Chapter 1 #2
Her shriek is so loud that even the headmistress heard her from the other side of the institute, and I was reprimanded for being abrasive.
Apparently, a large bank account gives you bullying rights.
“Good luck, Luna,” a passing female whispers with a nervous smile, pulling me back to the present. She means well; she’s one of the nicer ones.
“Thanks, you too,” I say.
Luck isn’t what I need.
Luck, fate, destiny—they all ghosted me years ago. I’m going to make my own life. Far away from the institute and even farther away from Alphas.
I walk past groups of shifters, their voices a symphony of hope and giggles, their eyes bright with dreams I’d long stopped dreaming. They don’t know the drill yet. The first act is always filled with promise; every female is Cinderella before midnight.
“Isn’t this exciting, Luna?” chirps a girl with a bouncy ponytail, as if we’re off to a carnival rather than a mate market.
“Thrilling,” I deadpan.
Tomorrow is going to be a glorious day.
I will have no mate, no pack, but I will be free of the stares, the pity, and the institute.
I will be free to live my life without a male and as far away from this hell as I possibly can.
“Breaking news,” a female anchor drones as a group of girls huddle in front of someone’s phone. “Political rising star Conrad Clawford will give a major policy speech tomorrow.”
I roll my eyes.
An entitled, idealistic, elite, pretty boy telling us how to live our lives.
The anchor goes on about Conrad, gushing, “At just 28, he’s become the most influential voice in wolf politics. Expectations are high for this young alpha to take over his father’s party leadership.”
The headmistress swoops in, snatching the phone and fixing us with a withering glare.
“Ladies,” she snaps. “Need I remind you of proper decorum? Form a line. Now.”
We scramble to obey.
“Do you know what happens to females who can’t follow simple instructions?” Her gaze lands squarely on me. “They find themselves shipped off to the Northern District.”
A collective gasp ripples down the line.
The Northern District. I shiver at the thought. A wild, lawless territory where savage wolves roam free, where feral packs live beyond the reach of civilized wolf laws. The kind of place mothers whisper about in hushed tones at bedtime:
“Be good, or the Northern wolves will come for you.”
“Is that understood?” She asks, her smile sharp and practiced.
“Yes, Headmistress Gray,” we chime in unison.
Even the most rebellious girls straighten at the threat. The Northern District is the ultimate deterrent; effective on everyone.
Everyone except Marcy.
That privileged twat.
She and her little pack of spoiled princesses whisper just loud enough for me to hear.
“Something smells bad,” her voice dripping with false innocence.
You’d think they’d get more creative with their insults, but it’s always the same.
I ignore them.
Headmistress Gray had added new vitamins to my regimen, claiming they would help my scent. This was a last-ditch effort to attract a potential mate.
Guess they weren’t working.
The doors swing open, revealing our so-called future—or lack of it.
My feet move on autopilot, guiding me down a path I could navigate blindfolded. It’s the same old show: girls strutting in front of males and their families, scents mixing, hearts racing, all under the guise of romantic fate.
“Remember, ladies, poise and grace!” the headmistress calls out, but her pep talk falls flat.
As I descend the staircase into chaos, I hear the crowd’s collective intake of breath, murmurs of judgment, and whispers critiquing every step and outfit before any words are exchanged.
So romantic, right?
The hall swallows me whole, filled with faces that don’t interest me. I don’t bother searching for friendly smiles—experience has taught me better. I take my assigned spot and wait for the charade to kick off. My thoughts drift to my room, where I can shed this pretense along with my dress.
“Here’s to another thrilling evening of unmet expectations,” I mutter.
We’re called to strut across the stage one by one under blinding lights while a giant screen flashes our stats. Yep, they even mention whether our hymens are intact.
Mine says “No” in bold red letters.
The Institute had been furious when they found out I’d taken care of that myself. There was no way I’d let my virginity become another selling point for these assholes.
That choice, at least, had been mine.
I force a smile that feels more like a grimace.
Once we’re all paraded out and compared, it’s time to mingle and get sniffed… literally.
Rows of males line up like some broody buffet, all eyes on the females sashaying down the aisle as we greet them one by one.
“Place your bets, ladies and gents,” I mutter, “how long ‘til Luna’s back at the buffet table loading up on cream puffs?”
“Next!” The wolf at the head of the line is a mountain of a man with a beard that looks like it could double as a bib.
“Hey there,” I greet him. “Nice night for sniffing strangers, huh?”
He gives me a once-over, his nose twitching as if he’s caught a whiff of something questionable.
He grunts.
That’s it.
A grunt.
Talk about conversation skills.
“Wow, a whole sound! You spoil me,” I shoot back, plastering a grin on my face as I move along before the rejection can even sink its claws in.
“Thank you, next,” I sing softly, skipping to the next male who is too busy checking out Miss Perky Ponytail two spots ahead of me.
“Excuse me, but you’re missing out on this limited-time offer,” I quip, waving a hand in front of his face.
“Sorry, what?” He blinks, finally noticing me with the enthusiasm of someone reading the nutritional content on a cereal box.
“Never mind.” I sigh, already turning away. “Enjoy the view.”
“Next!”
“Here we go again,” I whisper, stepping up to yet another male—this one looks nervous and has more hair in his nostrils than on his head.
“Evening,” I try, aiming for friendly.
“Evening,” he echoes, then sniffs the air and frowns. Ah, the sweet smell of ‘nope.’
I smile, moving on without waiting for his verdict.
“Next!”
By now, the routine is muscle memory.
Smile, greet, get sniffed, get rejected.
Like a merry-go-round from hell. Except no one is merry, and my patience is the only thing going around.
“Maybe I should try a new perfume, something like ‘Eau de Lone Wolf,’” I quip, casting my words into the air. Deep down, I still cling to the hope of finding that elusive match—someone who can look past my scars and see the real me.
Someone who will love me just for being myself.
I’m about to slip backstage to change for the dreaded final round when a voice calls out to me.
“Miss Woods, is it?” A tall, muscular alpha stands before me, his jawline sharp enough to make my insides feel like jelly. He extends his hand, a half-smile playing on his lips. “Heard a lot about you.”
“Only the scandalous bits, I hope,” I reply, shaking his hand firmly enough to catch him off guard. His eyebrow lifts, amusement flickering in his gaze.
“Of course,” he chuckles. “Who wants to waste time on boring stuff?”
“Right? Who does these days?” I shrug, taking in every inch of this fine specimen. And I don’t mean regular fine. I mean fineeeee.
His dirty blond hair is cut short, complementing the light beard that outlines a strong jaw. I’d place him in his mid-thirties—mature, but still very much in his prime. A dark dress shirt clings to his broad shoulders, the top button undone just enough to be tempting.
His warm brown eyes study me with an intensity that makes my skin tingle. Not in the creepy way most males do, but like he’s genuinely interested in having a meaningful conversation.
As I glance around, something feels off.
This alpha isn’t flexing his dominance like the others usually do. My wolf never manifested, but typically, when alphas are present, they make damn sure everyone knows it.
It’s all about proving they’ve got the biggest dick in the room, imposing their energy until it crushes everyone else. Typically, it’s suffocating, especially for the females who have shifted—pure, overwhelming alpha dominance that makes your knees buckle and your palms sweat.
But right now?
Everyone looks at ease. No one’s struggling to stand, no nervous shifting or side glances. This guy isn’t flexing his power, and for an alpha of his stature… that’s rare.
“Tell me, Miss Woods—” he begins, but Headmistress Gray interrupts with a dismissive wave.
“Move along, Alpha Hudson. Luna needs to meet all the potential suitors, not just charm the pants off you.”
“Charmed or not, pants should ideally stay on during this part of the ceremony,” I shoot back dryly, earning a surprised snort from a nearby lady who quickly stifles it with a cough.
“Quite right, Miss Woods.” Alpha Hudson grins, nodding at me before stepping aside.
Clearly, Headmistress Gray doesn’t want me near this prized male.
Oh well, watching the other females go feral over him should be entertaining.