"Maybe he just likes charity cases," one of them says. Emma something. Beta bloodline, destined to follow Sera's lead her entire life.
"Maybe he's just being polite," I reply, keeping my voice even.
"Polite." Sera's eyes narrow. "Is that what you're calling it? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you've got him wrapped around your finger. No pack, no connections, and yet here we are."
More students have stopped now. A small crowd forming at a safe distance. Pack politics playing out in public is always entertainment.
"I didn't ask for his protection," I say.
"Right." She crosses her arms. "You just showed up out of nowhere and now every important male at this Academy is interested. Caspian walking you to class. Knox watching you from shadows. Even Professor Harmon gives you extra attention in History. What's your secret, Nova?"
I could tell her and watch her face when I explain I'm Silverpelt, that I can bond with multiple mates, that the Council wants me dead. But Julian's warning echoes in my head. No one can know.
"I don't have a secret," I say instead. "I'm just trying to survive this place."
"By stealing other people's futures?" Her voice drops, venomous. "Caspian and I have been promised since we were children. Our families have an arrangement. And you think you can just show up and ruin that?"
"I didn't know you had an arrangement."
"Because you didn't bother to learn anything about pack politics before batting your eyes at him." She steps closer and I smell her perfume, expensive and cloying. "Here's something you should learn fast: I don't give up what's mine. Caspian will claim me when we graduate. That's how it works. Whatever you're doing, it ends."
I should walk away and let her have this moment of dominance because engaging will only make things worse. But I'm tired of being threatened, tired of everyone treating me like I'm something to be controlled or eliminated.
"Caspian isn't property," I say quietly. "And he's not yours just because your parents made a deal."
The watching students go quiet. Someone actually gasps. No one talks to Sera Whitlock like that.
Her hand moves fast and the slap cracks across my cheek before I can react. Pain explodes sharp and hot, radiating from the point of impact. My head snaps to the side and I taste copper where I bit my tongue. Her friends gasp around her but Sera just stands there, hand still raised, satisfaction written across her perfect face.
I don't touch my cheek even though it's burning. Don't give her the satisfaction of seeing it hurt. My hands clench intofists at my sides and every instinct screams at me to grab her stupid bouncy ponytail and yank her to the ground, to show her what happens when you put your hands on someone who's been trained to fight. But I can't. I'm already under too much scrutiny, already have Chase watching my every move. One wrong action and I give him exactly what he needs to haul me in for questioning again.
So I stand there and take it.
"That's for forgetting your place," Sera hisses. "You're nothing here. No pack, no family, no future. Remember that before you try taking what belongs to real shifters."
She turns and walks away, her group following like obedient ducklings. The crowd disperses quickly, not wanting to be caught staring. Within seconds it's like it never happened.
Except for the burning on my cheek. And Chase leaning against the building entrance, having watched the entire thing.
I walk past him into Combat Training without saying a word.
The burning starts at midnight.
I wake up drenched in sweat, sheets sticking to my skin like a second layer. For a moment I think I'm sick, fever spiking dangerously high. Then I recognize the sensation crawling under my skin, recognize my wolf pressing against my human consciousness.
Heat.
"No," I whisper to the empty room. "Not yet. Not now."
But my body doesn't care what I want. The heat builds, spreading from deep in my core outward until every nerve ending feels like it's on fire. My skin is too tight, too sensitive. The brush of sheets against my legs makes me gasp. My tank top feels like sandpaper.
I kick the blankets off but it doesn't help. Nothing helps.
Lily sits up in her bed across the room. "Nova? You okay?"
I try to answer but my throat is too dry. She climbs out of bed, takes two steps toward me, then stops dead. Her nose wrinkles and her eyes go wide.
"Oh." Understanding dawns on her face, followed quickly by discomfort. "Oh no."
