Fated By Moonlight

Erica POV

I'd never have imagined that a quiet Friday night in would end with plexiglass shards on my arm and the scent of peppermint seared into my memory. But then, Alexis was involved, and with her, "quiet" had always been relative.

I'd settled onto the sofa around eight, surrounded by textbooks for my Plantagenet succession exam and armed with enough snacks to fuel an army or at least an omega cramming for academic domination. My hair was piled into a messy bun, my raccoon-eye mascara an unintentional fashion statement, and my pyjamas resembled a waddling penguin more than human attire. I had just started a particularly dry section on Marxist learning theories when Alexis burst through the door.

"You cannot be serious, Erica. It's Friday night!" she announced, tossing her keys onto the counter with theatrical flair. Her skintight black jeans and impossibly tall-heeled ankle boots contrasted sharply with my comfort-first ensemble. She looked exactly like she belonged on a glossy magazine cover or at a nightclub, not in our cramped student flat.

I glared up at her. "Isn't it obvious? I'm working." I held up my open textbook, hoping the sight of my feeble notes would dissuade her.

She perched on the edge of the sofa, fingers drumming on the armrest. "You have an exam in three days. One evening out won't kill you."

I sighed. "You mean one evening out at the hockey game where you flirt shamelessly with sweaty strangers who smell like" I paused, aware of how that must sound. "pine-sap and broken dreams. That kind of 'fun'?"

Alexis's eyes sparkled. "That kind of fun."

I leaned back, crossing my arms. "Lex, I've never been a sporty person. I prefer historical walks and cafes with quinoa salads." I planted my gaze firmly on my textbook, hoping she'd take the hint.

But she didn't. Instead she grinned. "That's exactly why you need this. You've been holed up in here since Monday. Get out of your penguin suit and come with me."

My resistance melted at the sight of her sheepish expression. Only Alexis could beg with such puppy-dog sincerity. "Fine," I muttered, closing the book. "Let me feed Potato and change clothes."

"Deal." She hopped off the sofa and snagged the remote, tossing it onto the nearby coffee table. "Hurry up. The tram's here in twenty."

Potato, my judgmental mini lop rabbit, received her dinner with a grudging apology. "Don't give me that look," I scolded, as her twitchy nose surveyed the pellets. She wasn't impressed, but I'd promised Alexis, and she was never pleased until I at least tried.

In my bedroom, I rummaged through my closet. Jeans and boots were out; my arm didn't need extra rubbing. Instead I grabbed the yellow-and gold-hoodie Alexis had insisted matched the Polar Blades' team colors, plus a loose pair of leggings. My hair got a quick brush, though I left it tied up. Anything to avoid risking an extra tram stop for a shampoo.

"Let's go," I announced, slipping my feet into slip-on ankle boots. Alexis appeared behind me, appraising my outfit.

"A bit... relaxed?" she said, one eyebrow arching.

I shrugged. "Comfort first." She huffed and grabbed her leather jacket. "You look fine. We're late."

The tram ride was mercifully silent. Alexis scrolled through her phone, occasionally nudging me with excited commentary about which players she thought would be there tonight. I pretended to be captivated but in reality, I was still visualizing the sofa, my tea, and a world without riotous crowds.

When we arrived at the arena, Alexis led the charge through the security checks, batting her eyelashes at the guards. I shuffled behind, clutching my small bag. The roar of the crowd hit me like a tidal wave as we stepped into the concourse: thousands of scarves, jerseys, and hoarse chants.

"Block fourteen, front row," Alexis announced, waving her ticket. "Right by the home bench. Maybe they'll toss us a puck!" She bounced on her heels, and I had to admit her enthusiasm was infectious.

We found our seats plastic fold-downs behind the protective glass and I settled in, heart thundering. The ice below gleamed under the spotlights, pristine and promising chaos. Alexis elbowed me. "Look there's Moskoviz warming up. Canadian tank, number fifty-four."

I blinked at the swarm of players. "Which one?"

She pointed. "Long hair. He's practically a statute on ice."

I peered until I spotted him, then tried to focus on the puck and not the thighs beneath the pads. My cheeks heated; I was definitely out of my element.

The whistle blew, sticks clattered, and the players sprang into motion. My eyes darted across the rink, tracking that tiny black disc. It moved at dizzying speed. I let out a small yelp when a puck thudded against the glass mere inches from my face. Alexis laughed.

"Told you to keep your eyes on the puck!"

I swallowed, trying to smile. "Keep the pep talks to a minimum."

Twenty minutes later, during the first interlude, Alexis had me halfway convinced that ice shavings and testosterone could be good for my GPA. She chatted nonstop about strategies, star players, and the sheer exhilaration of a good body check. I nodded along, clutching my frozen Coke, determined not to look as green as I felt.

But I barely registered her commentary when I felt it: a rush of air, a crackling sound like a firework, then Glass. Everywhere.

The world tilted, and a searing pain exploded across my left arm. My head snapped toward the barrier. For an instant, I saw a mass of pads and limbs crumple into the stands, and then darkness swallowed my vision.

My last coherent thought was the icy sting of peppermint as a voice I recognized only as Tyler's whispered, "I'm so sorry."

Then everything went black.

I came in a blur of fluorescent lights and murmured voices. Blood dripped onto my hoodie, and through the haze, Tyler Wood's sweat-dampened hair hovered above me as he murmured apologies. My arm throbbed, and distant bells rang in my ears. I tried to speak, but the world spun. Whatever happened next, I knew one thing for certain: Friday nights would never be the same again.

Tyler POV

I didn't feel the pain until the second I looked down and saw the blood.

Not mine.

It was smeared across her hoodie like a warning label, deep red and wet against soft yellow cotton. My hands were shaking. I didn't know if it was from the adrenaline or the scent.

Sweet peach. Omega. Injured.

Gods, I'd never moved so fast. One second, I was slamming into the barrier after Haskin cheap-shotted me, and the next, I was tangled in broken plexiglass, sprawled half across the front row and half across a girl who smelled like my worst temptation.

Erica.

That's what they'd said her name was.

I wasn't supposed to get involved. Not here. Not now. I was under strict orders to lie low, keep my head down, stay out of fights, and not make headlines. Coach Aster practically tattooed it onto my gear.

But the second I hit her, the second I saw those wide green eyes cloud over, everything in me snapped. Alpha instinct. Raw. Violent. Protective.

"Get off her!" a blonde girl had yelled her friend, I guessed. She looked ready to throw a punch herself.

I scrambled off Erica, hands hovering like I could fix it just by being close. The scent of her blood tangled with the sweet trail of her omega pheromones, making it nearly impossible to think straight.

A medic reached her before I could, checking her arm. "Cut from the barrier," he said quickly, latex gloves already stained. "Deep, but not arterial. We'll need stitches."

"I'll take care of her," the doctor called Connor, our team's medical guy.

I didn't even realize I was following them until I was halfway down the hallway behind the locker rooms. One of my teammates, Jenkins, maybe tried to grab me, but I shoved him off. I needed to see her. Make sure she was okay.

This was my fault.

I shouldn't have lost my edge out there. I shouldn't have let Haskin bait me.

Now this girl this delicate, wide-eyed omega was bleeding because I couldn't keep my damn temper in check.

When I found the medical room, Coach Aster was already there. He was talking to the girl, clipboard in hand, muttering something about liability forms. I pushed the door open just as Connor shot him a look.

"Frank," Connor said sharply, "you're not helping."

Coach looked like he wanted to argue but finally threw his hands up and stepped back.

And then I saw her again. Erica. Sitting on the exam table, her hoodie half shredded, blood crusted on her arm and lip trembling like she wasn't sure whether to cry or throw something. Probably at me.

I stepped forward, unsure what to say. "Is she... okay?"

Connor glanced over his shoulder. "She'll live. Barely missed needing a transfusion with how much blood she's lost. She's going to need monitoring for a mild concussion and a few stitches."

Erica looked up at me just then, her eyes still glazed, cheeks pale. "You... you're the one who... hit me?"

I winced. "Yeah. I'm sorry. That wasn't supposed to happen."

Her friend snorted from the corner. "You think?"

Connor grabbed my arm and nudged me toward the hallway. "Let me finish patching her up. Come back in ten."

I wanted to argue, but I could feel Erica's gaze boring into my back, and I didn't want to make it worse.

So I nodded and left.

I paced the hallway for exactly seven minutes and twenty-four seconds before Connor stepped out and motioned me back in.

"She's stitched and bandaged. Bit loopy from the pain meds, so don't expect full sentences," he said, holding the door open.

Inside, Erica was propped up against the wall, hair disheveled, her bangs falling into her eyes. Her good hand clutched a water bottle, her bad arm now wrapped in gauze. She blinked at me, her lips parting slightly like she wanted to say something but didn't know what.

I cleared my throat. "I'm Tyler. Tyler Wood."

"I know who you are," her friend piped up. "Everyone does."

I nodded. "Right. Listen, I feel terrible about what happened. Let me drive you home my car's out back. My driver can get you both there safely."

"No" Erica started, but the blonde cut her off.

"We'll take it. Thank you."

Erica looked like she wanted to protest again, but the meds were clearly kicking her butt. She slumped slightly, nodding in exhausted agreement.

I lingered, uncertain. I wasn't used to feeling guilt most of my life had been skated through with a bruised jaw and a shrug. But something about seeing her hurt... seeing her bleeding because of me... it didn't sit right.

Before I left the room, I turned back to her. "Can I... get your number? Just so I can check in. Make sure you're okay."

Her lips parted, but the friend answered again. "We'll text you."

She grabbed my phone, typed something quickly, and handed it back.

I looked at the number, then at the omega still watching me like I was a tornado in skates.

"Thanks," I said softly. "For not screaming at me."

Erica gave me a tired smile. "I'll scream tomorrow."

By the time I got home, my brain was fried. I dumped my bag by the door and collapsed onto the couch, still in my warm-up pants. I closed my eyes, but her scent wouldn't leave my nose. That peach-sweet omega softness had sunk into my lungs like a drug.

I'd never reacted like that before not to anyone. Sure, I'd been around omegas. I'd dated some, slept with a few, but none had ever smelled like... that.

She was a problem. A complication. A soft, bleeding, wide-eyed complication that I couldn't stop thinking about.

When I finally dragged myself off the couch to check my gear bag, something small and pink fell out onto the floor.

A wallet.

Her wallet.

Erica.

I picked it up and thumbed through it. Driver's license. Student ID. A bunny sticker. Cash. And a faint trace of her scent that clung to the seams like it was stitched in.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, gripping the wallet like it might vanish.

I should've just sent it back through my driver. Texted and asked for an address. But the alpha in me the part of me that hadn't stopped buzzing since she looked at me with that dazed expression said no.

You bring it to her. You make it right.

So the next morning, after a cold shower and a long internal argument, I did.

I found her walking outside her dorm building, bundled in a flannel shirt that looked two sizes too big and flinching slightly every time the wind hit her.

"Erica?" I called.

She turned, hair wind-tossed and eyes widening in surprise. "Tyler?"

Her friend Alexis, I now knew stood beside her, already grinning like she'd just won a bet.

"You left this," I said, holding up the pink wallet.

Erica blinked. "Oh my god. I didn't even know"

"I figured I'd return it in person. Wasn't sure if you remembered last night clearly."

She took it from me carefully, fingers brushing mine. The contact was electric.

"I remember," she murmured.

I took a breath. "How's the arm?"

"Sore. But functioning. Doctor Connor stitched me up like a pro." She gave me a half-smile, then hesitated. "Thank you... for coming."

Before I could answer, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I checked it Coach Aster. No doubt wanting to scream about more bad press.

"I've gotta get to practice," I said, backing away. "But... I meant what I said. Let me know if you need anything. Anything at all."

Erica looked like she wanted to say something more, but Alexis nudged her forward.

"Text him later," she whispered, loud enough for me to hear. "Don't make it obvious you're into him."

I chuckled under my breath and turned.

But just as I rounded the corner, I realized I hadn't asked the question burning at the back of my mind since last night.

The one I'd have to ask soon because if I didn't, I was afraid I'd go insane.

What the hell do I do if she's my fated match?

That night, I sat in the locker room long after the others had gone, the locker's metal cold against my back. I stared at her number on my phone for the hundredth time, thumb hovering over the screen. My instincts roared, demanding I call her. But instincts had ruined me before. What if reaching out... ruined her too?

Erica POV

I didn't sleep that night. Not because of the stitches-though those throbbed like tiny knives were digging into my arm-but because of him.

Tyler Wood.

The alpha who'd fallen into my life with enough force to leave bruises on both my body and my mind.

I kept replaying the moment over and over. The sound of the plexiglass shattering. His wide green eyes when he realized I was beneath him. That voice-low, rough, stunned.

"I'm so sorry."

He looked at me like he'd just broken the only thing in the world that mattered. And the wild part was... that mattered to me.

I wasn't used to people caring that much, especially not alphas. Most alphas at uni either ignored me or treated me like a prize to be won. Tyler? He looked like he wanted to glue the shards of me back together himself.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand, making me flinch. Alexis rolled over on her air mattress and groaned.

"Who the hell is texting you at two in the morning?"

I reached for the phone. One new message.

Unknown Number: Let me know if you're okay. I didn't sleep. I keep thinking about you bleeding. I'm sorry again. -Tyler

I stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the reply button.

Should I respond? Should I ignore it? Did he expect something from me?

Alexis sat up, hair like a bird's nest. "Is that him?"

I nodded, unable to say anything.

She snatched the phone out of my hand, read the message, then looked at me like I'd just declared I wanted to date a serial killer. "You're not gonna reply?"

"I don't know what to say."

"Start with, 'Thanks for not letting me bleed out on the floor,' and end with, 'Sure, you can kiss me sometime.'" She grinned, tossing the phone back.

I rolled my eyes but typed out a reply.

Me: I'm okay. Arm hurts, but it's manageable. Thanks for checking in. Try to sleep. You've got practice tomorrow, right?

His response came within seconds.

Tyler: I'll sleep better knowing you're alright. Text me tomorrow?

I didn't reply. I couldn't. My heart was hammering too hard, and my brain was already imagining things I shouldn't let it.

The next morning, Alexis dragged me to the corner café for the "best chai in the city" and insisted I not wear my oversized flannel.

"Something cute," she said. "Like that cream sweater I bought you that you never wear because you're afraid of standing out."

"I don't want to stand out," I grumbled. "I want to blend in and disappear."

"Too late. You're the omega Tyler lWood crashed into in front of five thousand people. You're already a legend." She winked. "Might as well look hot while you're at it."

Against my better judgment, I wore the sweater.

We grabbed our drinks and found a seat near the back. I was nursing my chai when Alexis leaned in with a smirk.

"Are you going to tell me what you actually think of him?"

"Who?"

"Don't play dumb."

I sighed. "He's... different. Intense. But also soft? I don't know. It's confusing. Every time he looks at me, it's like he sees something I don't even see in myself."

"That," Alexis said, pointing her spoon at me, "is either the start of a romance novel or the beginning of a life-altering disaster."

I laughed. "Probably both."

By early afternoon, I was curled up on my bed with Potato sniffing the bandage on my arm like she was considering chewing through it.

"I'm fine," I muttered, gently nudging her with a cushion. "I didn't die. Chill."

She flopped dramatically beside me, thumping her feet once before settling in.

My phone buzzed again.

Tyler: Still want that ride to the clinic for your follow-up? I'm free in thirty.

I stared at the message. I hadn't asked for a ride. He remembered.

Alexis, who was folding laundry in the corner, spotted the expression on my face and smirked.

"You're going," she said, before I even opened my mouth. "Don't argue."

Tyler's car wasn't what I expected.

I figured he'd have something flashy-black and shiny and aggressively masculine. Instead, it was a silver SUV with a faint scent of leather and coffee. He held the door open for me, waited until I buckled, then slid in behind the wheel.

"You okay?" he asked softly.

I nodded. "Arm still aches. But it's better."

His hands clenched the steering wheel. "I couldn't stop thinking about it. You. The blood. I've been in fights, Erica. Bad ones. But I've never felt sick afterward. Until that night."

I glanced at him, heart skipping. "You didn't mean to hurt me."

"That's the worst part," he muttered. "If it had been intentional, I'd know how to hate myself. But this? This just feels like fate being cruel."

I didn't know what to say to that. So I stayed quiet, watching the city blur past the window until we reached the clinic.

He insisted on walking me in. Waited in the hallway while the nurse changed my bandages and scolded me for not taking the painkillers as regularly as prescribed.

When I came back out, he stood. "Hungry?"

"I could eat."

We ended up at a little burger joint tucked into a quiet corner street. He held the door open, ordered for both of us when I couldn't decide, and somehow picked the exact burger I would've chosen myself.

"Lex says I should stay away from alphas," I said between bites.

"She's not wrong," Tyler replied, setting his drink down. "Most alphas are assholes."

I blinked. "You included?"

He smirked. "I'm working on it."

Something about the way he said it half-sincere, half-broken made my chest ache.

"You're not what I expected," I said. "When you hit me, I thought you were just some jock with anger issues. But you're..."

"Still a jock with anger issues?" he offered.

I smiled. "Maybe. But also someone who's trying."

His eyes lingered on me for a moment. "You make it easier."

We were walking back to the car when I felt it an unmistakable flutter low in my belly. My step faltered, and I grabbed his arm to steady myself.

"Erica?" he asked, instantly alert. "You okay?"

"I I think..." I swallowed. "It might be starting."

His jaw tightened. "Your heat?"

I nodded, cheeks burning.

"Shit. I'll get you home."

But I didn't want to go home.

Not yet.

"I don't know if I can make it back without" I trailed off, breathing shallow. The world was tilting. His scent peppermint, musk, everything Alpha was suddenly overwhelming.

He guided me into the passenger seat, hands careful, voice low and calm.

"I'll take you to my place. It's closer. You can rest. I swear, I won't touch you unless you ask me to."

The thought terrified me.

The thought thrilled me.

I couldn't speak. I just nodded.

By the time we reached his flat, my skin felt like it was burning. I could barely walk straight. He half-carried me up the stairs and onto his sofa, grabbing blankets, a cold drink, and everything else within reach.

He crouched in front of me, brow furrowed. "Do you want me to leave the room?"

I shook my head.

He exhaled, slow. "Okay."

I leaned back, every nerve ending on fire, scent glands flaring.

"I don't know what's happening," I whispered.

His gaze softened. "I do."

"Is this...?"

Tyler's voice dropped. "You're reacting to me. My scent. It's strong because we're bonded. Or starting to be."

I froze. "Bonded?"

"We're not fated, not fully. Not yet. But Erica... this thing between us? It's real."

I stared at him, heart pounding.

And then, softly, I said, "Kiss me."

He leaned in, breath warm against my skin but just before our lips met, someone pounded on the door. Loud. Aggressive. Tyler stiffened, every muscle in his body going tense.

"Erica," he whispered, jaw clenched. "Stay behind me."

I sat up, pulse skyrocketing. "Who is it?"

"I don't know," he growled.

But I saw it in his eyes.

Whoever was at that door wasn't here by accident.

And this night our moment was about to be shattered.