The morning mist had not yet burned off, leaving a slick film of dampness across the flagstones of Cadston campus. Lena Vance pulled her jacket zipper all the way to her chin, quickening her stride as she cut across the courtyard before the main hall.

It was the eve of the full moon. Whether it was just in her head or not, the air felt charged with a strange, humming current. Tiny static sparks seemed to prickle across her skin, and her nostrils caught faint traces of floral scents that had no business blooming in this season. She sniffed. Sweet osmanthus? Not at this time of year. Someone must have been burning an odd incense.

A text from Marcus had pulled her out early: "Overslept, locked myself out. Left my keys in the rink locker room." He asked if she could drop off his spare set. It was seven-fifteen, leaving forty-five minutes before her first lecture. Her boot heels struck the stone in a brisk, even rhythm.

The moment she pushed open the heavy front doors of Marcus's dorm, a sickeningly sweet odor hit her square in the face.

Lena froze in the entryway.

It was not perfume. She knew the scent Marcus kept on his dresser—the birthday bottle she had picked out for him, crisp and distant notes of sandalwood and citrus. This was suffocating, heavy as overripe fruit rotting in honey, cloying enough to scrape the back of her throat. A sharp heat suddenly flared in her nasal passages, as if fine shards of glass were scraping against the lining, spreading from the bridge of her nose to behind her eyes. She raised a cold hand to rub her nose, but the burn deep inside only throbbed hotter.

The second door from the end of the hall stood slightly ajar. She heard voices drifting out, followed by a girl's laugh, bright and sharp as broken glass. Lena's footsteps slowed. She stopped just outside, peering through the crack.

A red-haired girl was sitting on the mattress, her hair spilling over the pillows, draped in nothing but a thin blanket. Marcus stood by the edge of the bed with his back to the door, pulling a T-shirt over his head, his shoulder blades shifting under the fabric.

The red-haired girl was the source of that cloying scent. Lena knew it with sudden, absolute certainty. The scent poured off her, coating every corner of the room, clinging to the air until even the edges of the curtains seemed to hum with a faint, almost imperceptible dark glow.

The girl saw her first. "Who're you looking for?"

She tilted her head, not a trace of panic in her voice, only a lazy, shameless composure.

Marcus spun around. A flicker of panic crossed his features, quickly replaced by that familiar, gentle expression laced with apology.

"Lena," he said, stepping forward to pull the door open wider—though only enough to wedge half his frame into the gap. "What are you doing here so early?"

Her gaze drifted past his shoulder.

The sheets were a tangled mess. Two strands of red hair lay on the pillow. The sandalwood scent Marcus usually carried was entirely swallowed by that thicker, unfamiliar sweetness, cut through with the faint tang of salt and sweat.

Lena's nose burned again.

"You said you lost your keys." She held the keyring up.

"Thanks." He reached out, and as his fingers brushed her palm, she smelled it—the same scent clinging beneath his fingernails.

Every pore on Marcus was weeping that red-haired girl's mark. Lena understood it instantly, even if she could not find the words to explain how she knew. The burning traveled down from her sinuses into her chest, heavy as an iron weight, as though something huge and dormant had just rolled over behind her ribs.

"Marcus, last night, you—" she began, her voice rougher than she expected.

"Lena," he interrupted, glancing back at the bed before turning to her, dropping his voice to a hushed plea. "Let's talk. Later, okay? I couldn't find anyone better than you."

"Couldn't find..." The words died on her lips as a violent jolt tore through her ribcage. It felt like a caged beast slamming its spine against iron bars. The shockwave surged up her sternum, tightening her throat while a ringing roar filled her ears. She swayed, grabbing the doorframe to keep her balance.

"What's wrong?" Marcus reached out to steady her.

She stepped back sharply. "Don't touch me."

The burning in her nose vanished, replaced by an eerie, razor-sharp clarity. Down at the end of the hall, someone was frying eggs, the sizzle of oil distinct through three solid walls; a floor below, a voice hummed a tune so clear it felt right beside her ear. And then there was the smell radiating off Marcus.

Beneath it lay an unfamiliar Alpha scent, edged with pine needles and cold iron rust. She did not know why the word "Alpha" surfaced in her mind, but it rose unbidden, clear and undeniable.

"Lena, it's not what you think—"

"What did I think?" She looked up at him, her eyes raw. She knew she should feel heartbroken, that she should scream and demand to know why he betrayed her, but only one thought dominated her mind: the air here was suffocating. That mixture of rot-sweet honey and metallic rust churned her stomach. Every breath felt like swallowing poison.

She turned and ran.

The hallway seemed endless, her footsteps slapping frantically against the tile. The crack of his doorway shrank behind her. Marcus called her name, but his voice was muffled, drowned out by the thundering rush of blood in her ears like an incoming tide. Rounding the stairwell, her vision blurred for an instant, washing the world in a pale amber hue, as if she were looking through fossilized resin.

She blinked hard. The glow vanished.

Lena did not stop. She burst through the dorm doors and skidded to a halt in the center of the morning square, gasping for air. The fog had mostly cleared, and the sunlight slanted past the bell tower, stretching her shadow long across the stones. She looked down at her hands—around the rim of each nail, a faint hairline ring of silver was rapidly receding into her skin.

Her eyes burned with heat, but not a single tear fell.

"Finally showed up."

The voice was soft, like dry leaves brushing together. Lena snapped her head up.

Standing in the shadow of the portico was a girl with dark hair and gray eyes, wearing a deep forest-green knit sweater.

Lena recognized her: Sera Cross. She lived next door, sat two rows behind Lena in an elective, and rarely spoke. Sera was watching her with an utterly calm expression, the faintest tilt at the corner of her lips, as though she had known all along that Lena would come running from that exact direction.

"You..." Lena panted, her throat parched and raw. "What did you say?"

Sera shook her head without answering. Her gaze shifted from Lena's face, looking past her shoulder toward the bell tower. Lena followed her eyes.

The full moon still hung directly above the tower's spire. Daylight was well underway, yet the moon remained suspended, larger and brighter than any full moon she had ever seen. Its light possessed an unnatural, silvery glare in the morning sky, edged with a thin rim of gold. It looked like a half-lidded eye, staring down at the campus below.

Lena stared at it for several seconds. Perhaps she was just winded from running, but her heart refused to steady. The moon seemed impossibly close—close enough that she could trace the dark veins across its surface, patterned like some ancient sigil. At the tip of her nose, that out-of-season fragrance returned, clearer now: night-blooming tuberose, laced with damp dew and raw earth. She could not explain it, but in that moment, she felt the moon staring back at her.

A vibration buzzed in her pocket.

She pulled out her phone. The screen displayed her brother's name: Kael. Taking a breath, she answered.

"Lena," Kael said, his voice dropped low against the howling rush of wind on his end. "You need to go see Dorian today."

"Who?"

"Dorian Black. From the hockey team. He's losing his mind, about to fail out." Kael paused, choosing his words carefully. "Are you listening? Whatever happens, do not let him catch the scent of your fear."

Lena stood frozen in the square, the morning breeze whipping loose strands of hair across her lips. Sera had already vanished; the corridor entrance stood empty, as if no one had been there at all. The lingering heat deep in her sinuses had faded, and whatever had stirred behind her ribs was quiet once more.

She looked down at her hands again. The silver outlines along her nails were gone. Her skin was pale and ordinary, her fingerprints sharp and clear.

"...Scent?" she whispered to the dead line. "Kael, why would you say 'scent'?"

No one answered.

She looked up once more at the full moon. It was fading now, like ink diluted by morning light. But right before it dissolved entirely into the blue sky, Lena could have sworn the dark markings across its face shifted, narrowing like the pupil of a living creature.

The phone buzzed again with a text. Kael had sent an address.

Lena rubbed the edge of the glass screen with her thumb and drew in a long breath. The faint trace of tuberose still lingered in the air, drifting faintly around her. She did not understand what it meant, but a sudden thought settled into her bones: there were things she had never known, but her body had been waiting for them all along.

Slipping the phone back into her pocket, she turned toward the campus gates.

Behind the third-floor curtains of the dormitory, Sera Cross watched the solitary figure disappear into the morning sun.

"You're finally back," she murmured, resting her fingertips against the windowpane. "We've waited far too long."

The shadow of the bell tower stretched across the courtyard like a massive, slowly opening hand. The moon was nothing more than a pale silver curve against the horizon, but the light it left behind still hummed in the air, heavy with things yet to fall.

As Lena stepped through the gates of Cadston, the last trace of heat in her nose faded away.

She did not know what was happening to her. But she would find out soon enough.

---

Fated to the Hockey Alpha — Chapter 4: The First Tutoring Session and the Tremor

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