MELISSA’S POV

“What?” My voice cracked so loudly it turned a few heads around me.

“What the hell do you mean I need to find my way? You can’t pick me up? You freaking cancelled all my plans and dragged me over here!”

My grip tightened around my phone, knuckles whitening as I stood just outside the airport entrance.

People moved around me—laughing, hugging, taxis honking—but none of it mattered.

I was fuming. No… furious didn’t even begin to cover it.

Just a week ago, I had been in Paris, living my life, enjoying everything for once. Then my mother ruined it with just one call and a single command; “Come home immediately,” with no goddamn explanation attached.

“You’ve got some nerve raising your voice at me, Melissa,” her sharp voice snapped through the phone.

“It seems those two years in Paris erased whatever manners you had left.”

Of course. Of course she would twist this into my fault.

I swallowed hard, forcing the anger down even though it burned. “I’m… sorry.”

“I’m on vacation with my lover,” she said bluntly. “I’ve already made arrangements for you to stay at the Houstons’ until I return.”

"You’ll be enrolled in school immediately, and if you decide you don’t want to stay there, then you can rot on the streets until I get back. Do not call me. Do not fucking disturb my vacation again!”

“Mom, I…”

Beep. Beep. Beep.

The line went dead.

I slowly lowered the phone, staring at the screen as my reflection stared back at me—wide eyes, racing heart, anger bubbling underneath.

The Houston’s house.

A mix of relief and dread twisted inside me. I wasn’t afraid of staying with them—they were more of a family than my own—but there was one person I couldn’t face. Clinton Houston.

There were two things I hated most about my life:

One, being my mother’s puppet who she can bend to her will at any freaky time.

Two, the fact that no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get my best friend's brother out of my head. Two years in Paris, and still… nothing changed.

A growl slipped past my lips as I kicked at the air, gripping my suitcase.

“Unbelievable…” I muttered. I had just landed, and now I was stranded.

Suddenly a sleek black car rolled to a stop in front of me. I frowned slightly, lifting my gaze…and my breath almost stopped.

Clinton. Fucking. Houston.

Time froze.

He looked… dangerously different. Broader shoulders stretching his shirt, a sharper jaw dusted with faint stubble, hair slightly longer in that careless way that only made him look better. And his eyes—those cold, piercing eyes—still the same, still capable of undoing me in seconds.

My lips parted slightly, my heart slamming hard against my ribs.

God… I wanted to kiss him.

“Are you going to keep staring,” his deep, cold voice cut through my thoughts, “or are you getting in the car?”

I blinked, snapping out of it, biting my lip hard. That was when I noticed my suitcase was gone. Right—I had been too busy staring like an idiot to notice he had already taken it and put it in the trunk.

I exhaled slowly and forced my legs to move, walking to the car and sliding into the back seat.

The moment I sat down, my eyes betrayed me, lifting straight to the mirror…straight to him, his reflection stared back.

Two minutes. Just two minutes after two years, and I was already losing it.

‘Lord, save me,’ I prayed silently. ‘Don't let me lose my sanity.’

I tore my gaze away, focusing on the road as we drove. The silence was suffocating, his scent filling every inch of space.

Immediately the car stopped, I stepped out quickly, inhaling deeply like I had escaped something.

My eyes lifted to the Houston’s villa, and warmth spread through my chest instantly.

“Mel!”

A blur rushed at me, and the next second, I was on the ground.

“Ow…!” I winced as Brittany crashed into me, wrapping her arms tightly around me.

“I missed the hell outta you!” she squealed.

Despite the pain, I found myself laughing. “Britt, you’re crushing me!”

“I don’t care! I’m never letting you go again!”

I rolled my eyes, still laughing. “We literally video call every day.”

She pulled back slightly, grinning. “Video call is the key word. Having you here is better.” She hugged me again. “You’re stuck with me now.”

“You’d crush her ribs if you keep holding her like that,” a voice drawled from behind. “Let her go, little bison.”

Brittany immediately pulled away. “I’m not a bison,” she mumbled.

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh as I looked up at Mr. and Mrs. Houston.

Without thinking, I ran into their arms, hugging them tightly and I felt that familiar warmth of safety spread across my heart— it felt like home.

“We missed you too, little pup,” Mrs. Houston, Luna Selene, said softly.

Pup. The word sent a tiny shiver down my spine.

I almost forgot! The Houstons weren't just a wealthy, powerful family in Michigan. They were werewolves.

​It sounded crazy, even to me. I was 100% human, yet my second family were shifters.

My mother had made a lot of terrible choices, but placing me under the protection of the Alpha and Luna of the Lockwood Pack was the one thing she’d gotten right.

The pack was hidden in plain sight, and while most people would be terrified, I felt safer here than anywhere else. To the pack, I wasn't an outsider; I was someone to be protected.

“You’ve grown,” Mr. Houston, Alpha Nathaniel, added. “Much bigger, little vixen.”

I laughed softly, the familiar nicknames wrapping around me like comfort.

For a moment, everything felt okay… until I felt that cold presence behind me. Clintons’. I didn’t dare turn.

Lunch was torture. I kept my eyes on my plate, avoiding his gaze, pretending he didn’t exist, but I could feel his eyes on me. Every single time.

The moment we were done, Brittany dragged me upstairs to my old room. The sight of it made my chest tighten. Nothing had changed.

“I missed this,” I whispered.

“So why did your mom suddenly drag you back?” Britt asked, nudging me, completely ignoring my fawning.

“I don’t know… and I don’t think I’m going back anytime soon.”

Her eyes lit up. “Good. Finally something she did right.” I shot her a look, and she laughed it off.

“Anyway, my dad already handled your school stuff. You… Nope, weee are to resume tomorrow. Together!”

“Tomorrow?” I groaned.

“Yes! And I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

I just stared at her, smiling faintly. I missed this. I missed her, always chattering, I missed her excitement. I missed her!

“Oh! There’s a hockey match tomorrow,” she added. “I’m going to support my mate—and yeah, we’ll have to see Clinton’s annoying face since he’s the hockey captain…”

“What? He’s the hockey captain?” I blurted before I could stop myself.

She blinked. “Yeah… he’s the captain.”

My stomach dropped. Even at school, there was no escaping him.

God… how was I supposed to survive this?

​“Mel,” Britt’s voice suddenly turned cold. I looked up to find her staring at me with narrowed eyes. “Do not tell me you still have a crush on my brother.”

​I felt my face heat up.

I’d forgotten how well she knew me— especially since she knew how much of a crush I had on her brother two years ago and most importantly, I’d forgotten she could read my tells like an open book.

​“Don't make me laugh, Britt,” I forced a chuckle, hoping I didn't sound as breathless as I felt. “That was years ago. It was just a childish crush. Of course I don't anymore.”

​I prayed to every god listening that I sounded convincing. But the way Britt’s eyebrows rose suggested I’d failed miserably. She stared at me like she didn’t believe a word.

“Good,” she finally said. “Because he has a girlfriend now. He found his mate… and trust me, she’s not someone you want to mess with.”

Everything inside me stilled.

“Clinton… has a girlfriend?” I whispered, my chest tightening painfully as something deep inside me cracked all over again.

MELISSA'S POV

“Miss Melissa Walton?” the principal’s voice pulled me out of my thoughts, and I quickly nodded, straightening where I stood.

“Yes, sir.”

He gave a brief nod and began typing something into his computer. The clicking of the keyboard filled the quiet office, making the atmosphere feel even more stiff than it already was.

I shifted slightly, clasping my hands together, my eyes wandering around the room in an attempt to ease the awkwardness crawling up my spine.

This was unnecessary.

I didn’t even need to be here. Everything had already been handled—Dad; Mr Houston— had made sure of that. All I had to do was show up and sign.

Still, standing here like this felt… uncomfortable.

I exhaled softly, glancing toward the door. Brittany was waiting outside for me, probably pacing or complaining about something random. I just wanted to be done with this and get out.

“Alright,” the principal finally said, looking up at me. “Welcome to Rayville High, Miss Walton. You’ll be joining the eleventh grade.”

“These are some important details and a map of the school.” He slid a file and a folded paper across the desk.

“Thank you,” I replied quickly, grabbing the items and making it to the door.

The moment I stepped out of the office, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

“Finally!” Brittany rushed toward me, eyes bright. “How was it?”

I nodded. “Fine.”

“See? Not so hard.” She nudged my shoulder playfully.

“What class were you put in?” she asked immediately.

“Eleventh grade. Same as you.”

Her face lit up instantly. “Yes!” she squealed, throwing her arms around me and jumping slightly. “This is perfect!”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re acting like a child.”

“And you love it,” she shot back with a grin.

Before I could reply, the sharp sound of the bell rang through the hallway. Brittany froze, her eyes widening as she checked the time.

“Wait—what? It’s already 10:30?” she panicked, then snapped toward me.

I frowned. “What's happening by 10:30? Lunch time?" I asked, and almost palm faced myself at the dumb question.

“The hockey competition, you idiot! How could you forget?!” Brittany shrieked.

“I…” I didn’t even get to finish before she grabbed my hand and bolted.

Students were already rushing in the same direction, and no matter how much I tried to pull back, it was useless—her werewolf strength dragged me along like I weighed nothing.

By the time she finally stopped, I was clutching my chest, gasping for air while she waved excitedly at someone ahead.

My gaze followed hers, landing first on the guy she was smiling at—her mate, apparently. I wouldn’t lie, he was hot….

My breath hitched. Standing right beside him, was… Clinton.

His hair was damp, falling slightly over his face, his hockey uniform hugging his body in a way that made it impossible not to stare.

And those eyes—those piercing blue eyes—God. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to breathe.

“Let’s go, they’re starting,” Brittany said, already pulling me again. I muttered a weak “okay” and followed, even though every instinct in me screamed to run the other way.

Of course, she dragged me to the front row. I bit my lip, already regretting my life choices of coming over as the referee blew the whistle.

The match started fast and aggressively.

Lockwood team moved like a well-oiled machine, their coordination sharp and precise, while Iron Claw pushed back with equal force, their players slamming into each other with sheer intensity.

The sound of skates cutting across the ice, sticks clashing, bodies colliding keep echoing but Clinton… he was on another level.

He moved like he owned the ice—swift, controlled, untouchable. He dodged players effortlessly, his grip on the stick firm as he maneuvered the puck with insane precision, passing, retrieving, scoring.

At one point, he slammed his stick against the puck so hard it flew straight into the goal, the net shaking as the crowd erupted.

But I barely heard them. My eyes were locked on him.

Every movement.

Every shift of his body.

The way his muscles flexed, the way his focus narrowed—it consumed me.

My mind betrayed me, drifting into dangerous thoughts, imagining his hands on me, gripping me just as firmly as he held that stick, controlling me, ruining me slowly.

Heat pooled low in my stomach and I swallowed hard, pressing my thighs together slightly.

Suddenly roars engulfed me, snapping me out of my imagination. Everyone was cheering.

I blinked, looking around before my eyes landed on the scoreboard.

Lockwood: 200. Iron Claw: 80.

They won. Of course they did. It was Clinton’s team anyways and he wasn’t someone who lost.

“Come on!” Brittany grabbed my hand again, dragging me toward the exit where the players were already coming out and the moment she saw her mate, she jumped on him.

“You won! Oh my god, you were so good out there!” she gushed, burying her face in his neck.

I stood there awkwardly, watching them. I didn't even catch the guy's name, but I knew Brittany was exaggerating—half the time he had been on the bench.

That was the mate bond for you; it turned even the most rational person into a fangirl.

Then, without even a glance back at me, her mate began to lead her away toward the parking lot, and Britt went willingly, totally lost in his presence.

Unbelievable! The girl who sworn she’d never let me go just ditched me for a guy in a jersey.

I wanted to yell after her, but I kept my mouth shut, feeling like a third wheel in my own life.

I turned to leave, wanting to get as far away from the locker rooms as possible before Clinton walked out. I didn't want him to see me standing there like a lost puppy.

Thud!

A heavy sound echoed behind me, followed by someone screaming, “Clinton!”

​I whirled around, my heart dropping into my stomach. There, lying flat on the concrete floor just outside the rink doors, was Clinton.

He was gasping, his chest heaving violently as he struggled for air. His face was turning a terrifying shade of pale, and a crowd was already starting to swarm him.

​“Move! Get back!” I yelled, my legs moving before my brain could catch up. I shoved through the gathering students, dropping to my knees beside him.

​I pulled his head onto my lap, my hands trembling. “Give him space! Everyone back up! He needs air!” The crowd recoiled slightly at the authority in my voice.

I pressed my palm against his chest, feeling his heart racing at a frantic, irregular rhythm. His eyes were starting to roll back in his head, his body beginning to go limp.

​“Clinton? Clinton, look at me!”

​He didn't respond. He was passing out!

Panic flared in my chest, and without a second thought, I tilted his head back, pinched his nose, and dove down.

​I pressed my lips to his, forcing air into his lungs.

​The entire world went silent. The screams of the students, the humming of the ice machines, the thumping of my own heart—it all vanished. There was only the taste of him and the desperate need to bring him back.

Suddenly, he gasped! Jerking upward.

He let out a sharp, ragged gasp, and his eyes flung open. They weren't just blue anymore; they were a glowing, deepest shade of electric sapphire.

A thick, heavy aura exploded from him, making the air around us feel heavy and charged with electricity.

​I quickly pulled away, my breath coming in ragged gasps as I tried to untangle myself.

He sat up abruptly, his movements jerky and powerful. His gaze locked onto mine, burning with an intensity so fierce it felt like it was branding my soul.

​A deep, guttural growl vibrated in his chest, a sound that wasn't entirely human.

​“Mate,” he rasped.

MELISSA'S POV

“Mate…?”

My voice didn’t come out, but I heard it in my head—loud, panicked, echoing.

My heart began pounding so hard it felt like it would burst right out of my chest. I could hear every beat, ringing in my ears.

No.

No, that wasn’t possible.

I couldn’t be his mate.

I was human.

And besides… Brittany told me last night—he already found his mate. He had a girlfriend.

So what was that?

What did he just say?

I must have heard wrong.

I had to.

“What’s going on here?”

A sharp, shrill voice sliced through the tension of the hallway. The sound seemed to snap Clinton out of his trance.

He immediately let go of my hand, the electric heat of his touch vanishing, and I watched his eyes fade from that terrifying sapphire back to their usual, icy light blue.

The crowd of students began to peel away as a girl stepped forward.

She was beautiful in a sharp, dangerous way, flanked by two girls who were clearly her minions. She stared at me with a look of such pure, unadulterated contempt that I felt myself shrink.

“How dare you touch my man!” she snapped.

My breath caught.

So… this was her.

His girlfriend.

His mate.

Something inside my chest twisted painfully, like it was being crushed.

I didn’t understand it. I shouldn’t feel like this. I should be relieved that his mate—it wasn’t me.

That was what I wanted… right?

Then why did it hurt so much?

I swallowed, forcing myself to stand as Clinton rose to his feet.

“I…he passed out,” I said quickly, my voice slightly shaky. “I was just trying to help. I only gave him CPR, nothing more…”

“You did what?” she shrieked, her voice rising sharply. “You fucking kissed my boyfriend?!”

Before I could even blink, a sharp crack echoed through the hall. My head snapped to the side, my cheek exploding in a burst of white-hot pain.

I gasped, my hand flying to my face as tears immediately blurred my vision. I could have sworn I saw stars.

“You bitch!” she continued, her voice filled with rage. “How dare you touch him!”

“How—how dare you touch her!”

The roar didn't come from her.

Everyone’s gaze swung toward Clinton.

His fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles were white, and his eyes were blazing with a fury so intense it made the air feel like it was vibrating. His jaw was locked, his entire body radiating pure fury as he took a slow step forward.

“How dare you lay your hand on her, Cassandra?”

Fear flashed across her face instantly. She stumbled back, shaking her head slightly.

Clinton’s teeth clenched. “Apologize to her.”

She swallowed, not daring to move.

Before I could blink, his hand shot out, wrapping around her throat and lifting her slightly off the ground. She clawed at his hand, struggling, gasping for air.

“I said,” his voice dropped, darker, more dangerous, “apologize. Now.”

“Clinton!” I rushed forward, panic flooding me as I grabbed his arm. “Please…it’s fine! Let her go, you’ll kill her!”

Her face had already turned pale, her struggles weakening.

“I—I’m…” she choked out.

He released her instantly.

She dropped to the ground, coughing violently, clutching her throat. “I’m… sorry,” she stuttered.

I swallowed hard, unsure what to even say.

But before I could respond…Clinton grabbed my hand and pulled me away.

I didn’t resist. I just followed.

My mind was spinning, but beneath it all… there was a strange, unfamiliar warmth spreading through my chest.

He stood up for me.

Clinton—the cold, distant Clinton—stood up for me!

He pushed open a door, pulling me inside, and only then did I realize where we were.

The female washroom.

My breath caught slightly as he pulled his shirt over his head without hesitation, tossing it aside.

I froze.

He was… shirtless.

My eyes widened despite myself, my gaze instantly dropping to his torso. His abs were perfectly defined, every line sharp, every muscle sculpted like something unreal.

Better than I imagined.

Way better.

I barely registered him turning on the tap, soaking his shirt before pressing it gently against my cheek.

The cold fabric made me flinch slightly, but I didn’t move.

I couldn’t.

Because my thoughts had completely betrayed me.

I wanted to touch him, to run my fingers over his abs, feel how hard they were, how real…

Suddenly, his hand caught mine.

My breath hitched as I slowly looked down. My hand had unconsciously already moved halfway toward him.

Heat rushed to my face instantly.

“I... I...” I stammered, my face heating up until it rivaled the slap mark on my cheek.

​His index finger pressed against my lips, silencing me.

I swallowed hard, the sensation sending a jolt of electricity straight to my core. He wasn't looking at me anymore though, his gaze had shifted to one of the closed stalls at the end of the row.

​He walked over, his movements quiet and calculated, and kicked the door open.

​“Ah!”

​Brittany and her mate scrambled apart instantly, the guy frantically buckling his belt while Britt looked like she wanted the floor to swallow her whole.

I rolled my eyes. Clinton must have tracked her scent, but the level of rage on his face seemed extreme, even for an overprotective brother.

Before I comprehend what was happening, he grabbed the guy by the neck and threw him out of the stall like he weighed nothing. The guy hit the floor hard, barely able to react before Clinton was on him, fists slamming down repeatedly.

“Clinton, stop!” Brittany rushed forward, grabbing his arm, dropping to her knees. “Please, stop! You’re hurting him!”

He shoved her off like she was nothing and stood up, running a frustrated hand through his hair.

“Get the fuck out,” he snapped.

The guy didn’t dare wait another second, even though he was bleeding, stumbling, he ran.

I stood there, completely lost.

What just happened?

Why would Clinton beat up Brittany's mate like that?

And why did Brittany look like she had just committed a crime?

Clinton turned to her, his expression still dark, dangerous. “You better have a damn good explanation for this,” he muttered. “Or you’re done. You hear me?”

Tears streamed down Brittany’s face.

That was enough.

I rushed to her side, crouching down. “Clinton, that’s enough,” I said firmly. “I don’t know what she did, but please… just let it go.”

He looked at me, ran a hand through his hair again, like he was trying to hold himself together and then… he exhaled sharply.

“Do you even know what she just did?” he started, his voice tight…

Then he stopped and I watched his jaw clenched.

“You two,” he said coldly, stepping back. “Get to class.”

And just like that… he turned and walked away.