VANESSA

I was taken to the school clinic for a proper assessment. Before the psychiatrist was called in, they read my blood pressure at 110/80mmHg. The nurse announced it was okay. So was my pulse rate, at 84 beats per minute. But deep down inside, I knew I wasn't okay.

I met with the psychiatrist, and after a series of questions, he said I was fit to go home, just needed rest and close monitoring. I'd be discharged the next morning.

I hadn't shut my eyes once since the incident. Lecturers and student union leaders trooped in one after another, checking on me, until I let the nurse know I wanted to be left alone. When the crowd stopped coming, I realized she'd passed my message along.

While I tried to get some sleep, my head wouldn't rest, flashbacks of what had happened running on a loop. Seeing Professor Tom hanging from the ceiling gave me chills. I'd gotten an anonymous message saying he was human too, right after the bully attack.

I hadn't thought it through. I could have been running into a trap, but I didn't stop to consider that. I ran to his office to confirm it, even though the source swore it was a secret. Whoever sent it also knew my secret.

The only way I'd escaped getting caught earlier was by feigning a faint. Who knows what would have happened if Dariel had discovered my secret.

Knock knock!

A faint knock sounded on the door. I shut my eyes, faking a loud snore. The door creaked open, and I heard footsteps approaching. Then suddenly I didn't hear them anymore. I opened my eyes slowly to take a peek.

Fuck!

I exclaimed, scrambling back in shock. I'd found a face inches from mine, so close I could feel his breath. It was the same guy from earlier. The Alpha. Same height, same ethereal look, and facial features.

But now his hair was chopped short, and a scar lined under his eye, an old one, nothing recent. His eyes were deep brown and he smelt like cedar, an intoxicating cologne that seemed too heavy. My heart pounded loudly.

"Hey, relax," he said, throwing his hands up. "I'm not here to hurt you." He showed me his palms and turned in a slow circle to prove it. He looked different, and acted differently, but he still moved like Alpha Dariel.

"Please get away from me. I won't say anything," I yelled, folding my legs up to my chest. He tilted his head like he was studying me.

"What do you mean?" He stepped closer, hands still raised. "Did someone threaten you?"

I said nothing. I was trembling.

The door opened and the nurse walked in with a tray of IV fluid and some other medicine, probably sedatives. Her eyes caught him and she bowed. "Alpha Damon," she said as she bowed, then turned to face me.

My forehead crinkled in confusion. He noticed, then explained. "I'm sorry we met under different circumstances. I'm Damon." He watched me, rubbing the nape of his neck, then continued.

"You must have met my twin brother, Dariel. I'm sure you did, given your reaction." My jaw dropped. He promised to come visit me another time, then left.

As he walked out, I watched him. His steps were different, more of a limp than a stride, not as sharp and fit as his brother. He seemed somehow diminished.

*****

Luckily, I woke up the next morning to news that I'd been discharged and was free to go home. They gave me a bag of medicine and a prescription I knew I'd throw in the trash the moment I got home..

The officers came along too, not for further questions, but to help me get home. They handed my school backpack and phone over to me. I hadn't even realized I'd lost them.

While they dropped me off at my dorm, they promised to check in when I felt better. They also hinted that the case had been closed as a suicide, and that they'd invite me soon to give my statement once I recovered. I nodded in agreement, but I knew better.

"Call me if you need anything. This is my personal number," one of the officers said, and left me a piece of paper with his name, Rex, and his phone number.

I stood at the entrance of my dorm, my heart suddenly pounding. What if I walked in and an assassin was waiting to kill me? My hands were sweaty now. I shut my eyes, finding the strength to walk in. I pulled my keys from my bag, unlocked the door, and pushed it open.

I took a deep breath and stepped inside, eyes scanning the room with caution. Everything was as I'd left it, neat and arranged. Unlike most students, I hadn't taken long to get a room assigned to me, since I was on a scholarship.

The room was spacious, with only two beds, so I could only have one roommate. There was plenty of space. A simple couch sat in the front corner beside a center table, and a reading table stood to the left. It smelled like my cologne, floral and feminine.

I took a deep sniff, arms spread wide. "Home sweet home." Just then I heard clanking from the kitchen. I clenched my fist, as if that would do anything if the need arose. I walked slowly toward the kitchen door, picking up my slipper as a weapon.

I crept closer and closer until someone walked out, flipping an apron off into the air. It flew straight into my face.

"Ouch!" I yelled, grabbing my eye. She yelled too, in shock. We stood side by side, watching each other in fear, chests heaving in sync. She was a young woman about my age, full-figured on top, with hazel eyes, dark olive hair, and a perfect waist and figure. She looked like a cheerleader.

"Who are you?" I screamed in panic, one hand nursing my eye. "I should be asking who you are. This is my dorm room."

I straightened, standing taller. "Your dorm room? I think you'll find my stuff here already."

She hesitated, like she was trying to place me. "Wait, you're the one who was here?" Her face twisted into a look of disgust.

"You're fat," she yelled, then burst into laughter. "How could I possibly share a room with you?" She laughed even louder. I clenched my fist at my side.

Watching her laugh, I felt the urge to slap her hard across the face, to make an example of her so the others would understand I wasn't one to be played with. But I didn't. It was no use.

Bang bang bang.

A loud noise came from the door. Our heads snapped toward it in sync, then back at each other. She adjusted her clothes and went to answer it. When it flung open, standing there was Alpha Dariel, his eyes finding me immediately.

My roommate screamed, hands flying to her mouth in shock. He didn't look at her. His eyes stayed steady on me, like he was about to devour me.

"Come here," he said, with a flick of his index finger.

VANESSA

"Come here," he said again, like I hadn't heard him the first time.

I didn't move. My roommate had gone stiff beside the door, one hand pressed over her mouth. Dariel's eyes never left mine, not even when she said something to him, a greeting, a question, I couldn't tell. He just stood there, tall enough to fill the doorway, waiting.

"I'm not going anywhere with you," I said, surprised at how steady my voice came out when the rest of me was shaking.

"That wasn't a request." He stepped inside without being invited, and the room, which had felt spacious a minute ago, suddenly felt very small.

"What are you doing in my dorm?" I asked, backing away from him like he might bite, though I was starting to understand that wasn't a figure of speech around here.

He didn't look at my roommate . "This won't take long."

He crossed the room in three strides, and I made the mistake of not backing away fast enough. He stopped close, closer than strangers had any business standing, and lowered his voice so only I could hear it.

"Tell me what you saw that night."

My throat went tight. "I already told the police. I saw nothing."

"I'm not the police." His eyes searched my face like he could read the truth off it if he looked hard enough. "Tell me what you actually saw."

I said nothing. I pressed my lips together and stared at a point somewhere over his shoulder, refusing to give him anything, because the moment I opened my mouth I wasn't sure what would come out, the truth, a lie, or just the sound of how scared I was.

"You're not going to talk," he said, more to himself than to me.

I still said nothing.

He studied me a long moment, jaw tight, then asked, "What's your pack?"

"My what?"

"Your pack. Who do you belong to?"

I opened my mouth and closed it again, because I had no idea what the right answer was, and every wrong one felt like it might get me killed. I said nothing to that either.

The burn in his eyes shifted. "Feral," he said, quiet, almost to himself, like a diagnosis he'd just confirmed.

"Excuse me?"

"It's what they call wolves without a pack. No name to give because there's no one to claim you." He said it without cruelty, which somehow made it worse. "That's why you won't answer. You can't."

I didn't correct him. Let him believe what he wanted. It was safer than the truth.

He straightened, some decision settling into his shoulders. "Rugby team has practice tomorrow after class. You'll be there."

"I don't play rugby."

"You'll watch." He was already moving toward the door, like the conversation had ended the moment he decided it had. "Be there."

Then he was gone, footsteps fading down the corridor, leaving me standing in the middle of the room with my heart still slamming against my ribs.

My roommate stared at me like I'd grown a second head. "How do you know Alpha Dariel?"

"I don't," I said, which felt like the safest lie I'd told all day.

*****

I almost didn't go.

I stood outside my dorm for a full five minutes the next afternoon, backpack straps digging into my shoulders, trying to talk myself out of it.

But Dariel hadn't phrased it like an invitation, and something told me ignoring him would cost more than showing up.

The rugby field sat at the far edge of campus, ringed by bleachers already half full of students in matching green and gold.

I found a spot near the end of the bottom row and tried to make myself small, which, given my size, had never once actually worked, but old habits die slow.

The team jogged out in twos and threes, and even from a distance I recognized him immediately, Dariel, moving through the group like the ground belonged to him.

A few paces behind, favoring one leg slightly, was Damon. I hadn't expected to see him here, and something in my chest did an unhelpful little flip at the sight of him.

"Why are you here?”‘she snapped.

I turned. A girl dropped onto the bleacher beside me, pom-poms tucked under one arm, hair pulled into a high, glossy ponytail. It took me a second to place her.

"Catherine?"

"Didn't peg you for being a rugby fan." She said it lightly, but her eyes were doing that same searching thing Dariel's had done the night before, like she was trying to find the seams in me.

"I'm not," I said. "I was told to be here."

"Told." She raised an eyebrow, glancing toward the field, toward Dariel, who hadn't looked our way once but somehow still felt like he was watching. "You do not belong here, stay out of my sight if you’re going to force it.”

I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing, and watched Catherine pull a small mirror from her bag to check her lipstick before the coach's whistle even blew. Cheerleader. Of course she was.

It explained the pom-poms, the ponytail, the way she carried herself like the bleachers were a stage and not just a bleachers.

Down on the field, Damon caught the ball on a low pass and pushed through two defenders like they weren't there, he seemed to have so much control despite his condition.

.

The whole squad erupted, and beside me, Catherine was on her feet clapping before I'd even processed what happened.

I stayed seated, notebook open on my lap, pen uncapped, though I hadn't written a single word.

Dariel's eyes finally found mine across the field, just for a second, just long enough to make sure I'd noticed him noticing. Then he turned back to the drill, and I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

Whatever this was, whatever he thought I was hiding, I had the sinking feeling that showing up today hadn't made me any less of a target.

“Hey Ferral.. how’s your day coming along” A loud male vibe called from behind me .

VANESSA

The coach's whistle cut through the air, sharp enough to make me flinch even from the bleachers.

"Scrum positions!" he barked, and the team folded into a tight, grunting knot at midfield, shoulders locked, heads down, bodies straining against each other like a single animal trying to tear itself in two directions at once.

Dariel anchored the front row, and even from where I sat I could see the muscles in his back bunching with effort as the ball got fed in low and fast.

I didn't know the first thing about rugby. I'd spent the last twenty minutes piecing together rules from context, that a scrum was some kind of shoving match dressed up as strategy, that a "ruck" meant a pile of bodies fighting over the ball on the ground, that whenever someone broke free and sprinted for the try line, the whole bleacher rose to its feet screaming like the world depended on it.

Damon played fly-half, which even I could tell was a position that demanded more brains than brute strength, reading the field, calling plays, deciding in half a second whether to pass, kick, or run.

He shouldn't have been fast. Not with that limp dragging behind every stride.

But the ball found his hands again and again, and every time it did, he turned defenders inside out with a change of direction that shouldn't have been possible for someone favoring one leg the way he was.

"Carter! Again!" the coach shouted, and Damon lined up another drill, driving through two tackle bags like they weighed nothing, then breaking into a sprint that ate up the field in a handful of strides.

Beside me, Catherine had stopped clapping and started muttering instead. "He's not even supposed to be that good."

"What do you mean?"

She glanced at me like she'd forgotten I was there. "Forget it Fat-ass, wasn’t speaking to you” she said with the usual mocking tone. I looked away avoiding her face.

I didn't forget it. I watched Dariel watching his brother from across the field, jaw tight, arms crossed, something dark moving behind his eyes every time the crowd cheered for Damon instead of him.

When Damon jogged past him after a play, Dariel said something low, too quiet for the bleachers to catch, and Damon's easy grin dropped clean off his face.

Whatever passed between them wasn't brotherly. It sat between them like an old feud , the kind that never quite clears no matter how much time goes by.

I filed it away, another piece of a puzzle I didn't have the full picture of yet.

Practice broke for a water rotation, and that was when Catherine found her opening.

"Look at her, all cozy with her little notebook." She dropped onto the bleacher directly in front of me, two of her cheerleader friends flanking her, and the warmth from a second ago was gone from her face entirely, like it had never been there. "You actually think Dariel wants you sitting here."

"I was told to come," I said, closing the notebook, though I hadn't written a word in it since I sat down.

"Told." She said the word like it tasted bad. "Right. Because a thing like you needs to be told to know its place.

" Her eyes dropped to the sandwich half-unwrapped in my lap, the one I'd packed that morning with hands still shaking from the night before, her expression darkened . "Go on. Eat. It's not like you're going to stop."

I should have wrapped it back up, all the nerves in me screamed that I should, wrap it up and go right up ahead and give her a loud resounding slap across her pale face, but I didn't.

Some stubborn, stupid part of me refused to let her decide whether I got to eat lunch in peace.

"I give her three bites before it's gone," one of the friends, I later found to be Brenda said, not bothering to lower her voice.

"I heard they had to widen the doorframes in her old school," said the other, and the three of them laughed together, ugly and delighted, loud enough that a few players glanced over from the field.

"It's actually sad," Catherine said, tilting her head at me like I was something under glass.

"You think if you just sit here long enough, close enough to people like us, it'll rub off. It won't. Some things don't wash off, sweetheart. You'll always be exactly what you look like."

I took a bite just to have something to do with my hands, chewed too fast, swallowed wrong, and the whole thing lodged sideways in my throat.

I coughed, once, twice, my eyes watering, and Catherine leaned back, delighted, watching me struggle like she'd been waiting for it the entire time.

"Oh, don't die," she said, not moving an inch to help. "It'd be such a waste of a scholarship.

" Her friends howled, and I hated her in that moment more than I'd hated anyone in my life. I hated the tears stinging my eyes, and that I couldn't get a full breath. I hated that she looked genuinely, thoroughly pleased to watch me choke.

Then a shadow fell over me, and a water bottle appeared in front of my face.

"Drink," Damon said, crouching in front of me, still breathing hard from the drill, sweat darkening the collar of his jersey.

I grabbed the bottle and drank, and the food finally worked its way down, leaving my throat raw and my eyes streaming.

"You good?" he asked, and there was nothing performative about the concern in his voice, none of the careful distance Dariel kept, none of the audience-aware cruelty of the girls around us.

"I'm fine," I rasped, mortified, wiping my eyes with the back of my hand.

He didn't move away right away. Instead he leaned in slightly, the way he had in the clinic, and I watched something flicker across his face, confusion, then something sharper.

"You still don't smell like anything," he said quietly, almost to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing." He straightened fast, like he'd caught himself saying something he shouldn't have.

But his eyes stayed on me a beat too long, searching, the same way Dariel's had the night before, like I was an equation that refused to balance no matter how many times he ran the numbers.

"Carter! Water break's over!" the coach bellowed, and Damon jogged backward toward the field, still watching me, until his teammates swallowed him back into the drill.

Catherine's smile had curdled into something colder. "He's never done that before."

"Done what?"

"Wasted a second on someone like you." She stood, gathering her pom-poms, her friends rising with her like a matched set, and when she looked at me again there was nothing playful left in it at all. "Enjoy it while it lasts.

Things like you don't get kept. You get used, and then you get thrown right back where you came from." She smiled, sweet and vicious all at once. "I'll enjoy watching that part."