Hostility at Eclipse Moon

POV: Selah

The morning air held a damp chill as Grandfather and I walked up the sweeping stone steps of Seattle University's medical building. Thick, dark ivy crawled up the imposing brick exterior, gripping the walls like claws. The structure looked less like a place of healing and more like an ancient fortress. I adjusted the collar of my simple black blouse, keeping my posture rigid. Three years. Three years of exile, and I was finally crossing this threshold again.

Dean Castillo’s office sat at the end of a long, polished corridor. The space was a monument to his ego. Ornate mahogany furniture crowded the room, and pretentious abstract art dominated the walls. The man himself sat behind a massive desk, his salt-and-pepper hair slicked back. The faint, underlying scent of a born werewolf lingered around him, mixed with expensive cologne.

He didn't bother standing when we entered. He didn't gesture to the plush leather chairs across from his desk. He kept us standing like errant children called to the principal's office.

Castillo looked down his nose at the file in his hands, shuffling my transcripts with visible disdain. The silence stretched, thick and intentional.

"Miss Vance," Castillo began, his voice a flat drawl. He dropped the papers onto his desk. "Your 'incident' three years ago is very well-known in our circles. We pride ourselves on prestige here. Order."

"My granddaughter's scores are exceptional," Grandfather stated, his voice a low, warning rumble. His grip tightened on his cane.

Castillo scoffed, leaning back in his chair. "Academic scores mean little when measured against risk. We simply cannot have a student with your particular, violent issues disrupting our campus. We host children from elite families. We cannot expose them to your instability."

The air in the room shifted. A heavy, suffocating pressure pushed outward from Grandfather. His silver eyes darkened, catching the light as his Alpha aura began to flood the small office. The temperature seemed to drop. The floorboards groaned in protest under his feet. He was moments away from a full-blown dominance display.

Before the standoff could shatter the windows, a sharp, piercing ring cut through the heavy air.

Castillo’s private desk phone flashed a bright red light. He blinked, the oppressive Alpha energy breaking his concentration. He snatched the receiver, holding up a finger to us.

"Excuse me," he muttered, stepping away toward the floor-to-ceiling windows. He turned his back, hunching his shoulders. He spoke in hushed, urgent tones, his voice a frantic buzz I couldn't quite decipher over the pounding of my own heart.

A minute later, the phone clicked back into its cradle.

When Castillo turned around, the condescension was wiped clean from his face. His pale skin carried a slight sheen of sweat. He swallowed hard, his fingers nervously smoothing down his expensive silk tie.

"Well," Castillo said, his voice jumping an octave before he cleared his throat. He avoided Grandfather’s gaze, looking at a spot on the wall just past my shoulder. "After further consideration... I am accepting your transfer."

Grandfather’s stance relaxed, though his brow furrowed in confusion. "Just like that?"

Castillo gave a tight, unnatural smile. "Let's just say I've been reminded of your... unique talents, Miss Vance." His eyes darted to mine, flashing with a cryptic knowing. "Your rare ability to treat certain specialized conditions. Things we don't put on paper."

My spine stiffened. He meant my medical expertise with silver bullet wounds. The kind of brutal, specialized trauma only elite werewolves suffered in underground conflicts. Someone had just whispered my best-kept secret into his ear.

"However," Castillo rushed on, stacking my papers with trembling hands. "You will be placed in Medical Class Eight. Effective immediately."

Grandfather's cane struck the floor. "Class Eight? That is a dumping ground for underachievers. She belongs in the top tier—"

I reached out, squeezing Grandfather’s trembling arm. "It’s fine," I said softly, cutting off his protest. I met Castillo’s nervous gaze. "Class Eight is acceptable. Thank you, Dean Castillo."

Getting my foot in the door was the only thing that mattered. I could climb out of the basement on my own.

Thirty minutes later, I walked into Class Eight.

The room sat at the far, forgotten end of the building. Flickering fluorescent lights cast a sickly glow over the scuffed desks. The moment I crossed the threshold, a thick wall of hostility slammed into me. The air smelled of chalk, stale coffee, and raw, unfiltered aggression.

Suspicious, glowing eyes tracked my every step. In the back rows, a cluster of werewolf students slouched in their seats. They didn't bother masking their contempt.

"Look who dragged herself back," a male voice murmured, the sound carrying easily to my enhanced ears.

"The disgraced white freak," a girl whispered back, her lip curling. "Can't believe she showed her face."

I kept my expression blank. I claimed an empty desk near the cracked window, ignoring the burn of their stares. I endured the droning lectures, focusing on the textbook pages, letting the morning drag by.

When the lunch hour finally hit, the tension in the building ratcheted up. I made my way to the campus cafeteria, hoping to grab a quick coffee and retreat to the library.

The cafeteria was a massive, echoing hall packed shoulder-to-shoulder with students. The clatter of plastic trays and the roar of a hundred overlapping conversations filled the space. I navigated through the crowd, keeping my head down.

"Hey! Vance!"

The shrill voice cut through the background noise like a siren.

I stopped. A human girl with styled blonde hair and a designer jacket marched toward me, parting the sea of students. She stepped directly into my path, planting her hands on her hips. A trio of friends flanked her, wearing matching cruel smiles.

"You're Selah Vance, right?" she demanded, pitching her voice loud enough to silence the surrounding tables.

I looked at her, keeping my face passive. "Excuse me?"

"I'm Chloe Dalton," she sneered, stepping closer. "And everyone here knows all about you. We know you got kicked out by your own pack. We know you ran off to hang out with dirty street thugs." She took a breath, her voice carrying across the entire cafeteria. "We know you got pregnant and aborted the baby in some back-alley clinic."

My stomach turned to ice. The blood rushed in my ears. The rumors weren't just the usual high school gossip. They were the exact, vicious lies my mother Genevieve and my sister Blair had fabricated to ruin me. It physically sickened me to realize my own family had spread this poison so far that even clueless human students were weaponizing it against me.

Whispers erupted across the cafeteria. I felt the sharp, focused attention of every werewolf in the room locking onto us.

"You're a disgrace," Chloe spat, emboldened by her audience.

I didn't defend myself. I didn't yell. I adjusted the strap of my bag and calmly stepped to the right to walk around her.

Chloe moved fast, deliberately shifting to block my path again. She thrust her hand out, pressing her palm flat against my chest to shove me back.

My eyes locked instantly onto her hand. Sitting on her middle finger was a large, heavy ring made of gleaming, pure silver. The metal hovered dangerously close to my exposed collarbone. To her, it was a trendy piece of jewelry. To me, it was a brand waiting to burn through my skin.

The silence in the cafeteria shifted. It wasn't just gossip anymore. The hidden werewolves in the crowd were watching with bated breath, their muscles tensed. They were waiting. Waiting to see if the unstable, disgraced white wolf would lose control, shift, and rip a human's throat out over a piece of silver.

I stared at the ring. Then, I carefully, deliberately took a step backward, putting distance between my skin and the deadly metal.

I raised my eyes to meet Chloe’s. I kept my voice dangerously level, stripping away all emotion until only a hollow, icy promise remained.

"I have no interest in creating trouble on my first day," I warned her quietly. "But do not mistake my restraint for weakness."

Something cold and absolute in my tone hit her. The smug smile dropped from her face. Her hand faltered, lowering just a fraction. Her eyes widened, a sudden, primal instinct warning her that she was standing too close to a predator.

I used her hesitation. I slipped past her rigid shoulder, leaving her standing frozen in the middle of the crowded room. I pushed through the double doors, escaping the suffocating heat of the cafeteria and the burning stares of my kind.

Hours later, the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in bruised shades of purple and gray. I needed to bleed off the suffocating tension of the day.

I straddled my Ducati, kicking the kickstand up. I hit the winding coastal highway, pushing the engine to its limits. The aggressive roar of the bike and the biting wind whipping off the Pacific Ocean helped clear the noise from my head. I leaned into the sharp curves, letting the speed anchor me.

Suddenly, a heavy vibration buzzed against my thigh.

I slowed down, checking my pocket. It was my encrypted phone. The secure line. I pulled over onto a gravel shoulder overlooking the churning, dark water. I killed the engine and pulled off my helmet, hitting answer.

"Echo," Jace's voice came through the speaker, breathless and buzzing with adrenaline. "I’ve got a massive job for you."

I leaned against the leather seat, staring out at the crashing waves. "Not interested, Jace. I need to lay low. Today was a disaster, and my profile is already too high."

"You don't understand," Jace insisted, his words rushing together. "This is a blank-check contract. The client specifically asked for your hacker alias. They want Echo's network access."

"I don't care about the money—"

"The client is Cross Corporation," Jace blurted out.

The name hit me like a physical blow. The roar of the ocean faded into a dull drone. My grip on the phone tightened until the plastic casing creaked.

"What?" I breathed.

"Kaelen Cross's people," Jace confirmed excitedly. "They want you. Badly."

My mind raced, tumbling over the jagged pieces of the puzzle. I abruptly hit the end call button, cutting Jace off mid-sentence.

I stood alone by my bike in the fading light. Dean Castillo’s nervous sweat and his cryptic mention of my medical talents. Now, a massive corporate contract hunting down my underground hacker alias.

Kaelen Cross was playing a massive, dangerous game. Why was he aggressively recruiting both elite underground hackers and werewolves with specialized medical skills?

I stared out at the black water, a cold realization settling in my chest. Did he somehow know? Did the most powerful Alpha in the city realize that both of his high-value recruitment targets were actually the exact same person?