Chapter 1: Our packs hate each other
The grand entrance hall of Blackstone Academy swallowed her whole.
Bella kept her chin up as she walked through the towering marble archway, but inside, her stomach was doing something between a flip and a knot. The vaulted ceiling disappeared into shadow above her, and the chandeliers—massive, gilded things—cast fractured light across the polished stone floor. It was the kind of place that made you feel small. Made you remember your place before anyone even had to tell you.
"Bella."
Dean's voice cut through the hum of conversation around them. She turned to find him already watching her with that look—the one that said listen carefully, I'm not repeating myself. He stood a head taller than most of the students streaming past, his blue-embroidered jacket doing nothing to soften the hard lines of his shoulders.
"Rules," he said flatly. "You remember them?"
She resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Don't wander off. Don't talk to strangers. Don't—"
"Stay out of the Blackthorn section." He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "That's not a suggestion, Bella. That's a command."
"I know."
"Do you?" His jaw tightened. "Because I've seen what happens to Whitefangs who forget. And I'm not losing you to a territorial dispute over a hallway."
The words landed heavier than he probably intended. Bella's throat constricted, and she nodded once, meeting his gaze so he'd know she understood. Her parents had died in a territorial dispute. She didn't need the reminder.
"I'll stay out of their section," she said quietly. "I'll stay away from Joseph Blackthorn."
Something flickered in Dean's eyes—relief, maybe. Or just exhaustion. He'd been carrying the weight of her since the funeral, and it showed in the way his shoulders sat too tight, the way his hand kept flexing at his side like he was bracing for a fight.
"I'll be fine, Dean." Bella softened her voice, hoping to ease some of the tension coiled in his frame. "I'm not a pup anymore."
Dean's mouth quirked—not quite a smile, but close enough. "You'll always be a pup to me." He reached out, brushing a strand of hair from her face with a gentleness that contradicted his size. "Stay safe. I'll grab your schedule and meet you before first period."
She nodded, watching as he turned and strode through the crowd toward the lockers. The blue of his blazer stood out like a beacon against the sea of students, a reminder of the line that divided this place. Blue for Whitefang. Red for Blackthorn. The two packs had been at each other's throats for as long as anyone could remember.
Bella exhaled slowly, letting her shoulders drop. She needed a moment. Just one moment to breathe before she dove into the chaos of her first day.
Bella started walking along the western corridor, her eyes scanning the numbers above the classroom doors. She wasn't sure where she was supposed to go, but she figured she could find a map or a friendly face. Maybe a teacher. Someone official.
The hallway hummed with voices, the echo of footsteps, the occasional laugh. She caught snippets of conversations—talk of upcoming exams, weekend parties, the football game that had everyone buzzing. It all felt so normal. So human.
But this place wasn't normal. She knew that.
Her fingers brushed the fabric of her blazer, feeling the faint outline of the mark beneath. Every wolf wore one—a crescent over the heart, glowing faintly when emotions ran high. A sign of pack, of belonging. Or when you’ve found your mate. Hers was the blue of her family, the Whitefang crescent. She'd been proud of it once.
Now it just felt like a target.
A group of students rounded the corner, laughing loudly, and Bella pressed herself against the wall to let them pass. One of them glanced at her, his eyes flicking to her blue blazer, and he smirked before turning back to his friends.
She said nothing. Just kept walking.
The corridor opened into a quieter section, lined with arched windows that let in pale morning light. Bella slowed, letting herself breathe for the first time since she'd stepped through the doors. The marble floor gleamed beneath her feet, and the air smelled faintly of wood polish and forgotten rain.
Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. Maybe Dean was overreacting.
A low rumble echoed through the windows.
Bella turned, watching as a motorcycle pulled into the circular drive beyond the glass. It was sleek and black, catching the sunlight like a blade. The rider wore a red blazer—Blackthorn—and he cut the engine with a practiced twist of his wrist.
He swung his leg over the bike with an easy grace, and Bella's throat went dry.
He was tall. Broad-shouldered. The kind of tall that made everything around him seem smaller. He pulled off his helmet, shaking out a mess of jet-black hair that was slightly damp, as if he'd just come from a swim. Or a fight.
He tucked the helmet under his arm, turning toward the entrance, and for one suspended second, he paused. His gaze swept the building—looking for something. Looking for someone.
Then he disappeared inside.
Bella released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding. That must be him. That must be Joseph Blackthorn.
She shook her head, forcing herself to move. It didn't matter. She wasn't going anywhere near him. She was going to find her classroom, sit her butt in a chair, and be invisible for the next four years.
Simple. Manageable. Doable.
She rounded the corner and slammed straight into something solid.
Her books went flying.
Arms caught her waist before she could hit the floor, pulling her flush against a body that was all hard muscle and heat. Her hands shot out instinctively, landing on a broad chest covered in red fabric.
Red.
She looked up.
He looked down.
And the world stopped.
His eyes—piercing blue, sharp enough to cut—swept over her face before locking onto hers. And then, like a slow-motion sunrise, they shifted. Deep red flooded across his irises, molten and dangerous and impossibly beautiful.
Bella felt it before she understood it—a burning against her sternum, searing through her chest. She glanced down, and through the layers of fabric, a blue glow pulsed beneath her blazer. The mark. Her mark.
She looked up again. His own chest, right over his heart, where a matching red glow bled through his fingers.
Their eyes met.
The air between them crackled with something thick and electric, a pull so strong it made her knees buckle. For a moment—just a moment—she didn't want to let go.
Then she tore herself from his grip, stumbling backward.
Bella's heart pounded so hard she could hear it in her ears. Her mark still glowed, pulsing in rhythm with her heartbeat, and she pressed her palm against it to try to hide the light.
No, no, no. This isn't happening. This isn't—
She backed away, feet unsteady, and he made no move to follow. But his eyes—his eyes were still on her, watching her retreat like she was the only thing worth seeing in this entire marble tomb.
Bella's back hit the wall, and she pressed herself against it, trying to disappear into the cool stone.
Dean stepped forward, his hand shooting out to fist in the fabric of Joseph's blazer. His eyes flickered, the deep blue bleeding into something brighter, something feral. "Touch her again and I'll rip out your throat."
Joseph's gaze dropped to Dean's hand, then slowly rose to meet his eyes. A muscle twitched in his jaw. He grabbed Dean's wrist, shoving it away with enough force to make Dean stumble back a step. "Not if I kill you first."
The air shifted.
Dean's body convulsed, a low growl ripping from his chest. His form blurred at the edges, and then his wolf was there—massive and white with streaks of blue running through its fur like veins of ice, glowing eyes burning with rage. It stood over Dean, baring teeth the size of her fingers.
Across the hall, Joseph snapped. His body twisted and shattered, fur exploding outward in a wave of black and red. His wolf was even bigger, darkness swallowing light, crimson eyes fixed on Dean with predatory focus. A low, guttural growl rolled from its chest, vibrating through the floor and up into Bella's bones.
The hallway erupted around them. Students scrambled, some screaming, others running for the exits. The air filled with snarls and the scrape of claws against marble.
Bella's heart slammed against her ribs. They were going to kill each other. Right here. Right now.
She ran forward, arms thrown up between them. "Stop!" The word tore from her throat, raw and desperate.
The blast hit like a wall.
A shockwave ripped from her chest, invisible and deafening, throwing both wolves backward. They crashed against opposite walls, their bodies slamming into stone with a sickening thud. The forced shift broke, and they tumbled back into human form, gasping, sprawled on the floor with students scattering in every direction.
Silence.
Bella stood in the middle of the hallway, her hands still raised, her entire body trembling. Her mark blazed beneath her blazer, searing hot against her skin. The air crackled around her, static and ozone and something ancient.
"What the hell just happened to me?" she whispered, staring at her own hands like they belonged to someone else.
Dean pushed himself up on trembling arms, his eyes still faintly glowing. "Where the hell did that blast come from?" His voice was hoarse, thick with the remnants of the shift.
Joseph rose slower, his jaw tight. He didn't answer. Instead, he lifted his head, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled. His eyes found Bella, narrowing, studying her like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve.
That scent. That blast. It came from her.
Bella felt his gaze like a brand. She backed away, shaking her head, refusing to let the meaning settle in her mind. She couldn't be here. She couldn't be near him.
She turned and fled.
Her footsteps slapped against the marble as she ran, her blazer flapping around her hips. The hallways blurred past her, students becoming streaks of color as she pushed forward. She didn't know where she was going—just away. Away from Joseph.
By the time she slowed, her lungs were burning and her side was cramping. She bent over, hands on her knees, forcing air into her chest. The hallway around her was quieter, less crowded, but the walls were different here—darker, lined with red banners and black trim.
She straightened slowly, her stomach sinking as she realized where she was.
The Blackthorn section.
Students turned to look at her, eyes tracking the blue thread of her blazer with open hostility. The whispers started low, like wind through dry leaves, growing louder with every step she took.
"What's a Whitefang doing over here?"
"Does she have a death wish?"
"That's the girl who just made a scene with Joseph."
Bella forced her chin up, keeping her eyes forward. She could turn around. She could go back the way she came. But the classroom she needed was at the end of this corridor, and she'd be damned if she let a bunch of posturing wolves scare her off.
"Hey."
A figure stepped into her path. Bella stopped, looking up into the face of a girl with sharp brown eyes and dark hair pulled into a severe ponytail. She wore a red blazer like the rest of them, but it was tailored tighter, fitted like a second skin.
"I heard Joseph flirted with you this morning," the girl said, her voice dripping with venom.
Bella blinked. "What? No, I—"
The girl cut her off, stepping closer. "FYI, he's the Alpha of the Blackthorn pack. He doesn't want a bitch like you."
Students circled around them, forming a loose ring. The air thickened with anticipation, with the promise of violence. Bella's pulse hammered in her throat, but she kept her expression even.
Bianca's lips curled into a smile that didn't reach her eyes. She tilted her head, studying Bella like she was deciding where to start. Then, without warning, her fingers lengthened into claws—sharp, gleaming, catching the dim light of the corridor.
"Let's see if your blood matches your blazer."
The words hung in the air, cold and final.
Bella's instincts screamed at her to run, to shift, to do something. But her body felt frozen, rooted to the marble floor. She was outnumbered, outmatched, and completely alone in enemy territory.
A boy stepped forward—tall, with sandy hair and a lean build. His eyes flicked from Bianca to Bella, and something in his expression shifted. Recognition. He reached out, catching Bianca's arm before she could move.
"Sam, what the hell—" Bianca started.
He nodded at Bella's neck, where a silver chain hung just visible above the collar of her blazer. A pendant dangled from it—a crescent moon, carved from pale blue stone, catching the light like a piece of frozen sky.
"She's Dean Whitefang's sister," Sam said quietly.
The crowd went still.
Bianca's eyes narrowed. She looked at the necklace, then at Bella's face, then back at the necklace. Her smile widened, but it wasn't amusement anymore. It was something hungrier.
"Perfect," she breathed. "She's the Whitefang's future Luna. Hurting her means starting a war."
Sam's jaw tightened. "Exactly. So don't—"
"Hurting her means starting a war." Bianca repeated the words slowly, savoring them like a fine wine. "But nobody said anything about not scaring her a little."
She walked around Bella in a slow circle, her claws still extended, the tips trailing along the wall with a soft scraping sound. Bella forced herself to stay still, to keep her chin up, to not flinch as Bianca circled behind her and then back to the front.
Bianca stopped directly in front of her, close enough that Bella could smell the mint on her breath.
"Let me give you some advice, little Luna," Bianca raised her claws to Bella's neck. The sharp points pressed gently against her skin—just enough to sting, not enough to draw blood.
Bella swallowed. Her throat moved against the claws, and she felt the faintest pinch of pressure. Bianca pressed harder. A bead of warmth rolled down Bella's neck—blood, just a drop, but enough to make her point.
The door at the end of the corridor burst open.
It slammed against the wall with a crack that echoed through the hallway like a gunshot. Everyone turned.
Joseph Blackthorn stood in the doorway.
He was still in his uniform, but it was disheveled—shirt half untucked, sleeves rolled to his elbows, a strand of black hair falling across his forehead. His chest was heaving, like he'd run here. His eyes swept the hallway, taking in the crowd, the circle, the girl at the center.
They landed on Bella.
His whole body went rigid.
"Bianca, stop. The Alpha's here." A girl near the front of the crowd said, her voice laced with urgency. The name sent another ripple through the students—a different kind of energy now, sparks of unease mixing with the excitement.
Bianca didn't lower her claws. She turned her head, her smile shifting into something almost playful. "Joseph."
"Bianca." His voice was ice. "Get your hands off her."
"Or what?" Bianca tilted her head, her claws still resting against Bella's throat. "She's just a Whitefang, Joseph. A trespasser. I'm doing you a favor."
His eyes bled red.
It happened in an instant—the blue vanishing like the last light of dusk, replaced by something older and more dangerous. A low growl rumbled from his chest, and then he moved.
Bella didn't see him cross the distance. One second he was at the door; the next he had Bianca by the throat, lifting her off the ground like she weighed nothing. His claws were out, pressed against the soft skin of her neck, and his eyes were burning—literally burning, red as embers, bright enough to cast shadows across his face.
"You fuck with her," Joseph said, his voice low and deadly, "you deal with me."
Bianca's feet dangled above the floor. Her hands clawed at his grip, her face turning red, her composure cracking for the first time. The students around them had gone silent. No one moved. No one breathed.
"Joseph, stop!"
The words came from Bella's mouth before she could think about them. She stepped forward, her hand reaching out—not for Bianca, but for him. For his arm. For his hand.
His eyes snapped to her.
The red faded slowly, like embers cooling to ash. Blue bled back into his irises, and his grip loosened. He looked at Bella for a long moment—searching, questioning—then back at Bianca.
He let her go.
She dropped to the floor, gasping, clutching her throat. The crowd remained frozen, uncertain, watching their Alpha with something between fear and confusion.
Joseph turned to Bella.
He walked toward her, closing the distance between them, his steps slow and deliberate. She should have backed away. She should have run. But her feet wouldn't move.
He stopped in front of her, close enough that she could smell him—pine and leather and something wild, something she couldn't name. He looked down at her, and his expression had softened. The hard lines of his jaw had eased, and something flickered in his eyes that she couldn't read.
He offered his hand.
Bella stared at it. His fingers were long and calloused, with faint scratches across the knuckles—remnants of a violence she didn't want to think about. Her hand lifted, almost of its own accord, and his fingers closed around hers, warm and solid.
If he's supposed to hate me, why's he helping me? The thought spun through her mind, dizzying and disorienting.
She pulled her hand back, tucking it against her chest. "I don't need your help."
Joseph's mouth quirked—not quite a smile, but close. "Looked like you needed it."
His voice was rough, low, with a warmth that caught her off guard. He stepped closer, reaching for her hand again, and this time he didn't let go when she tried to pull away. He lifted her fingers, turning her palm over, studying it like he was memorizing the lines.
Her hand came up to his chest, pressing against the red fabric of his blazer. She felt the heat of him through the material, the steady thump of his heart beneath her palm. She looked up at him.
He was staring down at her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
"Get your hands off my Alpha, you Whitefang slut!"
The shout shattered the moment.
Bianca stormed toward them, her face twisted with fury, her claws still extended and glistening. Students scrambled out of her path like leaves before a storm, pressing themselves against the walls to avoid her wrath. Her eyes were locked on Bella's hand still pressed against Joseph's chest, and the sight of it seemed to fuel something primal and ugly behind her gaze.
Joseph moved before she could reach them. He stepped forward, positioning himself between Bianca and Bella, his hand coming up to halt her advance. The gesture was calm, almost casual, but there was steel beneath it.
"I'm not yours anymore," he said.
The words landed like a slap. Bianca's claws retracted slightly, her mouth opening and closing as if she couldn't quite process what she'd just heard. A murmur rippled through the gathered students, whispers spreading like wildfire through dry grass.
"Joseph—" Bianca started.
"No." He cut her off, his voice flat and final. "We're done. We've been done. You just haven't accepted it yet."
Bianca's face went through a series of expressions—shock, disbelief, then something uglier that made her features harden. Her eyes flicked to Bella, and the hatred there was almost tangible, a physical weight pressing against the air.
"This isn't over," she said quietly. "This isn't even close to over."
Joseph didn't respond. He just turned, grabbing Bella's hand with a grip that left no room for argument, and pulled her away from the crowd. She stumbled after him, her heart hammering, her mind still reeling from everything that had happened in the last five minutes.
He led her down a side corridor, darker and quieter than the main hall. The sounds of the academy faded behind them—the murmur of voices, the shuffle of feet, the distant slam of a locker. Here, the only sounds were their footsteps and the soft rasp of their breathing.
He stopped abruptly, and Bella nearly collided with him. She looked up, finding herself in a narrow alcove lined with old portraits and dusty sconces. The light was dimmer here, more intimate, and the air smelled of old paper and forgotten things.
Bella leaned against the wall, her back pressing into the cool stone. Joseph turned to face her, his hands coming up on either side of her head, caging her in. His body blocked out the light, casting her in shadow, and she could feel the heat radiating from him like a furnace.
His eyes glowed red.
"I saved you, Whitefang," he said, his voice low and rough. "You owe me."
"Joseph!" Bianca's voice echoed from somewhere down the corridor, sharp and demanding. "Get over here now!"
Joseph didn't turn. He didn't even flinch. His eyes stayed locked on Bella's, and something in his expression shifted—a flicker of desperation, quickly masked.
"I need to get rid of her," he mumbled, almost to himself.
"How?" Bella asked quietly.
He looked at her for a long moment, his jaw working. Then he moved.
His hands hooked under her thighs, lifting her effortlessly, pinning her against the wall. Bella gasped, her hands flying to his shoulders for balance, her legs wrapping around his waist instinctively. The heat of him pressed against her, solid and overwhelming, and she could feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath her palms.
He bent his head down to her shoulder, his nose brushing against the curve of her neck. She felt him inhale deeply—his wolf, sniffing her, learning her scent. His eyes glowed brighter, the red bleeding through the dim light like embers catching fire.
Bella bit her lip hard enough to taste copper.
"Act like I'm gonna mark you," he said.
His voice was a rumble against her skin, sending shivers cascading down her spine. He tilted his head back to look at her, his eyes burning with that impossible red.
"Right here, right now."
The air between them thickened. Bella's heart pounded so hard she could feel it in her temples, in her throat, in the place where their bodies touched. She should push him away. She should scream. She should do something other than stare into those glowing eyes and feel her entire body go liquid with something she didn't dare name.
Their marks began to glow.
Red and blue light bloomed through their clothing, searing against their chests. Wisps of color curled upward from their hearts like smoke from kindling, dancing in the space between them before reaching out to connect. The threads of red and blue twisted together, braiding into a rope of light that pulsed with a rhythm she could feel in her bones.
They closed their eyes, breathing in sync, the world shrinking until all that existed was the warmth of his body and the impossible pull of the light between them. The glow intensified, wrapping around them like cocoon silk, and Bella felt something shift deep in her chest—a door opening, a lock turning.
A loud bang shattered the silence.
Bella's eyes flew open. Her hands shot out, shoving against Joseph's chest hard enough to send him stumbling back. The glowing threads snapped, retreating into their chests like startled snakes. The mark on her sternum throbbed with a dull ache, and she pressed her hand against it, trying to smother the light.
"What—no." She shook her head, her voice breathless and uneven. "Our packs are rivals. They hate each other."
Joseph recovered his balance, his chest heaving. The red in his eyes was fading, bleeding back to blue, but the intensity remained. He took a step toward her, his hand coming to her hip, his fingers ghosting over the curve of it like he was afraid she'd disappear if he pressed too hard.
"Does it look like I care?" he asked.
Bella's mouth went dry. "No."
"Neither should you." His eyes dropped to her chest, where her badge was pinned—the one Dean had insisted she wear, with her name printed in careful block letters. He read it, then looked back up at her face. "Bella."
The way he said her name—like he was tasting it, like he was memorising it—made her stomach flip.