MOONLIT FANGS

Wraith Hollow University didn't look like a place that hid monsters. From the gates, it passed for any other old, obscenely expensive campus-all towering grey stone and ivy that choked the walls like it was trying to claw its way over the roof. In the center of the courtyard sat a massive fountain.

No one ever saw the groundskeepers clean it, yet the water never turned green. First-year students hurried past it every day, ignoring how the surface rippled even when the air was dead still.

That was the unwritten rule of Wraith Hollow: you don't ask questions. You try to survive the answers.

Rhys Calloway wasn't a freshman. He was a junior, the youngest Alpha the Calloway pack had produced in fifty years, and right now he was standing dead center on the training turf with his arms locked over his chest.

He was glaring daggers at the guy who had just embarrassed him in front of forty people."Run it back," Rhys snapped. Coach Danvers, a broad-shouldered wolf who'd been running combat trials since before Rhys could walk, just raised an eyebrow.

"You've dropped four straight rounds, Calloway.

"Then I'll drop a fifth one with better form."

Behind him, Milo let out a choked sound-halfway between a laugh and a cough. Milo did that a lot. As the pack's beta, his actual job was to support Rhys's executive decisions.

In reality, it just meant he got a front-row seat to the circus."You're not going to beat him, man," Milo said, entirely too loud. "Nobody beats him. The guy isn't even breaking a sweat."That was what made Rhys's blood scale.

Sebastian Vale really wasn't trying. Sebastian stood twenty paces away on the opposite side of the line, uniform entirely unruffled, hair perfectly intact.

He'd just slammed Rhys flat onto his back for the fourth time in a row, and he'd done it with the casual effort of someone swatting a fly. He had that impossibly pale, indoor skin, dark hair that fell across his forehead in a way Rhys found personally offensive, and eyes so light they looked like liquid silver under the overcast sky.

Vampire. Werewolf. And according to a two-hundred-year-old truce signed by both their bloodlines, they were required to coexist peacefully on this campus.

Peacefully was carrying an absolute mountain of lies in that sentence."Are you finished throwing a tantrum?" Sebastian asked. His voice was smooth, bored, and entirely infuriating.

"Or should I ask the coach to get you a chair?" "I'm not throwing a tantrum."

"You're growling, Rhys. I can hear it from over here."

"That's just how I breathe."

Milo snorted again. Rhys shot his beta a look that promised an absolute beating during private drills later.

The truth was, Rhys's hatred for Sebastian Vale went way deeper than a missed tackle on a Tuesday afternoon.

The Vale family and the Calloway pack shared a history that was old, ugly, and buried in secrets.

It was a centuries-old web of broken alliances and betrayals that older generations refused to speak about out loud-a grudge passed down like a cursed family heirloom.

Rhys grew up watching his grandmother practically spit on the floor whenever the name Vale came up. So when Sebastian had rolled into Wraith Hollow three years ago-aloof, untouchable, and instantly sitting at the top of every single grading rubric-Rhys had clocked him within five minutes and decided to hate him forever.

Three years later, the hatred hadn't budged. He just also happened to fixate on the guy every waking second of the day, which was a completely different, vastly more annoying problem.

"Positions," Coach Danvers called. Rhys rolled his shoulders and dropped into a crouch.

The shift simmered just under his skin-that familiar, heavy heat that settled in his chest whenever a fight was close.

Being an Alpha meant his wolf stayed right at the surface, ready to snap. It made him strong, but it also made him impossible to embarrass quietly.

Everyone on the turf could see exactly how pissed he was by the way his eyes flashed a hard, unnatural gold. Across the line, Sebastian didn't bother crouching.

He didn't need to. Vampires didn't fight like wolves. They didn't rely on raw muscle and instinct. They fought the way they did everything else: precise, patient, and a little cruel.

"Try not to fall on your face this time," Sebastian said, his tone perfectly flat. "It's getting embarrassing for both of us."

"Wow. Was that a joke? Did the ice finally crack?"

"I don't joke."

"Could've fooled me. You're hilarious, Vale. A real comedy legend."

Coach Danvers blew the whistle before Rhys could drag the sarcasm out any further. The field went dead quiet, save for the grass tearing under Rhys's boots. He came in low and fast-the exact entry he'd drilled for years.

He aimed straight for Sebastian's legs, looking to take him down before the vampire could do that infuriating thing where he stepped half an inch to the side at the exact millisecond of impact.

Rhys had replayed that specific dodge forty times in his head and still couldn't predict the timing. Except this time, Sebastian didn't dodge. Instead, he caught Rhys by the wrist mid-lunge.

He spun with the momentum rather than fighting it, using Rhys's own speed to yank him forward. He pulled him in so close that for one absurd, glitching second, Rhys's chest slammed flush against Sebastian's.

His face was inches from that sharp, symmetrical jawline. Both of them froze mid-motion, the entire afternoon hitting an abrupt pause. Rhys's heart did something incredibly stupid and traitorous. Yield," Sebastian murmured.

The word was meant only for him, his voice dropping its usual bored cadence. He actually sounded surprised. Never," Rhys breathed back.

He refused to budge, refused to admit that his skin felt like it was catching fire everywhere Sebastian's fingers dug in. For a fraction of a second, Sebastian's grip loosened. His eyes-that pale, stormy gray-dropped directly to Rhys's mouth.

Something flickered across his face that Rhys had never seen there before. It wasn't mockery, and it definitely wasn't boredom. It was hunger.

Then the mask snapped back into place. Sebastian shoved him away so hard Rhys hit the turf flat on his back for the fifth time that afternoon."Yield," Sebastian repeated, louder now. He was already turning his back, his tone resetting as if nothing had happened. "Since you apparently need to hear it twice."

Rhys lay in the grass, staring blankly up at the overcast sky. His chest was heaving for reasons that had absolutely nothing to do with losing a match.

"You alive?" Milo appeared in his line of sight, looking down at him with a massive, unhelpful grin. I'm going to murder him."

"Sure, man. Or," Milo said, offering a hand to haul him up, "and just hear me out on this-you could stop staring at his mouth every time he throws you into the dirt."

"I wasn't staring at his mouth."

"Buddy. Everyone saw it. Coach Danvers saw it. The guys on the bench saw it."Rhys grabbed his friend's hand and yanked himself up, entirely ignoring the heat crawling up his neck. "I hate this school."

"You love this school. You're just mad the hot vampire won't play nice."

"He doesn't play anything; he just-" Rhys cut himself off before he could finish that thought, mostly because he had no clue where it was heading and he wasn't about to unpack it in public.

Across the field, Sebastian Vale was pulling his uniform jacket back on, entirely unbothered, not casting a single glance back, which was exactly the problem. For three years, Rhys had been convinced Sebastian viewed him as nothing more than an annoying insect.

He hadn't expected a small, terrifying voice in the back of his mind to suddenly ask: what if he doesn't hate you at all? He shoved the thought down into the deepest, darkest corner of his brain and stormed off the field before his face could give anything else away.

Here is the thing no one tells you about being an Alpha werewolf: everyone assumes you're in total control of your life, your pack, and your own body. This is a complete myth invented by people who have never actually met Calloway.

In reality, ever since "the incident"-which Rhys was now capitalizing in his head like a formal police report-his wolf had been entirely unhelpful. It kept fixating on one specific name.

Not his packmates. Not his family.Vale."You're doing the face again," Milo noted over lunch three days later.

He watched Rhys stab a piece of grilled chicken as if it had personally insulted his lineage. What face?"

"The face where you're obsessing over him while trying to look like you're thinking about football."

"I am thinking about how much I despise group projects," Rhys lied. Though technically, it was a half-truth.

That morning, Professor Ashby had announced, with what Rhys considered actual malicious joy, that their final Interspecies Law grade would depend entirely on partner work.

Partners assigned alphabetically by last name.Calloway. Vale."This is a targeted attack," Rhys muttered, glaring at the syllabus like he could rewrite the ink with sheer willpower.

"The universe is punishing me. I want to know what I did in a past life."You were born with a C," Talia said, sliding into the seat opposite them with her tray.

As one of the sharpest betas in the pack, she unfortunately found his misery highly entertaining. "Honestly, this is gold. You two have been trying to kill each other since first-year orientation."We don't hate each other," Rhys blurted out.

He instantly winced at his own words. "I mean-I hate him. He probably doesn't feel anything because he's a robot with good bone structure.

"Right," Talia smirked. "That's why you got kicked out of the library last semester for growling at him."

"He was chewing loudly on purpose to get under my skin."

"Vampires don't eat human food, Rhys. He wasn't chewing anything. You hallucinated the entire conflict."

Rhys opened his mouth to argue, then closed it. She was right. He had literally fabricated a noise violation to justify his inability to stop looking at the guy. His phone buzzed on the table.

An unknown number text:This is Sebastian. I pulled your number from the class roster. We need to coordinate the project. Tonight. East reading room, seven sharp. Don't be late. I don't wait.

Rhys stared at the screen. Who is it?" Milo asked. "You look like you want to throw your phone through a brick wall." "It's him."

"Oh, let me see." Talia leaned across the table to read it upside down. Her grin widened. "'I don't wait.' God, he's bossy.

You love it when people tell you what to do."

"I do not love being bossy. I am the bossy one; there is a massive difference, and there is no world where I-"

"You're already typing back," Milo pointed out. Rhys looked down. His thumbs had already moved without his brain's permission: I'll be there. Try not to be insufferable for sixty minutes.

He hit send before he could overthink it, immediately regretting every life choice that had brought him to this moment. The east library at seven o'clock was practically deserted. It was lit by low brass lamps that threw soft shadows across the woodwork-a fact Rhys found personally offensive because it made Sebastian Vale look like a museum exhibit.

He was sitting at a corner table with a mountain of research already sorted, sleeves rolled up his forearms, looking entirely too put together."You're late," Sebastian said without looking up from a leather-bound book. I'm exactly on time."

"You're four minutes late."

"That's standard buffer time."

"That's four minutes of my life I won't get back."

"You're immortal," Rhys scoffed, dropping his bag onto the chair opposite him with unnecessary force.

"You have infinite minutes. Give me four."

For the first time that evening, Sebastian raised his eyes. A faint ghost of amusement tugged at the corner of his mouth. It vanished almost instantly, but Rhys caught it.

A strange, stupid warmth bloomed in his chest at the realization that he'd caused it. He hated that feeling at sight.

"Fine," Sebastian said, sliding a folder across the dark wood.

"Interspecies Law. Ashby wants a case study on a historical treaty violation. I already selected the subject."

"Of course you did. Did you write the whole paper already too?"

"I thought about it. But you would have complained about the lack of input."

"I definitely would have."

"So I waited." Sebastian leaned back, his gaze locking onto Rhys with a sudden, intense focus.

"I chose the Calloway-Vale Accord of 1847."

Rhys's stomach took a hard dive. Of all the documents in two centuries of supernatural history, he had to pick that specific disaster."You're kidding"

"I told you, Rhys. I don't kid."

"You want us to write an academic paper on the exact treaty our families tore to shreds? The entire reason our bloodlines want each other dead?"

"I think," Sebastian said, his voice dropping slightly as he watched Rhys's expression, "it is the only topic in this entire building interesting enough to make me want to spend hours talking to you."

Rhys had absolutely no idea what to do with a sentence like that. It felt like an insult wrapped inside a compliment, buried under something else he didn't want to name."You're unbelievable," he muttered, looking down at the paperwork to break eye contact.

"So I've been told." They worked for two hours straight, and against every single expectation Rhys had walked in with, it wasn't a nightmare. Sebastian was infuriatingly intelligent, but he also possessed a dry, deadpan humor that caught Rhys entirely off guard.

A sharp comment about how the original 1847 document was "clearly drafted by an illiterate human," delivered with a completely straight face, made Rhys bark out a laugh loud enough to rattle the desk lamp.

Every time Rhys laughed, Sebastian watched him just a second too long.

Rhys noticed. He just chose to ignore what it meant. At nine, the overhead lights flickered, signaling closing time. Rhys realized with a jolt that two hours had flown by and he hadn't felt the urge to strangle the guy once.

"Same time Thursday?" Sebastian asked, stacking his notes with that same obsessive neatness.

"Yeah. Fine. Whatever." Rhys stood up too quickly, his knee catching the edge of the heavy oak chair. It tilted dangerously, but Sebastian's hand shot across the space, gripping the wood to steady it before it crashed.

His fingers brushed against Rhys's knuckles for half a second. It was nothing-a ghost of a touch.

Rhys felt it clear down to his teeth."Are you alright?" Sebastian asked. There was a low, careful note in his voice-something close to actual concern that Rhys had never heard from him before.

"Fine," Rhys managed, ripping his hand away and stepping back. "I'm good. See you Thursday, Vale. Don't miss me too much."

He didn't wait for an answer. He turned and walked out of the library so fast he nearly rattled the glass in the doors. It wasn't until he hit the cold night air, his lungs burning and his pulse racing, that he finally let himself admit the real problem. He hadn't wanted to leave.

Three weeks later, Rhys Calloway had a problem, and the problem had a name.

That name was currently sitting two seats down from him in Interspecies Law, laughing.

Actually laughing, quietly, at something Talia had just whispered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Werewolves didn't get crushed quietly. It wasn't in their biology. When a werewolf liked someone, everyone within a ten-mile radius usually found out about it.

Their scent changed, their heart rate spiked, and worst of all, their inner wolf started reacting to things it had absolutely no business reacting to. Which was exactly how Rhys found himself, one Tuesday evening, standing outside the campus coffee shop with every single hair on his arms standing straight up.

He was glaring daggers at a very confused sophomore vampire who had made the fatal mistake of standing about six inches too close to Sebastian in line.Rhys." Milo grabbed his forearm, squeezing tight before his friend could do something monumentally stupid. "What are you doing?"

"Nothing."

"You are literally growling at a nineteen-year-old for holding a cup of coffee near Vale."

"He was in his personal space."

"He was ordering a caramel latte, Rhys. He wasn't proposing marriage."

Rhys forced himself to look away, his jaw clamped shut so hard it ached. He crossed his arms tightly over his chest, his knuckles turning white.

Across the shop, Sebastian caught his eye through the glass window.

For one horrifying second, Rhys was absolutely positive the vampire had seen the entire spectacle-the growling, the glaring, all of it.

Sebastian's mouth curved into the smallest, most insufferable smirk Rhys had ever seen.

He knew. He absolutely knew."I hate him," Rhys muttered, offering zero conviction.

"You've hated him for three years, and yet somehow this is the first time you've threatened a stranger over a beverage," Milo said, leaning against the brick wall.

"Kind of a big development, buddy."

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying. Possessive is a whole new look for you."

The truth-the terrifying reality Rhys had been actively dodging for weeks-was that something had shifted between them.

He had no idea when or how it happened.

It had started small. Sebastian saved him a seat in the back row of lectures without being asked.

Rhys caught himself smiling down at his phone before he'd even processed sending a text back.

Study sessions that stretched past midnight for no real reason, simply because neither of them wanted to be the first one to pack up their bags.

And then there was the scent thing. It had hit him two weeks ago.

Rhys had been sitting close to Sebastian-closer than necessary, if he was being completely honest with himself-and had caught, for the first time, what the vampire actually smelled like underneath the cold library air and old paper. It was something dark and rich.

Like the heavy air inside an old cathedral, or rain striking hot stone. And right underneath that layer lay something else.

Something that made the wolf in his chest go entirely, completely still.

The way it only ever did around one thing.Pack. Home. Mine. Rhys had nearly fallen backward out of his chair.

He hadn't told a soul. He especially hadn't told Sebastian, because saying it out loud would make it real.

And if it was real, it meant the boy his family had spent two hundred years teaching him to despise might actually be his fated mate.

That was the kind of information that could get a person disowned, exiled, or worse-mocked mercilessly by his own beta for the rest of his natural life."You're doing the face again," Milo said, watching his expressions shift.

"I told you there is no face."

"There's absolutely a face. It's the 'I'm having an existential crisis about a bloodsucker' face. I've seen it at least forty times this month."

Before Rhys could snap back, the coffee shop door chimed open. Sebastian stepped out into the cool evening air, two paper cups balanced in his hands.

He crossed the concrete courtyard, walking directly toward them as if he belonged there. For you," Sebastian said, holding one of the cups out toward Rhys.

"You always complain that the campus blend tastes like battery acid. I got you the good stuff from down the block."

Rhys stared at the cardboard cup like it might be rigged to explode. "You bought me coffee."

"I bought myself one and got a second out of habit. Don't make it a whole thing."

"You don't even drink coffee. You're a vampire."

"I like the smell," Sebastian said simply. The flat, matter-of-fact way he said it made everything worse, not better. It meant he had remembered.

He'd actually listened to a passing complaint Rhys had muttered weeks ago, kept it in his head, and acted on it. Rhys reached out and took the cup.

Their fingers brushed against each other-a brief, accidental contact. It had been happening more and more lately, these little brushes, and every single time, Rhys's entire nervous system short-circuited."Thanks," Rhys mumbled, keeping his eyes glued to the plastic lid.

"You're welcome," Sebastian said. Then, his voice dropped lower, the tone shifting into something quieter, almost as if he hadn't intended to let the words slip past his teeth. "You smell different today."

Rhys's head snapped up. "What?"

"Nothing."Sebastian's jaw ticked. For the first time since freshman year, Rhys caught a crack in that flawless, high-society composure.

It was a fleeting glimmer of the same panic Rhys had been drowning in for weeks. Forget I said that."

"No, hold on. What did you mean? How do I smell different?"

"I have class," Sebastian said abruptly. He spun on his heel and walked away so fast his long strides bordered on a sprint.

Rhys was left standing on the concrete path, left holding a paper cup he hadn't asked for, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. Milo looked from Rhys to Sebastian's retreating, then slowly pivoted his gaze back to Rhys.

The pieces were clicking together in his head, one by one. Oh my god," Milo whispered. "It's not just you."

"Shut up."

"He feels it too."

"Shut up, Milo."

"You two are going to be absolutely insufferable," Milo said, a massive grin splitting his face so wide it looked painful. "I literally cannot wait."

The Full Moon Trials were the one night of the semester every werewolf on campus took seriously. No exceptions. No excuses. This year, Rhys had exactly zero patience left for distractions.

He certainly didn't have time for his own biology to choose the middle of the largest event of the academic year to fully activate his mate bond.

The structure of the Trials was straightforward: under the peak of the full moon, each campus pack sent their strongest fighter into the dirt arena to compete for territory and rank. As Alpha, Rhys always fought.

He'd won two years running, establishing his dominance without much fuss. Tonight, though, the air felt heavier. The second the moon broke over the tree line, a sharp, hungry ache flared deep in his chest. It was urgent.

It felt as though his wolf knew a secret Rhys was still trying to ignore. He discovered exactly what that secret was the moment he stepped past the gates and onto the packed dirt.

Sebastian was standing at the very edge of the crowd. He had his arms crossed over his chest, his dark eyes locked onto the center of the ring. He was watching Rhys with an intensity that made the roar of the spectators fade into background static.

Vampires didn't attend the Trials. It wasn't their culture, and they usually despised the noise.

Yet there Sebastian was, right against the front railing, perfectly still. The moment their eyes met, Rhys's inner wolf surged forward so hard his knees nearly buckled. Mine, the voice in his chest whispered, heavy and certain. He came for you. Claim him. Rhys shook his head hard, trying to clear the fog from his brain.

He forced his focus toward his opponent-Grier, a massive, broad-shouldered wolf from the Ashford pack. Grier was easily the most dangerous challenger on the roster this semester. The whistle blew. The crowd erupted. For the first three minutes, Rhys relied on pure muscle memory.

He fought the way he always did-sharp, fast, and completely vicious. Then Grier caught him with a heavy blindside hook.

The blow sent Rhys skidding across the dirt, coughing up dust. For one dizzying second, Rhys looked up through the haze. Sebastian was leaning over the wooden barrier, his fingers gripping the top rail so tightly the thick wood groaned under the pressure.

His eyes had gone entirely black, stripped of their usual cold indifference. Get up," Sebastian commanded. His voice cut cleanly across the chaotic din of the arena. It wasn't loud, but it possessed a strange, primal authority that struck Rhys right in the center of his chest. Get up, Calloway."Hearing Sebastian use his name like that-not with a smirk, not with that bored sarcasm, but with a sharp, desperate edge that sounded terrifyingly like fear-lit a fire in Rhys's veins that no amount of training ever could. He pushed himself up out of the dirt.

He fought harder, faster, and more recklessly than he ever had in his life. Three minutes later, Grier was pinned flat on his back in the dirt, gasping for air. The crowd was screaming Rhys's name, but he didn't care about the trophy.

He didn't care about the ranking. He was already moving, pushing his way through the surging crowd toward the railing where Sebastian stood. His chest heaved, his skin was slick with sweat, and every single instinct in his body was pulling him toward a single point of gravity. What are you doing here?" Rhys demanded, stopping right in front of him.

They were so close he could smell that rich cathedral scent cutting through the copper tang of blood and sweat. I don't know," Sebastian admitted. It was the first time Rhys had ever heard those words leave the vampire's mouth.

"I told myself I wasn't coming. I stayed in my room until ten. Then I came anyway."

"You hate wolf events."

"I don't hate you," Sebastian said. The words came out rough, almost involuntary, as if they'd been trapped behind his teeth for months.

"I have never hated you. I don't even know what I've been doing, pretending otherwise."

Around them, the stadium was deafening. People were cheering, drinking, completely oblivious to the shift occurring right at the baseline.

For Rhys, the world had gone entirely silent. You're my mate," Rhys said. Three years of careful emotional walls simply crumbled, leaving him raw.

"Aren't you? That's what this is. That's why I can't look away from you. Why my wolf loses its mind every time you walk into a room. Why you smell like..."

"Home," Sebastian finished softly. "Yes. I've known for two weeks. I just didn't know how to tell you without watching you sprint in the opposite direction."

"I don't run from anything."

"You literally bolted out of the library last Tuesday."

"That was a strategy."

"You growled at a sophomore over a coffee order, Rhys."Rhys went rigid. "Milo told you that?"

"Everyone told me that," Sebastian said. A tiny, incredibly rare shadow of a smile touched the corner of his lips.

"You are, for the record, the least subtle Alpha on this campus."

"And you're the most frustrating vampire I've ever met. Somehow, the universe still decided we belong together.

The joke is on both of us." Sebastian reached out. His movement was slow, deliberate, giving Rhys every opportunity to back away. He brushed his thumb along Rhys's jawline, right where a purple bruise from Grier's fist was already beginning to form. His skin was incredibly cool against Rhys's feverish face.

Rhys leaned into the touch before he could think better of it, a deep, restless part of his soul finally going quiet. I spent three years hating the idea of you," Sebastian murmured, his gaze dropping to Rhys's mouth.

"Mainly because it was much easier than admitting what I actually wanted."

"And what do you want?"

"You," Sebastian said simply. "Inconveniently. Completely." Rhys's heart slammed against his ribs.

"That is disgustingly romantic for someone who called me a gnat during orientation."

"I called you feral. There's a distinct difference."

"It's the same energy."

"It really isn't."

"Are we seriously doing this right now?" Rhys laughed, the sound bubbling up despite the adrenaline, despite the two centuries of family blood feuds standing between them like iron bars.

"You're arguing with me while holding my face."

"I'm finding," Sebastian whispered, leaning in closer, his breath cool against Rhys's lips, "that I quite like arguing with you. I intend to do it for a very long time."

"Good," Rhys breathed, closing the remaining distance. He was done waiting. Done pretending. He kissed him right there against the wooden railing, and the wolf in his chest finally stopped fighting.

Somewhere out in the crowd, Milo's voice cut through the noise, loud and deeply obnoxious. "FINALLY! I've had fifty bucks on them since October!"Neither of them looked back. Two hundred years of bad blood, one full moon, and a very stubborn Alpha later, Rhys Calloway finally claimed his mate.

The quiet wouldn't last, of course. Tomorrow, the Ashford pack would want revenge for the humiliation in the ring, and the Vale family would eventually find out their sole heir had just aligned himself with a werewolf. But as Rhys smiled against Sebastian's mouth, he decided that tomorrow was someone else's problem.

News travels fast at Wraith Hollow University.

But news about the Alpha of the Calloway pack kissing the heir of the Vale bloodline? In front of the entire student body during the Full Moon Trials? That travels faster than fast.

It travels at the speed of gossip, which, as anyone who has ever attended a supernatural academy will tell you, is somehow quicker than the speed of light.

By sunrise, both families knew. Rhys found out exactly how bad it was going to be the second his grandmother called him.

Not texted. Called. Marion Calloway did not call unless something was either actively dying or about to start a war, and Rhys was fairly sure he still had a pulse."Alpha Calloway," his grandmother said.

She used the voice she always deployed when she was trying very hard not to yell, which was somehow infinitely worse than actual screaming.

"Would you like to explain to me why I received four separate calls last night informing me that you locked lips with a Vale in the middle of the arena?"

"Grandma-"

"I am not finished."

"You asked if I'd like to explain. That implies I get to-"

"Rhys Calloway, so help me."Rhys sank onto the edge of his bed, phone pressed tight to his ear, and stared at the ceiling like it might hold some divine advice. It did not."He's my mate," Rhys said finally.

There was no version of this conversation where lying salvaged anything. "I didn't choose it, okay? It just happened. The bond activated. I can't undo that even if I wanted to."

A suffocating silence stretched over the line. It dragged on so long that Rhys actually pulled the phone away from his ear to make sure the call hadn't dropped.

"Do you want to undo it?" his grandmother asked eventually. Her voice had dropped, quieter now, and the sudden shift made Rhys's chest tighten.

The anger was gone. In its place was something that sounded terrifyingly like fear.No," Rhys said. He surprised himself with how fast the answer came.

How entirely certain it was. "I don't."

Another agonizing pause. Then, finally, came a long, tired sigh-the exact sound Rhys had heard a thousand times growing up whenever his grandmother decided to fight a battle she already knew she couldn't win.

"Family meeting. Tonight," she commanded, her tone sharpening right back to business. "Video call, since you still refuse to come home like a reasonable grandson. And Rhys?"

"Yeah?"Do not let that boy anywhere near pack territory until we've spoken. Wolves do not respond well to vampires invading their land. You know this."

"He wouldn't even want to come to pack territory, Grandma. He'd probably complain about the smell."

"Tonight, Rhys."The line went dead. Rhys flopped backward onto his mattress and groaned so loudly that Milo, currently crashing on the couch in the next room, yelled at him to shut up through the wall.

Before he could even mentally prepare for the impending interrogation, his phone buzzed in his palm. A text.

Sebastian: My father wants to speak with me tonight. I assume your family has also caught wind of the situation.

Rhys: My grandmother called me. CALLED. Sebastian, she never calls. It's always an angry text or a carrier pigeon. This is DEFCON 1.

Sebastian: My father sent an email. Formal. Three paragraphs long. He used my full name.

Rhys: Oh no. What's the full name? Let me guess, something incredibly dramatic?

Sebastian: Sebastian Alaric Vale.

Rhys: Alaric. ALARIC. You've been holding out on me this whole time??

Sebastian: You told me your middle name is Bartholomew. I think we are more than even.

Rhys: THAT WAS A SACRED SECRET.

Sebastian: Nothing is a secret anymore, apparently. Welcome to the fishbowl. Rhys stared down at the screen, a small smile breaking through his dread despite the impending doom of a three-hour family meeting-one that would undoubtedly involve at least one aunt crying about "the old days." It was a tiny thing, trading stupid, normal texts like this, but it was the only thing keeping the panic in his chest from swallowing him whole.

Rhys: Are you scared?

A pause. The three little dots appeared, vanished, and appeared again. Sebastian was usually an instantaneously reply kind of guy, so the delay spoke volumes.

Sebastian: The Vale family does not do 'scared.' We do disappointed, profoundly disapproving, and occasionally, if truly desperate, mildly stern.

Rhys: That's a vampire's way of saying yes.

Sebastian: I suppose it is. Rhys typed his next response without hesitation, the weight of the pack, the trials, and the decades of bad blood fading into the background.

Rhys: For what it's worth. Whatever happens tonight. I'm not changing my mind.

Sebastian: Neither am I. Try not to set anything on fire during your meeting. I know how your family gets when they're stressed.

Rhys: No promises.

The Vale family meeting happened first, at six o'clock sharp, because vampires were nothing if not predictable when it came to punctuality.

Sebastian sat across from his father in the family's private study back home-connected by a video call, since neither of them was willing to waste a six-hour drive on a school night.

He kept his spine perfectly straight and his hands folded calmly in his lap, presenting himself like a man defending a dissertation rather than his own heart. Alaric Vale Senior was a tall, elegant figure with silver-streaked dark hair and a heavy, quiet stillness that routinely made everyone else in the room forget to breathe.

He did not raise his voice. He never had to."A werewolf," his father said, stating it as an unshakeable fact rather than a question. "The Calloway Alpha, specifically.

"Yes."

"You understand the history there."

"I understand it," Sebastian replied, his tone smooth. "I have understood it since I was six years old and you first explained the mechanics of the Accord to me.

"Then you understand why this concerns me."

"With respect, Father, I don't think it actually concerns you. I think it bothers you because it is deeply inconvenient, not because you genuinely believe he is a danger to us."

His father fell silent for a long moment, studying him with an unreadable expression. It was a rare disconnect; Sebastian had spent two decades learning to decipher every minor flicker of his father's face.

" Is it a bond?" his father asked finally, his voice dropping an octave. "A true one. Not some passing infatuation."

"It's a true bond."

"You're certain?"I have never been more certain of anything in my life," Sebastian said. A sudden rawness slipped into his voice, surprising him. It was a vulnerability he rarely permitted himself, especially not under this roof.

"I fought it for weeks. I tried to convince myself it was nothing."

"It is very much nothing."His father exhaled a slow, measured breath. For the first time since the call connected, the rigid tension in the older man's shoulders eased, just a fraction.

"Vampires do not encounter true bonds often," he murmured. "Once in a generation, if that. You know the statistics.

"I do."

"Then I will not pretend to be pleased about the bloodlines involved. But I am neither a fool nor a tyrant, Sebastian; I will not stand against a true bond. I only ask one thing of you."What is that?"

"Be careful. Werewolves are not like us. They love with their whole chests-loud, messy, and entirely immediate. That boy is an Alpha, which means his instincts will be even less predictable than the rest of his kind.

If his family reacts the way I expect the Calloways to react, this will not be a quiet affair. "Are you prepared for the fallout?"

Sebastian immediately thought of Rhys-stubborn, loud, utterly ridiculous, growling at baristas over lattes, laughing far too hard at his own jokes, and looking at Sebastian like he was something worth burning the world down for. A deep, heavy warmth settled firmly behind Sebastian's ribs."I am."

His father studied him a moment longer, then gave a single, almost imperceptible nod."Then you have my blessing, for whatever it is worth against two hundred years of Calloway stubbornness," he said, and for a fleeting second, the ghost of an amused smile touched his eyes.

"Good luck. You will need it more than you think."

The Calloway family meeting was, by contrast, an absolute circus.

There were fourteen people shoved into the video call by the time it started-a detail Rhys had not been warned about-and every single one of them brought a loud opinion.

His grandmother sat at the head of the screen, her expression projecting pure regret over every life choice that had brought her to this moment. His mother kept obsessively muting and unmuting her microphone to say things like, "I just think we all need to take a collective breath," which everyone promptly ignored.

His uncle Desmond, who ran the pack's security detail and had never met a situation he couldn't turn into a tragedy, was already pacing off-camera aggressively. A Vale,"

Desmond barked for the fourth time, his face red. "Of all the wolves, of all the vampires, of all the schools in this damn country, our Alpha falls for a Vale."

"I didn't fall for him on purpose," Rhys snapped, his fingers gripping his phone so tightly the plastic casing groaned.

"It's a mate bond. I don't get a vote in the matter."

"Mate bonds can be resisted," Desmond countered.

'They really can't, actually," Aunt Bree cut in from her own digital square. "That's not how the biology works, and you know it, Desmond. You're just being dramatic because you still haven't gotten over the trade dispute from 2003."

"That trade dispute cost us the entire eastern territory!"

"It cost us four acres of dense bush that we didn't even use!"

"IT'S THE PRINCIPLE OF IT!"

"Everyone," Rhys's grandmother said. The low, sharp edge of her voice cut through the digital static like a blade, silencing the call instantly.

Fourteen boxes of Calloways went utterly dead quiet. She stared through the lens at Rhys for a long, heavy moment. Rhys braced his shoulders, preparing for the worst.

"I don't like it," she said plainly. "I want to be honest with you, Rhys, because you deserve the truth, not corporate pack politics. I grew up hating the name Vale. My mother did too. That kind of deep-seated blood feud doesn't just evaporate because the universe decided to be difficult."

"I know, Grandma."

"But," she continued, her gaze softening just enough to notice, "I am also not going to sit here and pretend I don't remember what happened to your Uncle Desmond's cousin, Wren. She fought her bond for six years because the family disapproved. To this day, she is one of the hollowest, saddest women I have ever seen. A broken bond breaks the wolf inside you, Rhys. It isn't a clean punishment. It's a wound that stays open forever."The entire call remained silent.

Even Desmond had stopped pacing."I will not do that to you," his grandmother said firmly. "I don't have to like this arrangement, but I will not stand between you and your mate. That is my decision; it is final, and anyone on this call who wants to object can take it up with me directly." She shot a pointed, lethal look at Desmond's box. Desmond immediately looked away from his camera.

Rhys felt a sharp crack in his chest, a massive wave of relief flooding his lungs so fast it made his eyes hot. "Thank you."

"There will be conditions, obviously," his grandmother added, destroying the tender moment instantly. "He meets the pack properly. In person. Formally. And Rhys-you will control your temper around him in front of the family. No territorial growling at your own blood relatives because they looked at him the wrong way. I know how young Alphas get."I do not growl at-"

"You growled at your own mother for standing too close to your plate last Thanksgiving."

"That was different, that was deep-fried turkey!"

"Rhys."

"Fine! Fine. I'll behave."His grandmother's mouth twitched, the tiniest, most reluctant hint of an amusement showing through. "We'll see."

Two weeks later, the restrictions officially began. Rhys quickly discovered that nothing-not two hundred years of blood feuds, not a full council of anxious relatives, and certainly not a stern vampire father with an email full of formal warnings-was going to stop them from finding ways to get exactly what they wanted.

The rule, hammered out during an agonizingly tense joint phone call that Rhys and Sebastian had been forced to sit through in agonizing silence, was basic: supervised meetings only, on neutral campus ground, until both families could "properly assess the stability of the bond." Which, translated from parent-speak, meant: we don't trust you two to keep your hands to yourselves, so we're making this as frustrating as possible.

It backfired spectacularly."You know," Sebastian murmured, a week into the lockdown. He was currently pressed into the dark, narrow gap between two bookshelves in the abandoned wing of the university library, where absolutely no supervision existed. "I believe our families have accidentally made this situation significantly worse.

"Worse how?" Rhys asked, his voice a low, rough growl. He already knew the answer.

He was currently standing far closer than any "neutral meeting" allowed. One of his hands was planted on the dark wood beside Sebastian's head, close enough that the cool, intoxicating scent of winter air and expensive cedar radiating off the vampire was making his inner wolf pace.

"They told us we couldn't be alone together," Sebastian said, his dark eyes tracking the movement of Rhys's throat as he swallowed.

"And now, it seems, it is the only thing either of us can focus on."

"That's a pretty big assumption. Maybe I just really like ancient literature."

"You've been holding that volume upside down for ten minutes, Rhys." Rhys glanced down. He had, in fact, been gripping a leather-bound history text completely upside down.

He didn't flip it right-side up. It was a matter of pride now."Fine," Rhys muttered, shifting his weight forward, deliberately letting his chest brush against Sebastian's coat. "Maybe I just want to be close to you. Sue me."

"I don't need to do that. I could simply inform your grandmother that you snuck away from the library's designated study hall."

"You wouldn't dare."

"I might."

"You're a sadist."

"I'm efficient," Sebastian said, and there it was-that small, private smile that Rhys had quickly realized belonged entirely to him.

The one Sebastian only wore when the rest of the world wasn't looking. "Besides. If I expose your indiscretion, I expose my own. I have far too much self-preservation for that."

Rhys leaned in another inch, his lips brushing against the cool shell of Sebastian's ear, his voice dropping into a rough whisper that traveled straight down the vampire's neck. "You know, for someone who talks so much about dignity, you're awfully comfortable letting a wolf pin you against a bookshelf."

"I am not being pinned," Sebastian replied, his breath hitching just slightly despite his perfectly calm, composed delivery. "I am merely permitting this."

"Permitting it?"

"Yes."

"So you're saying you're just letting me win?"

"I'm saying," Sebastian whispered, tilting his chin up, his gaze dropping to Rhys's mouth with a deliberate, heavy heat that made Rhys's entire body spark, "that you seem to enjoy the illusion of being the one in control here. I find it rather endearing. I see no reason to correct your delusion."

Rhys's Alpha pride flared instantly, hot and demanding. "I am in control."

"Of course you are."

"I mean it, Sebastian. I could walk away right now."

"You could," Sebastian agreed, his body entirely still, not looking remotely threatened by the posture. "Go ahead then. Walk."Rhys did not walk away. Instead, he lost his temper, closed the remaining distance, and slammed his mouth against Sebastian's. It was a hard, possessive, slightly desperate kiss, one of his hands fisting into the collar of Sebastian's crisp shirt as if he could physically lock the vampire into the space.

For one glorious, triumphant second, Rhys felt the thrilling rush of breaking that infuriating composure as Sebastian let out a low, dark sound against his lips. Then the tables turned.

Sebastian's hand slid up Rhys's chest, slow and entirely unhurried, his cool fingers wrapping firmly around the back of Rhys's neck.

With an effortless, steady pressure, the vampire completely hijacked the momentum. He turned the frantic, biting kiss into something deep, heavy, and thoroughly intoxicating. Sebastian took his time, his tongue sliding past Rhys's lips with a slow luxury that made Rhys's knees go completely loose.

Rhys had to grip the edge of the wooden bookshelf just to keep his balance as his head spun from the sheer, unfiltered taste of him. When Sebastian finally pulled back, just barely enough to breathe, he was wearing that rare, genuinely wicked smirk that made Rhys's stomach do a violent flip."You were saying something about being in control," Sebastian murmured against his lips.

"...Shut up."

"I didn't say a word."

"You're saying it with your face. Your face is smug. It's incredibly smug right now."

"This is simply my natural expression," Sebastian countered, throwing Rhys's own words from the training field right back at him. Rhys let out a breathless, defeated laugh, his forehead dropping heavily onto Sebastian's shoulder.

He gave up entirely on pretending he held the upper hand in any part of this dynamic. He would tell Milo later, of course, that he had completely dominated the encounter. Milo wouldn't believe him. Talia wouldn't believe him. Even Rhys, in the quietest corners of his own mind, knew it was a lie.

But Rhys Calloway had never in his life conceded a loss gracefully, mate bond or not."Same time tomorrow," Rhys said, straightening his posture and trying-and failing-to look like his entire reality hadn't just been turned upside down by a single kiss. "Same broken rules. Same terrible hiding spot."

"I was thinking somewhere with a door next time, actually," Sebastian said, his tone entirely too casual as he watched open satisfaction flare when Rhys's throat and ears flushed bright red.

"You cannot just say things like that out loud."I can. I did. Your scent just spiked, by the way."

"I hate you."

"You really don't," Sebastian whispered. He reached up, his thumb gently tracing the line of Rhys's jaw before tucking a stray lock of dark hair behind his ear. The sheer tenderness of the gesture completely erased the teasing weight of his words.

And Rhys, despite the families, the ancient blood feuds, the stifling rules, and the two centuries of historical baggage neither of them had asked to carry, felt the final pieces of his life slide perfectly into place."No," Rhys admitted, his voice quiet, his eyes locked onto Sebastian's. "I really don't."