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.

MELISSA’S POV

“Grrr…”

The low scrape of chairs echoed as the bell rang, and almost immediately, the teacher packed up his things and walked out like he had somewhere better to be.

The students followed suit, chatter filling the classroom as bags zipped and footsteps shuffled.

I didn’t move immediately, Instead, my eyes slowly drifted to Brittany.

Ever since the incident in the washroom… she had been off. Too quiet. Too still. Like someone had drained all the life out of her.

At some point during class, I could’ve sworn I saw tears in her eyes, but she wiped them so fast I almost doubted myself.

Something was wrong.

Really wrong.

I didn’t know what exactly, and I didn’t want to push her, but at the same time… I hated seeing her like this. This wasn’t my Britt. She was loud, dramatic, full of energy—not this hollow version sitting beside me.

From what little I understood, Clinton probably didn’t approve of whoever she was with and got angry seeing them together.

Which, honestly? Was completely unfair. He was her mate for fuck sake!

I sighed quietly and reached for her bag, helping her pack up without a word. She didn’t protest. Didn’t even react much.

“Can we go home now?” I asked softly, tapping her arm.

She nodded and stood up, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

We walked out in silence.

The parking lot was almost empty by the time we got there. A few cars remained scattered around, and among them was… Clinton’s car.

Right.

Dad had mentioned it that morning that we’d be going home with him.

I swallowed hard and opened the back door, sliding in. Brittany got in beside me without a word.

My eyes lifted instinctively to the mirror, just enough to see his physique staring back at me.

He was dressed casually now, his expression blank as ever, like nothing had happened earlier. Like he didn’t almost kill someone. Like he didn’t… call me…

I quickly looked away.

“Can you stop grooming already?” his voice cut through the silence.

I blinked, then realized he was talking to Brittany.

She stiffened beside me. “I’m sorry… I—I… please don’t tell Dad and Mom, I…”

A low growl left his throat and instantly the hair on my arms stood on edge. I felt myself shrink into the leather seat.

“Get a grip of yourself, Brittany,” he snapped, his voice tight with restrained anger. “You better stop grooming, or I can’t promise I won’t kill that freaking bastard.”

Brittany let out a small, awkward laugh, like she was trying to brush it off, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I'm fine."

“Better,” Clinton muttered.

I just blinked, looking between the two of them.

Werewolves were strange, but these two were on an entirely different level of complicated.

Clinton kicked the engine to life, and we peeled out of the lot.

The rest of the ride was silent.

Uncomfortably silent.

By the time we got home, I didn’t wait. I opened the door and stepped out first, inhaling deeply as if I had been holding my breath the entire time.

Brittany followed, but instead of waiting, she walked straight inside and disappeared upstairs without a word.

I sighed.

First day of school and it had been an unmitigated disaster.

“Melissa.”

My body stiffened at the sound of his voice behind me.

I turned slowly. “Yes?”

Clinton’s gaze held mine for a brief moment before he spoke. ​“I want to apologize on Cassie’s behalf,” he said, his voice level. “It won't repeat itself in the future.”

​My chest tightened, a sharp pang of jealousy blooming where I didn't want it.

He was apologizing for her.

He must really adore his mate, enough to clean up her mess!

I nodded quickly. “It’s fine.”

I didn’t trust my voice enough to say more.

I turned to leave, rushing upstairs and bumped straight into… Mom— Mrs. Houston.

“Oh…sorry,” I said quickly, lowering my head slightly. “Good afternoon, Mom.”

“I was just coming to see you.” She smiled warmly.

“Is everything okay?” I blinked.

“Yes,” she said gently. “I just wanted to tell you to stay indoors for the rest of the day. Preferably in your room after dinner.”

I frowned slightly.

“It’s the full moon tonight. You know how it gets with wolves during heat.” She added quickly.

Oh.

Right.

“And Brittany and Clinton’s mates will be joining us for dinner,” she continued. “So you’ll meet them properly before… everything begins.”

I nodded. “Okay.”

It still felt strange.

Two years ago, none of them had found their mates.

Now…everything had changed and here I was gonna feel like a stranger in my own home.

“How was school?” she asked.

“Fine,” I replied quickly, not wanting to get into everything.

She smiled and nodded, and I took that as my escape. “I’ll go freshen up.”

“Alright.”

I practically rushed to my room.

The moment the door shut behind me, I let out a long breath and dropped my bag onto the bed.

“What a day…” I muttered.

My hand slowly rose to my cheek, and I winced slightly at the lingering pain. I brushed it off and headed into the bathroom, hoping a shower would clear my head.

Well…it didn't. I sure lost track of time and the warm water helped, but it didn’t fix anything.

Suddenly, a knock came at the door, pulling me out of my thoughts.

“Yes?” I called.

“The Alpha requests your presence in the dining room,” a maid’s voice came through the door.

“I’ll be there.”

I changed quickly and made my way downstairs, my steps slower this time.

I greeted my foster parents, and they responded warmly as always. I sat down quietly as the maids served the food.

“Little vixen,” Dad called, clearing his throat. “I’d like you to meet our guests.”

I nodded, lifting my gaze…And froze.

Cassandra.

And… another guy.

Clinton sat beside Cassandra, eating like none of this concerned him, while Brittany sat next to the guy, her expression cold and distant.

“This is Cassandra Norman,” Dad said, gesturing toward her. “Clinton’s mate.”

I nodded stiffly, avoiding her gaze.

“And this,” he continued, pointing at the guy, “is Franklin Jones. Brittany’s mate.”

My eyes widened.

Wait…what?

“He… he’s Brittany’s mate?” I stuttered.

“Yes,” he replied. “Have you two met before?”

“No,” I said quickly, shaking my head.

And suddenly…everything made sense.

The boy at the rink, Clinton’s anger, Brittany’s tears…it all made sense.

She wasn’t with her mate. She was cheating!

My well cultured Brittany was cheating on her mate!

My chest tightened painfully as I lowered my gaze to my plate.

I couldn’t even taste the food anymore.

After a few forced bites, I pushed my chair back. “I’m full.”

“Alright, vixen.” Dad smiled, watching me get on my feet.

“It’s almost 7:45. The full moon will be out soon, so stay in your room.” Mom reminded.

“I will,” I said and walked out quickly.

The moment I got to my room and shut the door, my heart started racing again.

Why would Brittany do that?

Why?

I walked toward the window, staring at the sky. The moon was almost full, glowing softly against the darkening sky.

Soon, it would rise completely and they would all…

I swallowed hard.

I shouldn’t be thinking about that, but my mind betrayed me.

What if…

What if it was me?

What if I was the one…

I shook my head quickly, stepping away from the window.

“No,” I whispered.

I didn’t want that.

Or maybe…

I did.

I didn’t even know anymore.

Time passed without me noticing until the moon finally rose, full and bright.

I shut the curtains and walked to my bed, laying down and pulling the duvet over myself.

If I slept, maybe tomorrow would be better, maybe everything would make sense. But no matter how hard I tried, I kept turning and turning and turning. Sleep wouldn’t come.

My mind refused to shut up.

“Help… save me…” A aching voice echoed in my head and immediately… my eyes snapped open.

I sat up instantly, my heart pounding violently as I looked around the room.

No one.

“Help… save me…”

The voice echoed again…Inside my head.

My breath hitched. No…No way.

I'd…I’d never mistake that voice.

Clintons’