The Scentless Luna

KENDRA The alarm on my phone buzzes against the metal dorm nightstand, rattling like it’s personally offended I’m still asleep. I groan, roll over, and slap at the screen until the noise dies. My body feels heavy, like I spent the whole night running even though I shifted back hours ago. “Up,” Vera mumbles from the other bed, her voice muffled by her pillow. “We have class in forty minutes.” I sit up slowly, rubbing my eyes. Sunlight spills through the blinds, striping the room in warm gold. My wolf stretches inside me, restless and alert, like she’s been awake long before I was. “Morning,” I mutter. Vera lifts her head. Her curls are a wild halo, and she squints at me like I’m a suspicious creature she hasn’t decided to trust yet. “You look like you got hit by a truck.” “Feel like it too.” I drag myself to the bathroom, flick on the light, and stare at my reflection. Same face as always — dark hair, brown eyes, skin still flushed from last night’s run. Normal. Completely normal. Except for the one thing that makes everyone treat me like I’m a walking omen. No scent. I lean closer to the mirror, inhaling. Nothing. No wolf signature. No identity. No trace of who I am. Just emptiness. A flicker of light sparks above the mirror — the bulb buzzing sharply before settling. I freeze. It happens sometimes. Lights flickering when I’m emotional. Electronics glitching. Plants leaning toward me when I walk by. Little things. Things I pretend not to notice. I shake it off, brush my teeth, and pull on jeans and a black sweater. My hair goes into a loose braid, and I grab my bag before stepping back into the room. Ophelia is awake now, sitting cross‑legged on her bed with her notebook open. Her long, soft brown hair falls over her shoulder as she looks up at me with a sleepy smile. “Morning, Kendra.” “Morning.” She studies me for a second, her empathic senses probably picking up more than I want her to. “Rough night?” “Just tired.” The three of us head out together, joining the morning rush of Silvercrest University. Students fill the hallways — laughing, talking, shoving books into bags. The air is thick with scents: pine, citrus, smoke, lavender, musk. Wolves everywhere. And then there’s me. The moment I step into the main corridor, the shift happens. Conversations dip. Eyes flick toward me, then away. People move aside like I’m carrying a disease. Ophelia notices first. “Ignore them.” “I always do.” But it still stings. No matter how strong I am, no matter how easily I shift, no matter how fast my wolf runs — the scentlessness overshadows everything. Wolves rely on scent for identity, trust, instinct. And I have none. We reach the lecture hall for Bio‑Magical Systems. Ophelia waves us toward our usual seats. Vera drops into the chair beside me with a dramatic sigh. “If Flint’s in a good mood today, maybe he won’t be a jerk,” she mutters. I try not to react. Flint Storm — future Alpha, chemical engineering major, campus golden boy — has been my crush since first year. He’s everything I’m not: adored, respected, scented. And he’s never looked at me twice. The professor starts droning about metabolic pathways, and I try to focus — until a shadow falls over my desk. I look up. One of Flint’s friends stands there, smirking like he owns the place. He drops a folded note onto my notebook. “From Flint.” My heart stutters. I unfold the note with trembling fingers. Lunch? Just you and me. — F My breath catches. He noticed me. Finally. Vera leans over immediately. “No. Absolutely not.” Ophelia nods, her voice soft but firm. “Kendra… this feels wrong.” “It’s just lunch,” I whisper. “Flint doesn’t do ‘just lunch,’” Vera counters. “He does ‘publicity.’ He does ‘status.’ He does ‘whatever benefits him.’” Ophelia’s eyes soften. “He’s never talked to you before. Why now?” Because he finally noticed me. Because maybe I’m not invisible. Because maybe being scentless doesn’t make me unworthy. I don’t say any of that out loud. Instead, I shrug. “Maybe he wants to get to know me.” Vera gives me a look — the kind that says she knows something I don’t. “Kendra… it’s a bad idea.” Before I can respond, a faint vibration hums beneath my fingertips. I glance down. The metal ring around my pen is trembling — just slightly, like it’s reacting to something inside me. I pull my hand back quickly. Not now. Not here. The professor calls for attention, but I barely hear him. My pulse is loud in my ears. Flint Storm wants to have lunch with me. For once, I feel seen. Class ends, and students file out quickly, giving me a wide berth. Vera and Ophelia flank me like bodyguards, glaring at anyone who stares too long. We step into the main hallway — and everything goes silent. Not because of me this time. Because of him. Ryder Lowe. He walks with his head slightly bowed, carrying a stack of books against his chest. His clothes are simple, worn. His posture small. He looks like an omega — quiet, invisible, forgettable. Except he isn’t. Not to me. Not today. He’s surrounded by members of his visiting pack, all of them tall, sharp, and cruel in the way wolves get when they think someone is beneath them. They shove him forward, muttering insults under their breath. But Ryder… Ryder moves like he’s used to it. Like he’s learned to fold himself smaller and smaller until he takes up no space at all. My chest tightens. Then — his eyes lift. And land on me. Not a glance. Not a flicker. A hit. Like he wasn’t expecting to see me but can’t look away now that he has. My breath catches. His eyes are a stormy gray, deep and unreadable. But something flickers behind them — something ancient, something powerful, something that makes my wolf sit up inside me, ears forward. The pull in my chest slams into me again, harder this time. Vera whispers, “Why is he looking at you like that?” I can’t answer. Ryder’s jaw tightens. His shoulders stiffen. His wolf — I can feel it — surges forward, pressing against him like it wants out. One of his packmates shoves him. “Move, omega.” Ryder doesn’t react. His eyes stay locked on mine, intense, almost… furious. The lights above us flicker. Ophelia gasps softly. “Kendra…” I swallow hard, my heart pounding. The air feels charged, electric, like the moment before a storm breaks. Ryder’s Beta leans toward him, murmuring something I can’t hear. Ryder doesn’t blink. Doesn’t breathe. Doesn’t look away. Then, without warning, he turns and walks off, scrambling to keep up with his Beta. The hallway exhales. Vera grabs my arm. “Kendra. What was that?” “I… don’t know.” But I do. Deep down, in the place where instinct lives, I know exactly what that was. And it terrifies me.