t sting. It does.
That’s when I see Nora.
She’s pale. Twisting her dress hem. Ward-marks glowing like she’s trying not to cry.
“Nora?” I ask softly.
She takes my hand, squeezing like she’s holding on to the only stable thing in the room.
Her voice breaks.
“Rhea… I think Ethan is my mate.”
The words detonate.
Every sigil in the room flashes white—walls strobing like trapped lightning, the lattice humming so loud it vibrates in my bones.
My heartbeat free-falls.
No. No. Not him. Not her.
But the devastation on her face is real.
She believes it.
The floor tilts beneath me. My vision tunnels. The wards whine under my skin.
This isn’t a crack.
It’s the first fracture.
And if she’s right?
Everything I’ve clung to is about to shatter.
- Writer
