The Alpha's Fated Kiss

Elara

I had no idea my life was about to end.

Not literally, though some days later, it felt close enough, but the interpretation of my life that I trusted, believed in, and planned my future around was already unraveling by the time I walked into Crestwood High that morning. I just did n't know it yet.

The halls were loud, packed with bodies and voices and the smell of cheap incense and bottom cleaner. Lockers slammed. Somebody laughed too loud near the stairwell. A group of freshers ran past me like they were late to something important, and I smiled despite all that. I was late too. But I didn't care.

My heart was light, expectant, like it was carrying a secret all its own. Mark had a game this weekend, scouts were rumored to be coming, and I'd spent half the night sketching a little surprise for him, something special, something that said I see you. He'd been distant lately, but I told myself it was presumably stress. College operations, football, life.

We were solid. We had to be.

I shaped the belt of my bag and wove through the crowd, already rehearsing what I'd say when I saw him. maybe I'd tease him for not texting back. maybe I'd just kiss him and forget the vexation altogether.

That was when I felt it. An impropriety.

It slid down my spine like ice water, sharp and unlooked-for, stealing the air from my lungs. My way slowed without my authorization. My body shivered.

I knew Mark was closeby, not because I saw him but because something inside me felt his presence, the way you smell a storm before the sky darkens. I turned the corner by the lockers and there he was.

Mark Harrison. My love. Star quarterback. Golden boy of Crestwood High.

His back was against a locker. His arm was wrapped around a girl in a short cheer skirt, her fingers fisted in his jersey. She laughed vocally, tilting her head up toward him like she already belonged there.

Bethany. My mind rejected it at first. This could n't be happening. Not him. Not us.

" You're a bad boy, " she murmured, her voice sweet and low.

" Only for you, " Mark replied.

Then he kissed her. It was n't a mistake, nor a blench or a slip.

A kiss. The world went silent.

My stomach dropped so violently I allowed

I might throw up right there on the polished bottoms. My cognizance chimed. The air smelled awry, too sweet, too sharp, like something rotten hiding beneath incense.

" Oh, Mark, " Bethany laughed when they broke the piecemeal. " Stop it. You know we can't be seen together. What if your gal finds us? "

" She's in class, " he said easily. " She's never late. You do n't need to worry. "

I made a sound. It was n't loud. It was n't dramatic. But it was enough.

Mark's head snapped up. His eyes met mine, and the color drained from his face.

" Elara? " he breathed. " What are you - " I did n't let him finish.

I refused to stand there and shatter while everyone watched. I refused to cry, to supplicate, to give him the satisfaction of my pain.

Then something hot and reckless surged through me, drowning out the stitch in my chest. My face danced sideways and landed on an outsider.

He was very tall, broad- shouldered, dressed in dark britches and a fitted shirt, and progressed than most scholars, but not by much. He walked with purpose, like he belonged anywhere he stepped.

Before I could suppose, I moved.

I seized his shoulders and pulled him toward me.

His eyes slate, sharp, startled - met mine just long enough for distrustfulness to flicker.

Then I kissed him. It was n't gentle.

It was furious. hopeless. A kiss made of shattered pride and raw defiance. My lips pressed to his, my hands pulsing as I adhered to him like the ground was falling down.

And then everything changed.

A jolt tore through me, bright and inviting. Heat bloomed in my chest, spreading presto, begirding around my heart like it had always belonged there. The noise of the hallway faded. The pain dulled.

For one suspended, breathless second, there was only him.

When I pulled down, my legs felt weak.

Mark was gaping at us like his world had collapsed. Good.

I did n't look back. I ran.

later, much later - I walked into English class with my head down and my heart still pounding.

I slightly glanced around the room until the voice in front spoke.

" Take your seats. " I looked up.

And alas. It was him.

The man I had kissed in the hallway.

The man whose lips had burned like a brand.

Standing at the front of the classroom.

" My name is Mr. Thorne, " he said calmly, his blue eyes locking onto mine. " And I'll be your English teacher. "

The room shook.

The man I had given my first kiss to

Was my professor.

Elara

The soft rasp of my chair across the classroom floor as I slumped into my seat would have been the sound humiliation had.

My body was aflame at every nerve.

His lips were still tangible.

That was the worst aspect-not the murmurs already circulating around the room, not the way my cheeks burnt like I had been tattooed, not even the hollow throb Mark had cut into my chest. It was the recollection of that kiss. The manner in which it hadn't felt incorrect. It had felt inevitable.

With my nail I tracked ancient carved initials, keeping my gaze fixed on the worn wooden desk in front of me as though they may ground me to reality.

This was a nightmare. This has to have been a nightmare.

Miss Vance? I recoiled.

My name's sound, his voice wrapped around it, sent shiver down my spine unconnected to dread.

"Yes," I croaked hardly above a whisper.

The classroom went silent.

I could feel everyone turning toward me right now. Hungry, inquiring, expectant.

"Would you like to introduce yourself?" Mr. Thorne asked calmly.

I gulped. Raised my head slowly.

His expression was painstakingly neutral, yet his eyes, those impossible gray eyes, were darker than earlier, turbulent and impenetrable. I would have thought he felt nothing at all if I had not kissed him myself.

I knew better, though.

"I'm... Elara," I remarked. "Elara Vance."

Few children nodded. Like it was a half-formed whisper already, someone in the rear murmured my name.

Mr. Thorne nodded. "Thank you; you might sit."

I was seated already. Seconds later, the bell rang piercing and relentless, sealed my fate. The first class started.

Mr. Thorne swung to the board and began sketching the course, his writing neat and steady. His voice was professional, smooth, and quiet. Every phrase was just placed.

Like nothing had transpired, like I hadn't kissed him in front of half the school less than an hour earlier.

I should have been calm. Instead, my chest hurt.

I tried to concentrate. Actually. But the words blended and slid past me like smoke. My gaze followed his every movement. Every time his eyes wandered the room, something within me tightened, ready for effect.

Once, just once his gaze locked with mine.

The tie between us broke tight.

The room seemed to shrink; the air thickened till I could barely breathe. My heart stilled then sped. I felt... exposed. Like he could see straight through me, beyond my shame and rage, down to something basic and trembling.

He then averted his eyes. Exactly that.

The pain stayed on long afterward. The gossip had teeth by lunchtime.

Chloe blocked me the moment I sat down, her tray dropping with a thump into the seat facing mine.

"Okay," she exclaimed, eyes wide. "You'll tell me everything."

With no hunger left, I poked at my food. "There's nothing to say."

She scoffed. "Elara." One half of the school believes you kissed Mark's twin. The other half believes you kissed a replacement teacher. And Bethany, too, She pitched her voice down. "-is sobbing in the girls' restroom."

Something terrible and pleased flared in my chest as a result of that. Good.

I shared everything with Chloe. the kiss, the classroom, the cheating.

By the time I finished, she was staring at me as though I had admitted to murder.

"You kissed your teacher," she said slowly.

"I had no knowledge," I barked. "He doesn't have the appearance of a teacher."

"That is not the defense you might think."

I grunted and slammed my forehead on the desk. My life is gone.

Chloe said, "Not exactly." "People have short attention span. This too will fade away.

I questioned that. Particularly when Mark quietly sank into the chair next to mine.

"Elara," he said softly. "We have to talk."

My guts turned. I sprang abruptly, chair scraping loudly enough to attract notice.

I responded, "No." We don't.

"Ela... I stepped away.

As I passed, his hand skimmed my wrist and closed too long for half a second. Anger, dread, something almost wild flared inside of me.

I said, "Don't touch me." The words came out cooler than I had anticipated.

Mark recoiled as though I had slapped him. I never turned back.

The rest of the day turned into a jumble of sideways glances and half-heard lectures. Every time I passed Mr. Thorne in the hall, my heart rate shot up. Every time I smelled something clean and earthy-rain and pine and something more somber-I felt dizzy.

I was tired by the final bell.

As I left, I sliced across the art wing longing for quiet. Sunlight streaming through tall windows, dust motes dancing like little stars, the studio was abandoned.

Here I took easier breaths.

Pulling out my sketchbook, I turned to an empty page and set my bag down. My hands reacted on intuition; charcoal brushed across paper.

A shape originated. wide shoulders. Clear eyes. A mouth I should not recall as vividly. I froze in place.

I closed the book as though it had burned me.

"What is not correct with me?" I whispered. The solution did not materialize.

Something else, however, did. A rumble. low, far-off. Like a growl carried across the wind.

My head went gradually up. The hairs on my arms stood.

I approached the window and looked out toward the tree border the school grounds. Dark and thick, the forest loomed, shadows twisting together in a way that tightened my chest.

I felt like something moved. And then it had vanished.

I laughed unsteadily. "Get a handle, Elara." Still... I crammed myself fast.

I didn't recognize Mr. Thorne till he spoke.

"Are you all right?" I leapt, almost dropping my bag.

He stood in the doorway, jacket draped over one arm, face painstakingly controlled. He appeared taller at close quarters. More concrete. The air around him seemed charged, just as before a lightning hit.

I said, lying, "I'm fine."

His eyes moved to my notebook and back to my face. Something illegible passed over his characteristics.

"Good," he said, "Head home before it dark."

His voice ran with worry, slight but unmistakable.

"I can take care of myself," I said, harsher than needed.

"I'm sure you can," he said. "Still."

The term stayed.

Neither of us moved for a moment.

"Sorry," I spat out. "Earlier about; I had no idea."

"I know," he replied. instantly. Too fast.

His jaw closed like he was holding back something.

"This circumstance," he said, "cannot recur."

Heat swamped my cheeks. "It wasn't- I didn't-"

He said gently, "I'm not accusing you." "I'm establishing a boundary."

The way he uttered something caused my chest to ache.

I spoke, "I get," even though I doubted I did.

He once nodded. Gave way.

That odd warmth flamed again as I passed him, curling low in my tummy and causing me a shiver.

He took a gasp. Just just barely.

I never saw back.

I dreamed of the woods that evening.

Heart thumping with excitement rather of dread, I ran barefoot among moonlit trees. Every sense was vivid and sharp as sound and aroma dominated the air.

I wasn't alone.

Something large, powerful, defensive moved next to me.

When I woke, my heart was racing and my sheets were twisted about my legs.

Outside, the moon glowed full and bright.

And something ancient woke somewhere deep inside of me.

Multiple POV's in this Chapter

Adrian

I had not batted an eye against rogue Alphas.

I had stood motionless as their blood seeped into the ground, burying pack members myself. I had arranged flimsy truces under full moons and shattered teeth when diplomacy failed.

None of that compared to the silent torture of đứng at the front of a classroom while my buddy sat three rows back pretending I did not exist.

In my thoughts, the word still felt hazardous. Buddy.

The moment her lips brushed mine, my wolf accepted it. There had been no doubt, no hesitation, just acknowledgment so strong it almost compelled a shift in a packed hallway. On her lips I had tasted destiny; felt the link tighten like a steel trap around my soul.

She was also seventeen years old. Someone who attends class.

Human-at least she assumed so.

I dismissed the class and clutched my desk, making myself to exhale slowly. The bell rang, merciful and sharp, letting a wave of bodies into the hallway. Head down, Elara followed them; her perfume trailed behind her like a live being.

Wildflowers, rain, moonlight.

My wolf surged ahead, hostile and greedy.

mine. "No," I mumbled quietly.

The term was for myself as it was for him.

Letting out the breath I had been holding, I waited until the room was empty. The walls still seemed too near. Her presence lingered like heat after fire, and the bond hummed under my skin, demanding attention.

Not like this, this was not meant to happen.

I had come to Oakhaven to guard my territory, to shield my pack from the unrest infiltrating the forests. Not a curse encased in improbable decisions, the mate bond was meant to be a boon given just at the proper time.

Quickly packing my stuff, I departed the school; every stride far from her felt like retribution.

Outside, the late afternoon sky promised rain. Ancient and wary, the forest towered past the parking lot. My wolf yearned it, yearning release. I didn't fight him.

The transformation ripped through me the minute I crossed the tree line.

Cracked bones. Muscles extended. The planet honed itself into sound, scent, and gut instinct. Sinking into the familiar weight of fur and strength as I descended onto four enormous paws onto the forest floor, I welcomed it.

Liberty. I rushed.

As I pressed farther into the forest, lungs burning, senses tingling, the earth blurred under me. I could detect the aromas of foxes, deer, faraway pack members wandering the margins. Everything was in perfect order.

Until her fragrance seeped into the atmosphere. fresh, nearby.

My mind sprang up. Elara.

Not yet in the forest, she felt the bond tug powerfully, an awareness warning flare. Hackles rising, my wolf growled low in his chest.

Danger wasn't present right away. But it was nearing.

Keeping downwind, I changed route and returned toward the school. Leaves whispering like secrets, the woodland whispered around me. Something felt not quite right. Beneath the familiar aromas of home, the air had a slight odd flavor.

Rogues. I paused and muscles coiled.

And then I heard it-a too heavy, erratic scratch for any animal that lived here.

I did not stop to think.

Elara's viewpoint

Staying late was wrong of me.

I realized as soon the studio lights flickered overhead, creating long shadows over the unused area. Gold and red stained the windows as the sun sank quickly, and silence squeezed in around me.

Still, I lacked the ability to leave myself.

Always my hideaway had been the art room. This location calmed my head when it got too noisy. Charcoal dust on my fingertips. The scent of vintage wood and paint. Known, stabilizing.

Still, even that was insufficient today.

Heart beating, I prepared my easel and watched at the empty canvas. Gray eyes, a nocturnal forest, the heat of a kiss that refused to fade all throng uninvited in my thoughts.

I picked up the brush, then halted.

Through the opened window came a sound. Low. Rough.

I lost my breath.

It sounded like... growling.

I said it was only an animal. After all, the forest pressed right up against the school grounds. Occasionally, coyotes could roam around towns.

Still, my skin prickled.

Once again, closer this time, the growl came before a sudden burst like splitting wood.

I moved back from the window.

"Hello?" My voice sounded small. No response.

My heart pounded quicker, every beat ringing in my ears. The charged air was heavy, like before a storm. Every intuition screamed at me to go, to run.

Outside, a shadow shifted. Big; quickly.

I gasped, falling backwards as something hit the trees outside the window. Deep and wrathful, there was a growl then followed by a sound I couldn't identify, half scream, half roar.

This was something else rather than a coyote.

I darted for the door and grabbed my bag. It exploded open before I got there.

I screamed.

Adrian's Point of View

Younger than me, lean and desperate, the rogue's eyes were blazing with insanity and hunger. Pursuing something he had no entitlement to smell, he had entered my area.

My friend.

He dove.

I confronted him directly.

The trees shook as we slammed teeth and claws flashing. He battled unfairly, snapping and slashing, yet dread caused him to be sloppy. I growled a warning shaking the ground under us as I drove him back. Departure.

He paid no attention.

Rage burst white-hot. I restrained him, jaws closing around his neck just hard enough to remind him who governed this realm.

Then, a scream. Elara's.

The link caught fire.

I let out the rogue and pivoted, running toward the noise; every sense screamed protect. The cowardice ultimately prevailed as the renegade ran in the other way.

I didn't run after him. Her alone counted.

From Elara's perspective,

In the hall, I collided with him.

Solid. Warm. Fixed.

Before I could strike the floor, strong arms caught me.

"Elara," a familiar voice said urgently. "Are you wounded?"

Mr. Thorne. No, Adrian.

My knees quivered as I clung to him without thinking, fingers burrowing into his coat. "Something was beyond."

"I know," he responded softly.

His grasp grew strong, defensive, certain. Though my heart crashed against my ribs, I felt secure-for the first time since the rumbling began.

He recoiled only enough to turn to face me, his eyes scanning my face with a force that caused my breathing to stutter.

"You shouldn't be here alone," he remarked.

"I didn't believe..." "Know."

Like he understood far more than I had said, the words carried weight.

A noise outside-a far-off scream-sent chills through me.

Adrian tightened up. "You must return home," he ordered precisely. "Now."

"What regarding-" I'll get it taken care of.

Something in his tone broached no discussion.

I swallowed hard and nodded. "All right."

With a predatory intensity, he walked me to the doorway and scanned the shadows. Charged, dangerous, alive: The air around him felt different now.

I stopped outside. "Mr. Thorne?

He stopped. I said, "Thank you."

The planet went very still for a heartbeat.

He murmured, "You're welcome."

Then he turned and went back into the building.

Mark phoned me twelve times that night. I was mute.

Rather, I stood staring out at the darkened woodland past my home from my bedroom window. The moon was ascending, full and bright, giving the trees a silver illumination.

My heart beat faster the longer I looked.

Somewhere out there, something ancient and powerful roamed the woods.

And somehow, impossibly, I knew it was watching over me.