"Move your shoulder, Scotty. You're blocking the doorframe."

"Walk around me, Camille. You have legs."

"I will step on your shoes."

"You can try."

I shoved my elbow directly into Scotty Mercer’s ribs. He didn't even flinch. He just leaned his weight against the metal frame of the classroom door, trapping me in the hallway.

"Move," I demanded, glaring up at him.

"Say please," he replied, a maddening smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.

"I would rather swallow a live grenade."

"Your loss." He finally pushed off the doorframe and strolled into the classroom.

Silverthorn High wasn't a normal school. Every single student sitting at these wooden desks carried werewolf blood. Hierarchy was everything. Talent dictated your future.

And Scotty Mercer was the golden boy of the entire city.

He claimed the window seat at our shared desk in the back row. I dropped my bag onto the chair next to him, instantly annoyed by the way his long legs sprawled into my space.

"You're crossing the invisible line," I told him.

"Draw a real one, then," he challenged.

I unzipped my pencil pouch, pulled out a silver gel pen, and slapped it onto the desk. "Keep your elbows on your side."

Before I could even open my notebook, Scotty’s hand shot out. He snatched the silver pen.

"Give it back, Scotty."

"Give what back?" He spun the metallic barrel between his knuckles.

"My pen. The one you just swiped."

"I found this on the wood. Finders keepers, Thorne."

"It was on my half of the desk."

"Your half is debatable."

I reached for the pen. He lifted it entirely out of my reach.

Mr. Harrison walked into the room, clapping his hands to signal the start of homeroom. The rest of the class immediately quieted down. The Mercer family and the Thorne family were the two highest Alpha lineages in the territory. Everyone else knew better than to interrupt us.

"Scotty?" a quiet voice whispered from the aisle.

We both looked over. Maya, a Beta from a decent family, leaned out of her seat. She held out a perfectly folded piece of paper.

"I finished the AP History study guide," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "If you want to copy it."

Scotty’s expression flatlined. The playful glint in his eyes vanished. He looked at the girl with a freezing arrogance that made him the school's untouchable idol.

"No," he said.

Maya shrank back, her cheeks flushing red. She quickly turned around and buried her face in a textbook.

He didn't care. He turned his attention straight back to me, and the ice melted instantly. He reached out and yanked the hood of my sweatshirt.

"Hey!" I swatted his hand away.

"Your hair is a disaster today, Cami," he whispered. "Did you fight a lawnmower on the way to school?"

"I fought my alarm clock. Now I'm fighting you."

"You're losing."

He was right. I always lost. Scotty had shifted into his wolf form at thirteen. A terrifyingly massive, pitch-black wolf with power that forced even seniors to bare their necks. He was the undisputed future Alpha of his pack.

And me? I was seventeen, and my wolf was completely dormant.

"Mr. Harrison is going to give us detention," I muttered, trying to pull my hood back up.

"He won't." Scotty kicked my ankle under the desk. "He's terrified of my dad. And yours."

I kicked him back, aiming for his shin. "You're unbearable."

"You love it."

"I would rather chew glass."

"You'd break a tooth. You don't have the healing factor yet, remember?"

The words hit me like a physical blow. My jaw tightened. I stared straight ahead at the chalkboard, refusing to look at him.

He noticed the shift. He always did.

"Aw, did I hit a nerve?" he murmured. He leaned closer. I felt the heat radiating off his arm.

"Back off, Mercer."

"Just stating facts, Thorne. Everyone else in this room shifted by fifteen. Even Maya."

"I said drop it." My voice dropped an octave, shaking slightly.

"Why?" He tilted his head, studying my profile. "Are you scared?"

"I'm not scared of anything."

"Right. You're just a late bloomer." He tapped the silver pen against the wood of our desk. "Really late. Dangerously late."

"Shut your mouth." I gripped the edges of my notebook. The paper crumpled under my fingers.

"What happens if you never shift?" he pushed, relentless. "What happens to the great Thorne legacy?"

"It's none of your business."

"We're neighbors. Our parents have dinner every Sunday. It is my business." He dropped the pen and crossed his arms. "Maybe the Alpha blood skipped a generation."

"One more word, Scotty."

"Maybe you're just a dud."

I turned my head and glared at him. "Do you ever shut up?"

"What if you're an Omega, Cami?"

The entire classroom went dead silent. Mr. Harrison stopped talking mid-sentence. The scratching of pencils ceased. Everyone heard it.

An Omega. The lowest of the low. A servant class in our brutal hierarchy.

The insult burned through my veins. My vision tinted red. My hands shook, not from fear, but from an explosive, uncontrollable rage.

I didn't think. I just reacted.

I stood up, grabbed the heavy oak desk by the edge, and heaved it upward with every ounce of strength I possessed.

Wood cracked loudly. Metal screeched against the tile floor.

The desk flipped entirely, crashing onto its side with a deafening bang. Textbooks, pens, and papers flew everywhere. Scotty’s perfectly organized notes scattered across the aisle.

Gasps echoed through the room. Someone in the back row cursed out loud.

"Camille Thorne!" Mr. Harrison shouted, his face turning purple.

I ignored the teacher. I stood over the overturned desk, my chest heaving, glaring down at Scotty.

He hadn't moved. He was still sitting in his chair, completely exposed now that the desk was gone. His hands rested loosely on his lap.

He should have been furious. I had just humiliated the future Alpha in front of his loyal subjects.

Instead, Scotty looked down at the mess, then slowly looked up at me.

He threw his head back and laughed.

It wasn't a cruel laugh. It was loud, bright, and utterly delighted. The sound sent a shockwave of confusion through the classroom. Nobody laughed when they were publicly challenged.

"There's the fire," Scotty said, wiping a tear from his eye.

He stood up, towering over me. "I was wondering when you'd finally snap."

"You're a psychopath," I spat.

"And you're suspended," Mr. Harrison yelled, marching down the aisle toward us. "Principal's office. Both of you. Now!"

Scotty stepped over a scattered textbook and closed the distance between us. He ignored the teacher completely. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

"Meet me by the old gym after school," he whispered, his tone stripping away all the teasing from seconds before.

I pulled back, narrowing my eyes. "Why would I do that?"

"Because I know why your wolf is hiding," he replied quietly. "And you're not going to like the truth."

"Two days of detention," I muttered, kicking a crushed soda can across the courtyard.

"A minor penalty for redecorating Mr. Harrison's classroom," Scotty replied, easily keeping pace with my aggressive strides.

"Walk away from me, Mercer."

"We're heading to the same place, Thorne."

He was right. He was always right, and it infuriated me. For three years, I had tried everything to sever the invisible cord tying us together. I begged the guidance counselor to change my electives. I requested different lab partners. I even joined the debate team just to avoid his free period.

The universe simply laughed. We ended up in the same homeroom, the same advanced biology track, and the same gym block. The teachers treated us like a matched set. Our parents acted like our constant proximity was destiny.

"I'm going to the locker room," I told him, stopping at the fork in the concrete path. "Alone."

"See you on the mats," he smirked, turning toward the boys' gym.

Ten minutes later, Coach Miller blew his whistle. The shrill sound bounced off the cinderblock walls of the training center.

"Thorne. Mercer. Center ring," the coach barked.

I groaned, tightening my ponytail. "Why do I always have to spar with the giant?"

"Because I'm the only one who won't snap your collarbone, Cami," Scotty said. He stepped onto the blue foam, his towering frame casting a shadow over my side of the mat.

"Do not call me Cami."

I lunged. I swung my right hook, aiming directly for his jaw. He didn't bother blocking. He merely shifted his weight to the left, letting my momentum carry me forward.

My shoulder slammed into his chest. A ridiculous, scorching heat flared across my skin the second we made contact. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.

Allergic reaction, I told myself, stepping back quickly. I am physically allergic to his ego.

"Your footwork is sloppy," he murmured, his voice a low rumble.

"Shut up and fight."

I kicked out, aiming for his knee. He caught my ankle mid-air. With a swift tug, he pulled my leg forward, sweeping my other foot out from under me.

I fell hard. But right before my spine hit the floor, his hand shot out. He grabbed the fabric at the back of my shirt, taking the brunt of my weight. He always did that. He crushed my pride in front of the entire class, yet somehow, I never walked away with a single bruise.

"Get up, Thorne," he ordered, dropping his hold on my shirt.

"I despise you," I snapped, scrambling to my feet.

"Keep your guard higher next time. You leave your left side wide open."

By fourth period, my exhaustion peaked. Study hall sat in the back of the library, supervised by Mr. Davis, a man who gave out detentions for loud breathing.

Scotty sat across the wooden table from me. He tapped his pencil against the edge. Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Stop it," I whispered, glaring over the top of my history textbook.

"Stop what?" Tap. Tap.

"You are doing that on purpose to ruin my life."

"I'm thinking about calculus."

"Think quieter."

My eyelids felt like lead weights. The adrenaline crash from flipping a desk earlier that morning finally hit my system. I rested my chin on my palm. Just for a second. I told myself I wouldn't close my eyes.

When I woke up, the library clock showed forty minutes had passed. Panic spiked in my chest. Mr. Davis prowled the aisles, hunting for sleepers.

I bolted upright, but the teacher couldn't see me. Scotty had moved his chair to the center of the table. He had propped open a massive, oversized world atlas, creating a perfect wall between Mr. Davis's line of sight and my face.

"You drool when you sleep," Scotty whispered, flipping a page in his notebook without looking at me.

I wiped my mouth. Bone dry. "Liar."

"You're welcome for the cover."

"I didn't ask for your help."

"Good, because you owe me for the biology project." He slid a thick stack of stapled papers across the table.

I stared at the completed assignment. "We were supposed to do this together on Thursday."

"You would have slowed me down." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "You mislabeled the entire cellular structure on page three. I fixed it."

"I am not stupid, Scotty."

"Never said you were. Just said you suck at biology."

Before I could throw the stapled packet at his head, a giggling sound drifted over. Three girls from the cheer squad stopped at our table. The leader, a blonde named Chloe, leaned over Scotty’s chair, invading his personal space.

"Hey, Scotty," Chloe purred, batting her eyelashes. "We're throwing a bonfire pack-party this weekend. You should come."

Scotty glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Maybe."

"I can save you a seat by the fire," she offered, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. She reached out, resting her hand on his shoulder.

A sharp knot pulled tight in my gut. The heat under my skin flared again, but this time it wasn't an allergy. It was pure, unadulterated irritation. Why did they always flock to him? He was arrogant, insufferable, and impossible to deal with.

"He hates bonfires," I blurted out.

Chloe blinked, noticing me for the first time. "Excuse me?"

"Smoke gets in his eyes. He cries like a baby," I lied, keeping my expression entirely flat.

Scotty let out a sharp bark of laughter. He didn't correct me.

Chloe frowned, her cheeks flushing an angry red. She pulled her hand off his shoulder. "Whatever. See you around, Scotty."

She marched off with her friends in tow.

"Jealous, Thorne?" Scotty asked, a smug grin spreading across his face.

"I was saving her from your terrible personality."

"Right." He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. The teasing vanished from his eyes, replaced by an intense, heavy stare that made my throat go dry. "You just can't stand anyone else having my attention."

"I want absolutely none of your attention."

"Then why are you staring at my lips?"

I snapped my gaze up to his eyes. "I wasn't."

"You're a terrible liar." The bell rang overhead, shattering the tension. Scotty stood up, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. "Old gym. Ten minutes. Don't be late."

He walked away before I could argue.

I shoved my books into my bag. My hands shook slightly. I gripped the strap of my backpack, grinding my teeth together. He knew something about my wolf. He knew why I hadn't shifted.

The old gym sat at the far edge of the campus, abandoned since the new athletic center opened three years ago. Rust coated the metal doors. Overgrown weeds choked the concrete steps.

I pushed the heavy door open. The rusted hinges groaned loudly.

Inside, the air smelled like dust and old floorboards. Shadows stretched across the empty basketball court, cast by the late afternoon sun filtering through dirty upper windows.

Scotty stood in the center circle, waiting.

"You actually came," he called out, his voice echoing in the cavernous space.

"Tell me what you know," I demanded, marching straight toward him.

"Impatient."

"Tell me why my wolf won't shift, Scotty. Now."

He closed the distance between us in three long strides. He stopped mere inches from me. I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. The playful arrogance was completely gone, leaving something sharp and dangerous in its place.

"Your wolf isn't dormant, Camille," he said quietly, his eyes darkening to pitch black. "She's hiding."

"From what?"

He reached out, his fingers brushing against my collarbone. A jolt of electricity sparked where his skin met mine.

"From me," he answered.

"Take the water, Scotty. You ran drills all morning."

"No."

"I brought you a protein bar, too. It's chocolate peanut butter."

"I'm not hungry, Tara."

"But—"

"I said no." Scotty's voice snapped shut like a steel trap. He didn't even look at the girl. He kept his eyes fixed on his phone, leaning his broad shoulders against the cafeteria wall.

Tara flushed crimson, clutching her unopened water bottle, and scurried back to the cheerleading table.

I watched the entire exchange from my seat across the lunch table. "You're a monster," I told him.

"I'm setting boundaries," he replied, finally looking up.

"You're being a jerk. She just wanted to hydrate you."

"If I take her water, she thinks we're dating. If I eat her protein bar, we're basically mated." He pushed off the wall and dropped onto the bench right beside me. "I don't want anyone touching my things, and I definitely don't want anyone touching me."

"Then move over. Your thigh is pressing against mine."

"Make me."

I shoved my elbow into his side. He ignored the impact, reaching directly across my tray. His large hand closed around my half-empty bottle of peach iced tea.

"Put that down," I warned.

He unscrewed the cap. "I'm parched."

"You just told Tara you weren't thirsty!"

"I wasn't thirsty for tap water. I want peach tea." He lifted the plastic rim to his mouth, placing his lips exactly where mine had been five minutes ago, and drank half the bottle in one long gulp.

A ridiculous flush crept up my neck. "You are disgusting. Keep it."

"Thanks." He set the bottle down and immediately reached for my open bag of sour cream potato chips.

I slapped his wrist. "Do not touch my food."

"I burn three thousand calories a day, Thorne. Feed the local wildlife." He bypassed my hand, swiped a large chip, and popped it into his mouth.

I glared at him. The entire cafeteria was watching us. They always watched him. He was the pack leader, the football captain, the untouchable Alpha who treated the student body like an inconvenience. Yet here he sat, stealing my lunch and invading my personal space.

"Why do you only harass me?" I asked, pulling the chip bag to my chest.

"You react better."

"I am going to poison your next meal."

"I'll build an immunity."

Before I could formulate a comeback, a loud laugh echoed from the aisle. Jaxson Reed, a junior Alpha from a rival neighborhood, stopped at the edge of our table. He flanked himself with two bulky Beta friends.

"Careful, Scotty," Jaxson sneered, pointing a finger at my chip bag. "Don't eat after Thorne. You might catch the dud gene."

My grip on the crinkled foil tightened.

Scotty stopped chewing.

"What did you say, Reed?" Scotty's tone didn't rise. It dropped, flattening into a deadly, quiet rumble.

Jaxson crossed his arms, puffing out his chest. "I'm just saying, man. Everyone knows her bloodline is completely watered down. Seventeen years old and not even a hint of fangs? She's basically human. Why are you hanging around a broken toy?"

The cafeteria went entirely silent. Forks stopped scraping against plastic trays. Conversations died mid-sentence.

I stared at the table, my nails biting into my palms. Jaxson wasn't the first person to say it, but he was the first to say it loudly, right to my face.

Scotty stood up.

He didn't shout. He didn't shove the table. He simply stepped over the bench and closed the distance between him and Jaxson in two strides.

The air pressure in the room plummeted. A suffocating, heavy weight radiated from Scotty's frame. It pressed down on my chest, making it hard to pull oxygen into my lungs.

Jaxson’s smug smile vanished. His shoulders dropped. The two Beta friends behind him took a synchronized step backward, exposing their necks in instinctual submission.

"Repeat that," Scotty ordered.

Jaxson swallowed hard. His eyes darted toward the exit. "Come on, Scotty, it was just a joke."

"I didn't laugh. Repeat what you just called her."

"I didn't mean anything by it."

"You called her a broken toy." Scotty leaned in, towering over the older boy. "You questioned the Thorne bloodline. You questioned my table."

"I'm sorry," Jaxson stammered, his knees visibly shaking. "I misspoke."

"Apologize to her. Now."

Jaxson shifted his terrified gaze to me. "I'm sorry, Camille."

"Get out of my cafeteria," Scotty commanded.

Jaxson turned and practically sprinted toward the double doors, his friends scrambling right behind him.

The silence lingered. Nobody dared to look at our table. The entire student body kept their eyes glued to their lukewarm pizza slices.

Scotty turned around, the suffocating aura vanishing instantly. He sat back down on the bench, his thigh bumping mine again. He reached over, grabbed another potato chip from my bag, and ate it.

My heart hammered against my ribs. My hands were still shaking, but the anger had shifted targets.

"You didn't have to do that," I snapped.

"Do what?"

"Humiliate him! I can fight my own battles, Scotty."

"You were staring at the table like you wanted to cry."

"I was not going to cry!" I shoved his shoulder. It felt like pushing a brick wall. "I was going to throw my iced tea in his face."

"I drank your iced tea. You had no ammunition."

"Stop making scenes. You terrified the entire room."

He turned his head, fixing his dark eyes on mine. "He insulted you."

"People insult me every day! You insult me every day!"

"That's different."

"How?"

"Because you're my problem, Thorne." He leaned closer, a maddening, arrogant smirk returning to his lips. "Only I get to call you a wolf-less little loser."

My jaw dropped. The gratitude I felt two seconds ago evaporated into pure, fiery rage. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me." He tapped the tip of my nose with his index finger. "You're my personal punching bag. Nobody else gets a turn. If they try, I'll break their teeth."

"You are a psychotic, hypocritical jerk."

"And you're a late-blooming weakling. Good thing you have me around to scare off the predators."

"I don't need you!" I stood up, grabbing my backpack from the floor. "I don't want your protection. I don't want you drinking my tea. I want you to leave me alone!"

"Sit down, Camille. Lunch isn't over."

"Go choke on a chip, Mercer."

I spun on my heel and marched down the aisle. Whispers broke out the second I walked past the first row of tables.

"Did you see that?" a girl whispered loudly. "He almost killed Jaxson over her."

"But he just called her a loser?" another voice muttered. "They're both insane."

I pushed through the cafeteria doors, letting them slam shut behind me. The cool air of the empty hallway hit my flushed face.

He protected me. He humiliated me. He guarded me like a prized possession, then mocked me like a useless burden.

I leaned against the metal lockers, pressing my cool palms to my burning cheeks.

His words from the old gym echoed in my skull. Why would my wolf hide from the strongest Alpha in the city?

A locker door slammed shut down the hall.

I jerked my head up.

A tall man stood at the end of the corridor. He didn't wear a school uniform. He wore a dark, tailored suit. His eyes locked onto mine, glowing a sickly, unnatural yellow.

"Hello, little Thorne," the stranger purred, stepping out of the shadows. "I've been looking for you."