Fated by the Moon

prologue

Ember Quinn crouched on the toilet seat, shoes planted on the closed lid, back pressed to the freezing cinderblock of the pack house bathroom. The single light above her stall flickered at uneven intervals, dousing the world in migraine strobe. She didn’t breathe; she inhaled in tiny sips, so shallow the air couldn’t carry her scent outside the thin metal door.

The bathroom echoed every sound: the sloshing of the warped faucet, the wet, hungry smacking from the next stall, the low, gravel-thick voice that once called her “mate” but now just called out Jasmine’s name. She clamped her knees to her chest and pressed her palms against her temples to block out the rhythm, but the vibrations traveled up the plumbing and into her bones.

“Oh, Kael,” Jasmine gasped. Even in the throes, she made it sound rehearsed. Ember pictured her—pale legs spread, nails digging half-moons into Kael’s shoulder blades, a show for the mirror over the sinks. Jasmine knew Ember was here; she had seen Ember slip in, even smiled that pinched, all-teeth smile as she followed Kael into the men’s room.

“f**k, you’re perfect,” Kael grunted, slamming into Jasmine so hard the stall partitions shuddered. It was the same tone he’d used with Ember, back when she was new and interesting and the only human in a hundred-mile radius allowed in the pack house. Now, she was invisible—less than invisible. She was a mistake to be erased.

Ember’s left hand trembled so violently that she jammed it under her thigh, pinning it there. She gripped the cold porcelain until her fingertips whitened. Her right hand curled into a fist and, before she could stop herself, she drove her thumb knuckle into her mouth, biting down. The metallic tang filled her mouth; copper and salt. She didn’t cry. Not here. She’d already given them that satisfaction once.

Jasmine started to moan louder, the kind of sound that arched up and over the walls, designed to carry. Ember felt her ears flush. She pressed her forehead to her knees and counted the holes in her jeans—one, two, three, four, and the big one right above her left knee, with threads like spider legs. She focused on the fibers and the raw edge of the denim until her pulse slowed.

Then it got quiet. The wet noises stopped. She heard Kael’s labored breathing, Jasmine’s giggle, a zipper’s metallic zip. The stall door banged open, and Jasmine’s heels clicked out across the grimy tile. She paused in front of Ember’s stall, her perfume bleeding under the gap—something sweet and chemical and so strong it gave Ember a headache.

“You coming to movie night, Em?” Jasmine’s voice slithered in, dripping with saccharine. “Or do you have…homework?” She laughed at her own joke, the sound bouncing off the tile, sticking to Ember’s skin.

Ember said nothing. She waited for the clatter of the outer door, the ring of Kael’s laughter tangled with Jasmine’s, the slow fade of their voices down the hallway.

Only then did she let her foot slip, landing lightly on the floor. Her knees buckled, and she caught herself on the coat hook, knuckles scraping the rough edge. For a minute she just stood, braced and hollowed, eyes burning but dry. She pressed her forehead to the cool metal of the door and tried to remember the last time Kael had touched her with any gentleness. Weeks? Months? Had it ever happened, really, or had that too been an act, a trick of biology and desperation?

The world spun, so she sat again, knees apart, palms open on her thighs. Her hand went to the pocket of her hoodie, where the paper was already soft and furred from hours of handling. She pulled it out, smoothing the crumpled letter against her leg. The header was wrinkled, the ink faded in some places from the sweat of her palm.

Dear Miss Quinn,

We are pleased to inform you of your early admission to Sterling University’s Pre-Veterinary Program. In recognition of your academic achievements and unique personal background, you have been awarded the Centennial Full Scholarship for the duration of your studies…

She mouthed the words, though she could have recited them backward and forward by now. Unique personal background. The committee hadn’t known they were admitting a human girl who’d never seen the inside of a real classroom, who’d been raised by wolves—literally. They didn’t know she couldn’t afford the application fee, let alone four years of tuition. But they wanted her. That was enough.

She set the letter on her thigh, stroking the embossed seal with her thumb. The last time she’d shown it to Kael, he’d barely glanced at it. “We’ll talk about it later, babe,” he’d said, eyes already back on his phone. Later never came. Then Jasmine came, and the pack’s priorities shifted. Kael’s priorities shifted. Ember became invisible.

She looked at the edge of the stall door and imagined pushing it open, striding past the rows of lockers, past the gym, past the territory lines, out into a world where nobody called her a freak or a pet. Nobody to mate with her out of pity or obligation. She could disappear—no, she could be found, by people who didn’t care about lineage or pack or ancient laws.

The air outside was cold, and she shivered just thinking about it. Her wolf pack had taught her to survive, but never to live alone. It was a scary thought, but not as scary as staying.

Ember folded the letter in half, then again, creasing the lines until they held sharp. She slid it back into her pocket, let her hand rest there. She stood, wiped her face with the sleeve of her hoodie, and unlocked the door. The bathroom was empty, the smell of Jasmine’s perfume already fading.

Her hands were steady. Her jaw ached, but the bleeding had stopped.

She walked out, head down, not bothering to check her reflection in the mirror. She didn’t need to see her own face to know what decision she’d made.

She was leaving. Not for Kael, not for the pack, not for anyone but herself.

And this time, she wouldn’t look back.