Chapter One
1604 Words
Kiara's POV
I still dream in blood.
I wake every morning with the scent of sacred herbs clinging to my skin, the echo of my mother's dying words lodged like fragments of glass in my chest.
Hide who you are. Live as human.
I've done neither.
The acceptance letter to Silver Crest College sits crumpled in my backpack as I step through the iron gates, my heart hammering against my ribs. Not from fear— I buried that weakness in the ashes of my pack. No, this is anticipation. Hunger.
Because after eight years of searching, eight years of moving from one werewolf college to another, enduring their mockery and their cruelty, I finally have a lead.
The wolves who destroyed my pack came from here. From Silver Crest.
And I'm going to make them pay.
"Watch it, human."
A she-wolf with platinum blonde hair and designer clothes deliberately shoulder-checks me as she passes, her friends giggling behind perfectly manicured hands. I don't react. I've learned that much, at least. Reacting only makes it worse.
"Can you believe they let her kind in here?" another one stage-whispers. "What's next, letting in vampires?"
I keep my head down, my expression carefully neutral. It's a mask I've perfected over the years— the meek human girl who doesn't understand the world she's stumbled into. They don't see the rage simmering beneath my skin, the way my fingers itch for a weapon, the hollow space in my chest where my wolf used to be.
Soon, I promise myself. Soon they'll all understand what they've created.
Silver Crest College is everything the brochures promised, with students who move with the casual grace of apex predators.
The building looms against the autumn sky like a cathedral to werewolf superiority, all stone and stained glass and centuries of tradition.
It makes me want to burn it to the ground.
"Kiara Quinn?"
I turn to find a middle-aged woman with steel-gray hair and a clipboard. Her eyes rake over me with barely concealed disdain. "You're late for orientation."
"My apologies. The campus is larger than I expected."
"Hmm." She doesn't believe me, but she doesn't care enough to argue. "I'm Dean Ashford. You've been assigned to Crescent Hall—" she pauses, and I see the flicker of something in her eyes.
Does she know what that name means? What happened to the Crescent Pack?
"Room 304. Your roommate is also human, so you should... adjust easily."
Another human. Great. Someone else to lie to, to keep at arm's length, to ensure never gets too close to the truth.
"Classes begin Monday, but today is mandatory event attendance." Dean Ashford's lips purse with disapproval. "The hockey match. It's… well, it's important to pack culture. You'll be expected to attend and show school spirit."
"Of course."
"And Kiara Quinn?" Her voice drops, taking on an edge that makes my spine straighten. You may have been accepted here due to some... unfortunate diversity initiative, but this is a werewolf institution. Know your place."
I swallow the sharp retort burning on my tongue. Instead, I nod demurely. "I understand."
But I don't. I refuse to understand a world where strength is measured by something as arbitrary as birth, where my parents were slaughtered simply because I was different. Where monsters wear the faces of the righteous.
By the time evening rolls around, I've been called "human" seventeen times, "weak" eight times, and had my books knocked from my hands twice. I've smiled through all of it, apologized when I shouldn't have, made myself small and forgettable.
It's exhausting.
My roommate, a nervous girl named Claire with mousy brown hair and thick glasses, chats anxiously as we walk toward the massive hockey arena at the center of campus.
Apparently, this match is a huge deal. Silver Crest versus Shadow Ridge, two of the most powerful packs in the region.
"Everyone goes," Claire says for the third time, wringing her hands. "It's like, basically a requirement. And the Alpha's son plays. Zephyr Thorne. He's supposed to be amazing. And gorgeous. Not that we have a chance with him or anything, obviously, because we're human and he's… he's him."
I barely hear her. My mind is already working through the possibilities. Alpha Thorne. I've heard that name whispered in my research, and seen it scrawled in old pack records I shouldn't have been able to access. The current Alpha of Silver Crest.
Could he be the silver wolf from my nightmares? The one who tore out my mother's throat?
"Kiara? Are you okay? You look pale."
I force a smile. "Just tired from the move."
The arena is packed when we arrive, the air thick with excitement. Wolves fill the stands, their eyes gleaming with predatory interest, their voices raised in chants and challenges.
Claire and I squeeze into seats near the back— the human section, naturally.
The rink itself is flawless, the ice gleaming under harsh fluorescent lights. Players warm up on both sides, their movements fluid and powerful even in their human forms. I don't understand hockey. I don't care to. But I scan each face anyway, looking for… I don't know.
Recognition? Guilt?
A silver wolf scar?
Then the announcements begin, and the crowd erupts.
"Ladies and gentlemen, your Silver Crest Alphas!"
The team skates onto the ice, and even, I can't deny the shift in energy. These aren't just athletes, they're warriors, each one radiating dominance and barely leashed violence.
And at their head—
My breath catches.
He's taller than the others, his dark hair slightly too long, falling into eyes that seem to glow even from this distance. He moves across the ice like it was created for him, every gesture deliberate, every glance commanding. The number on his jersey, 7, seems almost ironic, as if he could be anything other than first.
"That's him," Claire breathes. "Zephyr Thorne."
The name hits me like a physical blow. Thorne. The Alpha's son. The heir.
My enemy's flesh and blood.
The game begins, and I'm forced to admit— he's magnificent. Brutal and graceful in equal measure, dominating the rink with a confidence that borders on arrogance. Every time he scores, the crowd screams his name like a mini-god.
I should look away. I should focus on my mission, on planning my next move.
But I can't stop watching him.
And then, during a break in play, he turns. His eyes sweep the crowd, acknowledging the adoration, and then—
They find mine.
Everything stops.
The world narrows to just the two of us, to the sudden, inexplicable pull that slams into my chest like a freight train. It's not my wolf— I don't have one, can't have one— but it's something primal, something that transcends logic.
Something that makes my skin burn and my heart race and my body scream mine, mine, MINE.
No.
No.
Shock and terror widens my eyes, but I mask them immediately.
His expression shifts— surprise, confusion, and then something darker. Something that looks almost like disgust. He skates closer to the boards, his teammates forgotten, the game forgotten.
His lips curl into something too cruel to be called a smile.
"Well, well." His voice carries easily, and I realize with horror that wolves around us are turning, watching, listening. "What do we have here? A fragile little human in my pack's territory? The Moon Goddess must be joking or drunk right now to think of pairing a disgusting weakling with me.”
The words are loud enough for everyone to hear. Gasps ripple through the stands at first, then laughter— cold and mocking.
But all I can focus on is the bond screaming between us, the undeniable truth that makes bile rise in my throat.
Mate.
I'm mated to a Thorne? To the son of the monster who destroyed everything I loved?
The universe has a sick sense of humor.
"Cat got your tongue, human?" Zephyr's eyes glitter with mockery, with casual cruelty. He's enjoying this— the attention, the power dynamic, the fact that everyone is watching him toy with the weak little human girl.
He has no idea who I am. What I've lost. What I'm capable of.
Something inside me snaps.
I stand, my legs shaking but my voice steady. The words come from somewhere deep and primal, from the place where my wolf used to live.
"I, Kiara Quinn," I say clearly, letting each word ring through the suddenly silent arena, "reject you, Alpha Zephyr of Silver Crest, as my mate."
The gasps are immediate, shocked, disbelieving.
Zephyr's expression freezes, the smugness draining from his face. For a moment, he looks genuinely stunned. As if the thought that anyone— especially a mere human— could reject him had never crossed his mind.
Good.
Let him feel a fraction of the powerlessness I've felt every day for eight years.
"You—" he starts, but I'm already pushing past Claire, past the staring wolves, toward the exit.
Behind me, I hear the murmurs starting, the whispers that will spread like wildfire through the college by morning.
The human rejected the Alpha heir.
She rejected Zephyr Thorne.
Unthinkable. Impossible.
My hands are shaking as I burst out into the cool night air. The bond is still there, still pulling, still screaming at me to go back. But I ignore it.
I've spent eight years learning to ignore pain. This is just one more wound to add to the collection.
One more reason why I need to destroy the Thorne family, even if it means destroying myself in the process.
- Writer
