01. First Blood
“Nuri, hurry up! We’re going to be late!” Peter’s voice crackled through the video chat, his dark brown eyes rolling exaggeratedly as he threw a dramatic glance at the screen.
“Calm down, Peter. We’re not going to be late. Stop being such a drama queen!” Nuri shot back with a playful smirk, sticking her tongue out at him as she quickly slipped on her boots. The soft click of her boots hitting the floor echoed in the small room. She grabbed her phone from the counter, stealing one last glance at her reflection in the mirror. Her curls had that chaotic-but-contained thing going on, her eyeliner was still sharp, and her lips had the faintest gloss of color—good enough. Her heart pounded with that low, steady beat of reluctant anticipation as she dashed out the door.
Peter was waiting in the car—but waiting didn’t quite do justice to the twitchy performance he was putting on. He drummed his long, slender fingers against the steering wheel in a rhythm that screamed impatient energy. His knee bounced. His mouth twisted. His whole being vibrated like a bottle of shaken soda right before the cap pops.
“See? We’re going to be late! We were supposed to leave ten minutes ago!” he groaned, barely giving Nuri time to pull the seatbelt across her lap before slamming the car into drive. The tires shrieked against the gravel, flinging dust in their wake like an accusation.
Nuri rolled her eyes, muttering under her breath, ‘He’s such a drama queen. Always overreacting.’ She adjusted the seatbelt over her chest, letting her back settle into the seat, though Peter’s sharp, jerky driving didn’t make relaxing easy. Her gaze flicked to the blur of trees outside the window, her stomach turning slightly—not from the speed, but from what awaited them.
Peter, oblivious to her disinterest, launched into a one-man rave about the Blue River pack. He described them like royalty—honorable, powerful, and oh-so-gloriously exclusive. His voice buzzed with energy, flooding the car with everything she didn’t want to hear.
‘Are we really doing this?’ Nuri thought, pressing her fingers into her temple. Excitement wasn’t even in the room with her. Peter had begged her into this night, guilt-tripping her with those pleading eyes and his long-standing habit of assuming she’d always say yes.
“So, can you remind me why we’re heading to this… wolf frat party?” she asked, her voice lazy and disinterested as she lifted her water bottle. The cool metal pressed comfortingly against her palm. A small, wicked smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as she caught the flash of annoyance dart across Peter’s face.
“It’s not a wolf frat party, Nuri,” Peter said, puffing out his chest with mock indignation. “It’s a birthday party for the Blue River pack’s alpha.”
“Oh, my bad,” she replied, lifting an eyebrow with a dramatic flourish. “So why are we going? We’re not exactly on the guest list.”
Peter’s eyes gleamed. “But we could be! After graduation, we can apply to join their pack. It’s totally possible! They’re famous for letting in outsiders. Once we’re in? Boom—instant stability. No rogue living. No sketchy loner status. It’s the dream.”
Nuri snorted. “We both know I don’t have a chance.” Her voice cooled, the humor slipping from her tone. “The Blue River pack doesn’t accept hybrids, Peter. You know that.”
Peter faltered, lips twitching like he was trying to swallow his own thoughtlessness. He turned to glance at her, guilt briefly flashing across his face. “That can always change! You know that. It’s not like… carved in stone or anything.”
But Nuri wasn’t comforted. Her fingers curled tightly around the door handle, her jaw tightening with the pressure of unspoken resentment. That can always change—as if it were just that simple. As if all the years of being reminded she didn’t belong, didn’t matter, could be undone with one night and a party dress. She bit down on the wave of emotion rising up and stared out the window again, letting silence fall between them like a wall.
Eventually, the trees gave way to something far more intimidating.
The Blue River mansion rose ahead like a fortress made of wealth and legacy. Its lights bled into the dusk, casting long shadows across the gravel drive. Everything about the place screamed power. Even the windows gleamed like watchful eyes.
Peter was practically vibrating with joy. “I can’t wait to meet the alpha! I’ve been waiting my whole life for this moment!” he squealed, hopping out of the car like a kid on a sugar high.
Nuri followed at a slower pace, brushing her curls over her shoulder as she adjusted her coat. “Peter,” she said, deadpan. “You do realize you can’t wish the alpha into being gay, right?”
He didn’t answer, just flashed a devil-may-care grin and yanked the door open without even knocking. The pulse of music and scent of too many bodies hit her instantly. Warm skin. Expensive cologne. Alcohol. Testosterone and perfume.
“Don’t be so negative. You don’t know that—Oh my God, there he is!” Peter shrieked.
Nuri’s gaze followed his, and her entire body stopped.
The alpha.
He stood near the center of the room, carved from darkness and dominance. At least 6’6”, broad-shouldered, with short, military-cut brown hair and a clean-shaven jaw sharp enough to cut glass. His black button-up clung to a torso that seemed to radiate heat, the sleeves rolled up to reveal veined forearms. His pants were black too—tailored and neat, like the man wore control as a second skin.
But his eyes… god, his eyes. They were the color of spring leaves in sunlight—bright, piercing, intelligent, focused on something Nuri couldn’t quite identify.
Her breath caught in her throat. ‘I can see why Peter’s into him.’ But it wasn’t just his looks. It was the weight of his presence. The room bent around him like he was gravity and they were all caught in orbit. He hadn’t even moved, and yet Nuri’s pulse had begun to race.
Peter was still staring like he’d been struck dumb. Nuri hissed through her teeth, “Peter, close your mouth,” and dragged him into the kitchen by the elbow.
“Why are we going to the kitchen?” he whined, sulking like a child. “The alpha is in the other room!”
“I let you drag me here,” she muttered, grabbing a red plastic cup and pouring herself a generous serving of whatever passed for punch, “but I’m not staying without something to drink.”
She stared into the liquid like it held the answers to her hybrid soul’s rejection. Then, with a sigh, she turned to leave—and disaster struck.
Her boot caught on a lip in the flooring. Her body lurched forward. The cup flew from her hands, time slowing as her breath caught.
Of course this happens now. Right in front of him. She braced for the impact, but it never came.
A firm grip caught her waist mid-fall, steadying her with inhuman ease. The alpha’s scent engulfed her—cedarwood and musk, so potent it made her dizzy. He set her cup down on the counter without taking his eyes off her, his other hand sliding around to hold her upright. His chest brushed hers, and heat radiated through every inch of contact.
“Are you alright?” His voice was low, rough, intimate in a way that sent a shiver through her spine.
Nuri’s breath hitched. Her heart thundered. She blinked up at him—and froze.
‘Mate?’ Her wolf whispered it, the word echoing in her mind like a prayer. ‘He’s ours.’
His own wolf howled with recognition. The bond flared between them like a struck match—raw and undeniable.
‘She’s our mate!’
And then… the fire went cold.
The alpha’s face twisted. His grip slackened. His eyes—once brilliant with shock—darkened with fury and disbelief. “No,” he growled, recoiling like she’d burned him. “My mate cannot be a hybrid. I refuse to believe it.”
He stepped back as if her presence alone offended him, his voice coated in venom, eyes filled with rejection.
Nuri stood frozen, the rejection slicing through her like a blade. Her mouth opened, words halfway formed, but nothing came out. Just a hollow ache spreading in her chest. Without another word, she spun on her heel and ran. She didn’t care where—just as long as it was away from him, away from the bond they shared, away from everything she knew to be true.