Chapter 1
The bus door screeched open like a dare.
I gripped my backpack strap and climbed aboard, pulse hammering in my throat. This was supposed to be my chance at freedom. My father had defied our Alpha to send me here, hoping the School for Shapers would take me in, teach me to use the visions I’d inherited from my mother. A gift, he’d called it. A curse, the pack had decided.
Either way, I was out. And my father would bleed for it.
The steps clanged under my boots. Heat and diesel wrapped around me, sharp as a brand. Wolves filled the front rows, sprawled across the seats, voices loud with easy belonging. Their heads turned as I passed.
I gripped my bag tighter and made myself a promise: Just survive this ride. No fights. No mistakes. No humiliation. If I could get through one bus ride without shame burning me hollow, maybe the School would be a new beginning.
That hope cracked when a shadow fell across me. A wolf girl with perfect hair and a half moon crest stitched bold across her jacket leaned in, lips curling.
“Omega.” She said it like filth. “You don’t belong here. Crawl.”
Her hand clamped onto my shoulder, nails digging in, forcing me down. My knees hit the sticky floor, heat burning my cheeks as laughter erupted around me. She pushed harder, trying to grind me lower, onto all fours. My wolf whimpered, tail tucked, ears flat inside me.
Not here. Not again.
I tried to rise and was surprised, the weight suddenly lifted—ripped away by something colder, heavier.
“You’re in my way.”
The words slid over me like steel drawn from a sheath, bored yet edged with danger.
A figure stood above us, tall and broad-shouldered, a hood shadowing his face. His grip crushed the Beta’s wrist, twisting until she gasped. I hadn’t realized there was someone else waiting for the bus with me.
That’s when the scent hit me.
Sandalwood and cedar, sharp as fresh-cut wood. Beneath it, something older and darker—like winter air spilling from a cave that had never seen the sun. It prickled over my skin, burrowed under it, a half-forgotten dream that left me shaken and wanting.
My wolf lifted her head unbidden, torn between unease and heat. My body betrayed me, spark leaping low in my stomach, shameful and sudden.
“You’ll sit down,” he said. Not loud, not snarled—just final.
The Beta wrenched free, outrage flashing in her eyes. “Derek—”
He rose at once. The aisle seemed to shrink around him, his sneer pressing down like a stormfront. “Touch what’s mine again,” Derek snarled, “and I’ll break you.”
The hooded boy didn’t flinch. A blur of motion—faster than my eyes could track—and Derek slammed against the window with a crack that rattled the glass. Gasps cut off the laughter.
No growl, no dominance display. Just raw, effortless power.
The boy released him, and Derek sagged into his seat, pale and silent, eyes blazing with promised vengeance.
The hooded boy turned without a word, moving down the aisle. Wolves shrank from his path, heads ducked, shoulders hunched.
I was finally able to get a good look at my rescuer. He was tall, broad-shouldered, hood shadowing most of his face. His presence hit me like a thunderclap. I had no idea what he was, not wolf, not fae, not anything I recognized—just raw power that made my skin prickle and my wolf shrink back but my heart leap forward.
I stayed frozen, heart hammering, my wolf trembling between humiliation and desire. By protecting me, he hadn’t just bruised Derek’s pride. He’d made me party to it.
But I could hope that now, Derek’s revenge had a target instead of me, the hooded boy. I knew better though. Derek’s hatred wouldn’t just land on him. By standing in the shadow of his strength, I’d made myself part of the grudge. I’d pay for this sooner or later.
I moved in the hooded boy’s wake, looking for a spot amongst the wolves. Bag after bag hit the empty seats, bodies sprawling wide to block me. By the time I reached the middle rows, my skin buzzed with rejection. Same story as my pack. Same ending. Rejection.
I slid into the first open seat by the window and pressed my palm to the hot glass. Outside, Texas stretched wide and merciless, sky like a furnace lid. My heart pounded against my ribs, a caged thing.
He moved to the very back row and dropped into the corner seat, pulling a battered book from his bag as if nothing had happened. The Latin title caught in the flicker of light—De Occulta Philosophia. He flipped it open, utterly absorbed, like the bus wasn’t holding its breath around him.
I smiled for a moment, I had done it. I had survived without being humiliated….too much. This was my chance at freedom. It had to be.
Even if it didn’t feel like it yet.
The bus lurched back onto the road, rattling my seat. I stared at the passing fields, pretending not to feel the empty space beside me like a spotlight. No one wanted to sit with an Omega. No one ever did.
Until someone did.
What felt like hours later, a boy shuffled down the aisle, his backpack patched with strange, curling symbols. Heads turned, bodies stiffened. Even the wolves drew back as though his shadow stung.
He stopped at my row.
“Everywhere else is taken.” His voice was flat, almost brittle. He slid in before I could answer, pressing himself against the edge of the seat like he wanted to take up as little space as possible.
The scent hit me—sweet like honey, sharp like frost. Fae.
He slid into the seat beside me without asking, shoulders hunched, eyes fixed on the floor. The wolves two rows up snickered like he’d just confirmed whatever they already thought of him.
“You don’t want me sitting here,” he muttered.
“Why not?”
He hesitated, jaw tight. “Because I’m Unseelie.”
That explained the way the others recoiled when he walked past. Still, he glanced at me like he expected me to shift away too.
I didn’t move. “Then don’t lead with that next time,” I teased.
His brow furrowed, confused.
“You don’t owe anyone the truth,” I said, my voice low. “Sometimes the only way Omegas survive is knowing when to keep quiet. When to hide. When to make people underestimate us.”
A shadow flickered across his face — suspicion, maybe hope. “But I… I can’t—”
“Then practice with me,” I cut in. “Start small. Don’t give me everything at once.”
He finally looked at me, really looked, like the thought had never occurred to him. “You’re… helping me?”
I shrugged, forcing a grin I didn’t feel. “Why not? Outcasts have to stick together.”
Something shifted in his expression, like a wall cracking just enough to let a little light through.
“Cybele,” I said, holding out my hand.
A beat, then his grip was cool, careful. “Corin.”
A silence stretched between us. Not comfortable, not hostile. Just… real. And for the first time since I’d climbed aboard, I didn’t feel completely alone.
The bus jolted hard, brakes squealing as we slowed to another stop. Dust kicked up in the hot wind outside, and a tall girl climbed aboard like she owned the road.
She was broad-shouldered, dark-skinned, her braids swinging down her back. A jacket clung to her frame despite the heat, its patch stitched with an ivory tusk. The wolves in the front rows went real quiet when she passed, watching her like they weren’t sure if they should laugh or move out of the way. She didn’t give them either.
Her eyes flicked toward me and Corin, huddled mid-row. Her mouth curved, sharp with amusement.
“Aww,” she drawled, voice carrying over the drone of the engine, “look at the little strays sticking together. That’s almost cute.”
My cheeks went hot. Corin stiffened beside me.
She smirked. “Relax. If I wanted to crush you, I’d have done it already.” Then she dropped into the seat across from us, stretching long legs into the aisle like she owned it.
I swallowed, trying for brave. “You’re not… wolf?”
She barked out a laugh. “Do I smell like a flea-bitten mutt to you? No, sweetheart. I’m Ganesha. Second year.” She tapped the tusk emblem on her sleeve. “Wererhino.”
The word thudded heavy in the air. I’d never even heard of a wererhino.
Corin found his voice first, wary. “Ganesha? What’s that supposed to mean?”
Her grin widened. “Oh, sweetlings. First-years. You’re fresh out of high school. You really don’t know a damn thing, do you?”
We both shook our heads.
“Well,” she said, leaning back like she was settling in to tell a story, “lucky for you, I’m bored and a softie. The School for Shapers is a college for the different types of shifters to learn to master their abilities. There are four Houses here. Fenris, Ganesha, Mythos, Sylvara. If you’ve got fangs and pack instincts, the wolves will eat you alive in Fenris. If you’re built like me, you get the strength of the ancients in Ganesha. If you’re born of stories—dragons, unicorns, phoenixes—Mythos will claim you. And if you’ve got tricksy blood, fae or otherwise, Sylvara will chew you up and spit you out.”
Her gaze sharpened, pinning us both. “One way or another, the Stones will tell you where you belong. And trust me—once you’ve got a House, you’d better learn the rules fast. Or you won’t last long enough to enjoy your cute little outcast club.”
Her words hit like a weight in my gut. The Stones will tell you where you belong.
My wolf stirred uneasily. What if they told me I didn’t belong anywhere? What if even magic spat me out the way the pack had?
I forced a laugh that didn’t sound right in my own ears. “So that’s it? Rocks decide who we are?”
Jada smirked, eyes glinting. “Not just rocks, baby girl. The Stones are older than your Alpha, older than any fae court. They don’t make mistakes.”
Corin shifted beside me, his hands knotting tighter in his lap. “And what if you don’t like where they put you?”
Jada’s grin widened, all tusk and teeth. “Then you learn to like it. Or you get crushed. Simple as that.”
Silence stretched, the engine’s growl filling the space.
I glanced at Corin, catching the tension in his jaw, the way he stared fixedly out the window like he could already see the prison bars forming. Without thinking, I nudged his arm with my elbow.
“Hey. We’ll figure it out,” I whispered.
He blinked at me, startled. “You don’t even know me.”
“Neither does anyone else,” I said. “That’s the point. We get to decide what they learn.”
His lips parted like he wanted to argue, then shut again. The smallest flicker of relief passed over his face.
From across the aisle, Jada snorted. “Cute. You two might actually last a week if you keep that up.” My cheeks burned, but I didn’t look away from Corin. I almost believed what I’d just told him.
Jada leaned back, arms folded, that smirk never leaving her face. “You two are green as spring grass. You’ll get eaten alive if someone doesn’t teach you the rules.” Her gaze swept me like a blade. “Omega here won’t last a day in Fenris.” Then she flicked a look at Corin. “And you? You’ve got that lost-puppy look that screams ‘target’ for whatever house picks you.”
Corin’s jaw tightened, but I laid a hand on his arm before he snapped. “What are you saying?” I asked.
“I’m saying I’ll keep you alive long enough to learn the ropes.” Jada’s grin sharpened. “But nothing’s free. When I ask for a favor, you give it. Whatever I need to climb. Jada by the way.”
It was said like a joke, but the air between us went heavy and waiting.
Corin tilted his head, eyes narrowing. “So… a deal? You protect us when we call, and we help you climb the ladder, Jada?”
Jada snorted. “Sure, kid. A deal. I’ll help you if you help me.”
But Corin didn’t smile. He leaned forward, hand outstretched. Jada blinked, confused—then instinct took over and she clasped his hand, firm and certain. The moment their palms met the air cracked, sharp as static before a storm.
Corin’s voice dropped into a rhythm that made the hairs on my arms rise. “Shake on it, let it stand. What’s been spoken, sealed by hand. Favor owed, and promise true, Bound in word from me to you.”
The words throbbed in the bus like something older than all of us.
Her smirk collapsed. “What the hell—”
“You gave me your Name and offered a pact,” Corin said softly, almost apologetic. “Now it holds.”
Jada yanked her hand back as if it had burned her, eyes wide. “Gods damn it. I hate my trusting nature.” She glared at both of us. “Accidentally bound by a first-year fae. Just my luck.”
Corin shrank a little under her fury, but I caught a flicker of triumph in his eyes.
My heart hammered. “So it’s real? You’ll help us Jada?”
She groaned, but the edge left her shoulders. “Yeah. I’ll look out for you brats. But don’t forget—you owe me. When I call it in, you deliver. Do any of you know the penalty for breaking a geas? No? Good. Consider this your first lesson. And Corin—try that again, and I’ll turn you into paste.”
Corin ducked his head, a tiny smile ghosting his mouth.
For the first time since I’d stepped on the bus, I didn’t just feel like an outcast. I felt like part of something—dangerous, fragile, and real.
But my thoughts betrayed me and went back to that hooded boy. I must have been staring because Jada coughed uncomfortably and said “that boy’s trouble if I’ve ever seen it.”
My pulse thundered, heat coiling low in my stomach. Trouble had always found me. I’d spent my whole life trying to survive it, outrun it.
But staring at the hooded boy, my wolf shivering inside my chest, I knew the truth.
For the first time, I didn’t just fear trouble. I wanted it.
