Mooncrest was silent, and silence in that place never felt peaceful.
It pressed against Nerissa's ears like a warning that she isn't supposed to be here, as though the walls themselves whispered secrets she wasn't ready to hear. The air smelled faintly of lavender soap from the shared bathroom and wet pine from the woods outside. Beyond the tall windows, the moon glowed low and cold, half-shielded by a thin mist that turned everything silver-blue.
She lay still in her bed, staring at the ceiling until her eyes hurt. Sleep had abandoned her again. It always did when her thoughts started circling.
It was hard not to think when everything in her life had gone so off-course.
She came here for change. For power. For belonging.
Instead, she got a constant reminder of how misplaced she really was.
Who even am I anymore?
She flipped to her side, hugging the pillow. The dorm room felt smaller tonight, like the darkness had edges. She could hear faint laughter from somewhere down the hall — human students probably — and it stung. That sound of easy normalcy. She didn't have that anymore. She hadn't had it for a long time.
She thought back to the day her acceptance letter arrived. The shiny Mooncrest Academy seal, the scripted words: "We're pleased to inform you that you've been granted full admission…" It had felt like hope wrapped in paper.
She remembered clutching that letter to her chest, thinking maybe — just maybe — this was her chance to start over. To be someone different. Someone untouchable.
Someone free.
But she didn't know what she'd walked into. Mooncrest wasn't a normal school. It wasn't even a normal supernatural school. It was a cage disguised as a castle. And she was locked in with monsters that hid their claws behind charm and lineage.
Her stomach twisted.
Belonging? she thought bitterly. What a joke.
Back home, belonging had always been complicated. She'd been the "weird girl," the one who made streetlights flicker when she got angry, the one who could make the class bully forget his own name for five seconds with just a glare. People whispered about her — witch, cursed, possessed — like she couldn't hear.
Then came Nia.
Nia with her honey-brown smile and her promises of friendship. The one person who made Nerissa believe she wasn't a mistake. They'd shared secrets, skipped classes together, talked about the future. Until the day everything shattered.
The day Nia framed her.
A missing fund, an envelope stuffed with cash found in Nerissa's locker, and that look on Nia's face — wide-eyed innocence, betrayal masked as fear. Nerissa could still remember standing there as the principal's voice cut into her like a blade.
"You've disappointed us."
And just like that, everything she built crumbled.
She could still feel that humiliation burning under her skin — the whispers, the stares, the laughter. The look her mother gave her that night when she got home — tired, disappointed, but not surprised.
That was the worst part.
Her mother wasn't even surprised.
That was when she decided she'd never cry for anyone again.
She left that life behind, promising herself she'd find somewhere she could be more than the poor witch kid from the south side. Mooncrest had sounded perfect — a fresh start, clean slate, full scholarship.
But no one told her Mooncrest wasn't just an academy. It was a hunting ground.
The humans were clueless, parading through the halls with shiny badges and curfews, while the rest — the hidden ones — moved like predators in silk and shadows. Witches, wolves, and creatures she still couldn't name.
And she, Nerissa Flair, stood somewhere in between, unsure which side she belonged to.
Because the truth was… she wasn't fully witch.
The first time she'd used her powers, her mother had slapped her — not out of anger, but fear. "Never compel anyone again," she'd whispered, eyes wild. "That's not witchcraft. That's something else."
Something else.
The phrase haunted her.
Her father's face — the one in that old, creased photograph — flashed in her mind. He had dark hair, pale eyes, a smirk that looked too sharp, too dangerous. Her mother never said his name, never spoke of him after that night. But Nerissa remembered the way her mother's hand shook when she burned the photo.
If he wasn't a witch… what was he?
She sighed and rubbed her eyes. "Great. Midnight existential crisis again," she muttered.
Her gaze drifted toward the empty beds across the room — Kael's, Riven's, Lucien's. The Alphas. They were never around when she woke up, execpt from the first day, maybe it was their way of welcoming before they began disappearing They left before dawn and came back after midnight, carrying the scent of forest and blood.
They were a mystery she didn't want to solve, and be attracted to!
The door creaked open just as the thought passed.
She stilled, breathing shallow.
Three shadows slipped in — tall, silent, and sure. Riven's lazy gait, Lucien's calm steps, Kael's deliberate, quiet ones. They didn't speak, didn't even glance at her. The sound of fabric rustled; the faint smell of soap and cold air followed.
Her heart beat faster, even though they hadn't done anything.
They had that effect — like gravity bending around them.
She shut her eyes quickly and turned her face toward the wall. Just breathe. Just pretend to be asleep.
The sound of water running from the bathroom drifted for a while, followed by low murmurs she couldn't make out. Then silence again. One bed creaked. Then another. Then Kael's.
Minutes passed. The quiet settled thick.
She let out a slow breath, finally relaxing.
Until she turned.
And nearly kissed him.
Kael.
He was right there, inches from her face, lying on his side and watching her. His dark green eyes shimmered faintly in the low light, intense enough to steal her next breath. The silver stud in his ear caught a glint from the moonlight, giving him that dangerously effortless beauty she pretended not to notice during the day.
Her pulse stumbled.
He didn't move. Didn't blink. Just watched her.
"What—" she started, but his finger touched her lips, gentle and cool.
"Shh," he whispered.
Her breath hitched. Every nerve in her body screamed for her to move, but she didn't. Couldn't.
He smelled like pine smoke and rain. That same wild, earthy scent she caught on him every morning. It wasn't fair that someone could look that calm and that dangerous all at once.
She forced a whisper. "Do you—always hover over people when they sleep?"
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. "Only the ones pretending to."
Her cheeks flushed. "You could've just said hi."
"Didn't want to wake you."
"Well, mission failed."
That made him smile — small, crooked, annoyingly beautiful. "You talk in your sleep," he said quietly.
Her brow furrowed. "I do not."
"You said something about belonging."
The words hit her like a spark. She blinked. "You were listening?"
"Hard not to," he murmured. "You sounded… lonely."
Her throat tightened. She looked away, trying to hide the sudden sting in her chest. "You don't know me."
Kael's eyes softened. "Maybe not. But I know what lonely sounds like."
Something about the way he said it — steady, unflinching — made her heart twist. There was no pity in his voice, just understanding.
She swallowed. "You're weird."
"You're avoiding."
Her lips curved slightly. "You always this charming?"
"Only when someone tries to pretend they don't care."
"Who says I don't?"
He tilted his head, eyes narrowing slightly, like he could see right through her. "You wear your pain like armor, Nerissa. Makes people think they can't hurt you. But it's still armor."
Her breath caught. No one had ever said that to her before. Not so plainly.
"Why do you even care?" she whispered.
He didn't answer right away. His gaze dropped to her hand — the one clutching the blanket — then back to her face. "Because you don't belong here," he said softly. "Not the way you think."
She frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He hesitated, eyes darkening. "If I told you, you'd run."
She snorted. "I don't run."
He leaned closer, voice barely a whisper. "Everyone runs when the truth finds them."
Their eyes locked. The space between them felt electric, heavy with something neither wanted to name.
Then Riven's groggy voice broke the spell. "If you two are gonna flirt, do it quietly. Some of us hunt at dawn."
Nerissa jumped back, cheeks flaming. Kael chuckled under his breath and rolled onto his back.
"Goodnight, Miss Compeller," he said, tone teasing but soft.
She turned away, muttering, "Goodnight, stalker."
The room fell silent again, but her heart refused to slow. Every time she closed her eyes, she could still feel his gaze — the weight of it, the warmth it left behind.
For the first time, apart from being with Vanessa, since coming to Mooncrest, Nerissa didn't feel completely invisible.
And that terrified her more than anything.
The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the night. Nerissa lay staring at the ceiling, the echoes of Kael's voice still looping in her head like a song she didn't want to remember.
Her pulse wouldn't calm, no matter how many times she told herself to breathe. It was stupid, really—letting words linger like this. Letting faces she barely knew occupy her dreams.
"Get a grip, Nerissa," she muttered, rolling onto her side. Her eyes fluttered shut. "Tomorrow's another day. New problems, same madness."
Sleep took her slowly. Too slowly. And then—
The world twisted—colors bleeding, sounds melting into each other until everything turned silver and still.
She stood in a vast open field drenched in moonlight. The air was thick, heavy with smoke and something ancient that crawled beneath her skin.
Three men were fighting in the distance—fighting like gods trying to kill each other.
Blades clashed. Sparks flew. The ground shook with every strike.
One had red hair, wild and blazing, laughter curling even as blood streaked his jaw.
Another was dark-haired, deadly calm, eyes colder than the steel he wielded.
The last—blonde, his movements steady, deliberate, almost heartbreakingly controlled.
They looked… familiar. Too familiar.
Riven. Kael. Lucien.
But older. Sharper. Twisted by something that didn't belong in this world.
A woman sat a few feet away, watching them.
She didn't flinch. Didn't move.
Her long black hair shimmered in the moonlight, her green eyes glowing like wildfire.
She smiled.
Not sweetly—like someone who'd seen this dance too many times and enjoyed every scream it ended with.
When one of the men hit the ground, she tilted her head, lips curving wider. "Try harder," she said softly, voice echoing like a melody through bone and blood.
The men didn't stop. They couldn't. Their fury wasn't aimed at her—it revolved around her. Like she was the sun and they were doomed to burn.
Then the woman's gaze snapped to Nerissa.
That smile grew sharper. "You're late."
Nerissa froze. "What—"
"You never learn, do you?" the woman whispered. Her tone dripped with amusement. "Let's see if this life changes anything."
Lightning tore through the sky. The three men turned toward her, eyes glowing—gold, silver, and green.
Pain bloomed in Nerissa's chest—hot, ancient, familiar.
The world crumbled.
Nerissa jolted awake, heart slamming in her chest.
She sat up, panting, hair sticking to her forehead. Moonlight spilled through the curtains, painting the room in ghostly silver.
"I'm gonna say a prayer," she muttered, rubbing her face. "It's just a dream. A fucked-up dream."
But the tremor in her voice told a different story.
Because deep down, she knew—whatever that was, it wasn't just a dream.