POV: Rena Vale
Glitter and venom meet me at the steps—Hailey blocks the path like she owns the night and the moon signed it over.
Fairy lights from the gym spill over her sequined dress, catching on every sharp edge she has. A little crowd hangs back by the doors, pretending not to stare, phones half-raised. The pack heirs and their satellites, waiting to see who bleeds.
“Perfect,” she croons, sweet as a razor. “Found you.”
“No audience needed,” I say, trying to slip right down the concrete steps.
“Too late.” She shadows my move, heel to heel, smile sharpening. “We’re talking.”
“About what?” My voice stays flat. “Auren’s public execution of a match?”
Her laugh clicks like a camera shutter. “About you running to Kai Riven five minutes after Auren did the decent thing and let you go.”
So there it is—whose boyfriend. Not officially, but close enough: Hailey, Beta’s daughter, the girl everyone already assumes will end up on Auren’s arm at the Moon Ball. Pack royalty in training.
“Mercy?” Heat stings my eyes; it’s not tears, it’s fury. “Auren humiliated me in front of everyone.”
“Honesty hurts.” She tilts her head, blonde ponytail swinging like a weapon. “He spared you years of embarrassing yourself. Be grateful.”
“Not my religion.” I step again; she glides with me, blocking the way to the parking lot, to oxygen. “Move.”
“Or what?” Her brows lift. “You’ll text your new king?”
The word king lands heavy. A few kids near the door straighten, remembering the Alpha King is somewhere out here in the dark, still on campus. Pack hierarchy hums in the air—Auren, potential future Alpha; Hailey, his pretty shadow; me, the scholarship stray who should’ve stayed in the background.
“Stop pretending this is about morals,” I say, pulse settling into steel. “This is about you hating that he ever looked at me—even to hurt me.”
Her smile dies. She leans in, perfume sugary, words poison. “You don’t belong in our circles, Rena. Not our pack, not our bloodlines, not our rooms.”
“I belong to myself,” I answer. “And I don’t owe anyone penance for being rejected.”
Her gaze drops to my wrist, to the faint marks and swelling. “Then quit parading your bruise like a sympathy badge. You really think sticking it under Kai Riven’s nose makes you shiny?”
“Auren grabbed me when I tried to leave that circle. That’s the story.” I keep my chin up. “Start there.”
“Auren did what he had to do,” she snaps. “You were clinging.”
I laugh, short and sharp. “He barely whispered my name before he cut the cord.”
“Because he’s decent,” she bites out. “Because you were never meant to shine that bright.”
“Keep telling yourself that,” I say. “Maybe it’ll sound true someday.”
Something ugly flashes in her eyes. “Say you’ll stay away from him,” she orders. “No more puppy eyes, no more Trials, no more drama. You don’t get to drag him down with you.”
“I don’t chase what throws me away,” I say. “And you’re not my Alpha.”
“Say it,” she insists, voice bright with threat. “Or I’ll make sure every pack in this district knows exactly how desperate you were.”
“Not yours to command.”
Her hand hits me before I see it coming.
Shove—hard, fast, mean. My heel slips on the edge of the step; concrete lurches up; air claws out of my lungs. For a split heartbeat I see stars instead of fairy lights.
Hands catch my waist—warm, steady, familiar.
“Don’t touch her.”
Auren’s voice drags across the night, rough enough to scratch the dark. The crowd at the doors sucks in a collective breath. Heads turn. Some kids bow their chins automatically—future Alpha speaking.
Hailey freezes, glittered bravado cracking. “Excuse me?”
Auren pulls me fully upright, like his body remembers the shape of mine and his brain wishes it didn’t. His fingers vanish from my dress as soon as I’m steady, leaving cool air between us.
“Don’t touch her,” he repeats, eyes locked on Hailey.
A few whispers dart through the group—Is he defending her? Hailey’s going to lose it. The weight of pack gossip sharpens, ready to pounce.
“You’re kidding,” Hailey scoffs, disbelief twisting into rage. “She threw herself at you for months, and now you’re—what, defending her because the Alpha King looked twice?”
“I said don’t,” he answers, each word landing heavy. “Back. Off.”
For a second, he looks like the boy I used to study with in the library, not the heir who ripped my heart out under a spotlight. Fear for me flickers in his eyes, real and raw, and that almost hurts worst of all.
“Where was this?” I ask, my voice small and sharp at once. “When you humiliated me?”
Noise from the gym swells behind us—bass thudding, someone screech-laughing, a teacher calling for lights change. Out here, the parking lot feels like a stage with no curtain. Hailey’s friends edge closer, phones up now, not pretending anymore.
Auren’s jaw works. “Rena—”
“Speak carefully,” Hailey cuts in, eyes like knives. “She’s playing you. She just wants a story to tell her little scholarship friends.”
He doesn’t look at her. His gaze stays on me like I’m the only horizon. “I—”
He reaches up, palm hovering near my cheek, hesitant. Like he’s thinking of wiping away the last of the tear-salt there, like he’s finally realizing I bled over this.
I step back before his skin can remember mine. “Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t make this harder.”
Color drains from his face. “I made a mistake.”
“Call it what it is,” I say. “A choice.”
Hailey barks out a joyless laugh. “Exactly. He chose not to be dragged down by—”
“Stop,” Auren snaps, still not looking at her. His voice cracks around the word. “Just stop.”
Hailey’s glare could peel paint. “You’re defending charity now? Cute. The King glances at her and suddenly you grow a conscience.”
“This isn’t about you,” he says, shoulders tense, pack power coiled under his skin.
“Everything at Northwood is about me.” She smiles, feral. “And you know it.”
The gym doors bump open behind us; a teacher glances out, sees the phones, the heirs, the Beta’s daughter, the future Alpha—and pointedly looks away. The door swings shut again. The message is clear: pack politics; not their problem.
I taste smoke that isn’t there.
“Please,” I say to both of them, desperation turned into a thin blade. “I’m done arguing in front of an open door. I’ve bled enough on this floor tonight.”
Hailey’s gaze flicks back to the glass, where faces press and cameras glint. She smooths her dress like someone about to take a bow. “They’re watching, Rena. Try not to trip over your new standards.”
“Try not to trip over your old ones,” I say, calm landing like frost. “We’re finished.”
She steps closer, one stiletto-length, body vibrating with the urge to shove again. Auren’s low growl rumbles enough that a couple of younger wolves flinch. Hailey rolls her eyes, but she spins on her heel, stalking back to her flock.
“Pathetic,” drifts back like a slur.
Auren stays.
Quiet chews the distance between us, full of everything we were and everything we’re not.
“I should’ve handled it privately,” he says at last, voice hoarse. “I thought if I ended it in the circle, it’d be—”
“You thought your image mattered more than I did,” I cut in. No waver now. “Own it.”
His throat bobs. “I’m owning it. I’m… sorry.”
“That word won’t sew this shut.” My wrist throbs; my chest does worse. “You wanted clear? Here’s mine: I owe you nothing, Auren Blackthorn.”
He looks gutted, like someone carved his name out of his own bones. “I shouldn’t have rejected you.”
No victory rises—only a tired ache that started under the Trial lights and hasn’t stopped echoing. “Truth with a timestamp still comes late.”
“Rena—”
“Stop.” I drag in a breath that scrapes my ribs. “No more tonight.”
The crowd at the doors ripples; I catch the glint of screens, the sidelong looks. Teachers smoke by the dumpsters, pretending not to see. Even the stars hide behind a skin of cloud, like they don’t want to watch.
My feet finally remember how to move. I step past him. One step. Another. He doesn’t grab me this time. Maybe he’s learned one thing.
“Where are you going?” he asks softly.
“Anywhere that isn’t this,” I say. “Anywhere that isn’t you and an audience.”
I don’t look back.
Asphalt glints ahead, slick and black under a jittering streetlamp. Faculty cars sit rimed with dew; two freshmen huddle by the bike rack, whispering and pretending they’re invisible. A flyer flaps on a notice board that never had my name, just college fairs and pack internships I’ll never get.
Breath steadies. Spine stacks. Every step feels less like running away and more like walking toward myself.
Headlights roll along the curb, slow and deliberate. A dark shape slides into my peripheral vision like a thought I’ve been avoiding. The engine purrs quieter than my pulse. Paint drinks the light—mirror-black, windows tinted, presence unmistakable.
The black SUV eases to a stop beside me and the back door swings open. Cold, expensive air spills out—leather, winter, command.
“Rena. Get in.”