Chapter 1 - Evie

Winters in Bloodmoon have always been beautiful, but it’s the kind of beauty best shared with someone else. I had no someone else. I was alone in my tiny apartment, in that awkward in-between place where my wolf demanded companionship I still hadn’t found. I’m eighteen, living on my own for the first time, enrolled at the University of Portland for music…and mateless. It was lonely in ways I couldn’t describe to my friends. At university, my classmates saw a seemingly normal freshman, a girl with a bright smile, wavy brown hair, and a knack for the cello. They didn’t see how my wolf, Noria, prowled inside me, restless and craving that fabled mate bond.

It was a Friday night, one I should have spent partying or doing anything with friends. Instead, I planned an evening of tragic solitude. I’d just flopped onto my sofa, halfheartedly scrolling through N*****x. My reflection in the dark TV screen caught my eye first: hair tumbling past my shoulders in loose brown waves, warm-toned skin with a slight glow from a day spent outside, and a faint flush in my cheeks. I suppose I might’ve looked healthy, even content, but it was deceptive—my lips were pressed into a self-conscious line. A bright smile doesn’t come as easily when you’re alone.

I wasn’t in pajamas yet, but I was wearing an oversized hoodie, the kind of cozy thing you want to bury yourself in during a cold, drizzly Oregon evening. I planned to binge Bridgerton, that ridiculous but completely addicting show, bury my feelings in some junk food, and ignore the twinge in my chest that wanted someone else’s warmth. Everyone in my pack—and I do mean everyone—seemed to be celebrating with mates or significant others. My phone pinged every few minutes with pictures: couples in fancy restaurants, couples laughing in the snow, couples exchanging early Valentine’s gifts. Meanwhile, I was single, in a tiny one-bedroom apartment, half-resenting the notion of romance.

I couldn’t help daydreaming about the one person I’d never quite let go: Sophie Blanchett. She and I met three years ago when she traveled as Chloé and Célia’s nanny. Before she moved back to France, we’d become friends. Even from the start, I found her mesmerizing: long, dark hair with a lovely shimmer, lightly tanned skin that always held a subtle flush, and a sprinkle of freckles across the bridge of her nose and cheeks. She had light, almost storm-gray eyes that could switch between playful and pensive in a heartbeat. The memory of her wide, genuine smile still gave me butterflies. We’d kept in touch via chat and sporadic calls, but there was no realistic chance of being anything but friends—she was an ocean away. That didn’t stop me from crushing on her in the quiet hours of the night. If it had been up to me, she and I would at least be in the same city, if not in each other’s arms.

My phone rang, and I jumped as if I were caught doing something forbidden. The screen lit up with my older brother Rohan’s name, and I quickly answered.

“Hey, Rohan.” I sighed, wondering if he needed me to babysit my nieces—Chloé and Célia again. I loved them, but that was usually the only time he called out of the blue.

“Evie, you busy?” His voice was warm but rushed. I pictured him chasing the five-year-olds around, possibly helping them build some elaborate pillow fort.

I forced a cheerful note. “No more than usual on a Friday night.” My pitiful attempt at humor. I knew exactly how the next part would go. “What’s up? Need a babysitter so you can take Shikoba out for Valentine’s Day?”

He gave a small laugh. “That was my first plan, but our parents offered to watch them. I’m calling about something else. The mate gathering’s in Silverclaw tomorrow—”

“Yes.” I tried not to let my groan leak through. “Hard to forget. My friends have been obsessing about it for weeks.” Mate gatherings were a big deal, though I dreaded them. Everyone was so eager, so certain they’d find their mate. That kind of hype made me anxious.

Rohan continued. “Right, so an old friend is flying in for the event. Sophie Blanchett.” He paused meaningfully. “She reached out to me and said she’d land at Portland International Airport tomorrow. She asked if anyone could pick her up. Since you have more free time, I immediately thought of you, and you two were always close.”

My heart nearly leaped out of my chest. “Sophie’s coming here?”

“She is,” he confirmed, and I could hear him smiling on the other end. “Her flight gets in around noon tomorrow. Think you can help her out?”

“Yes—yes, absolutely,” I blurted, almost too fast. The phone nearly slipped from my grip as my palms went clammy. Sophie was coming back to Bloodmoon. She was so much more than an “old friend” to me, though I doubted Rohan grasped just how big my crush was. “I mean, I’d love to.”

“Great,” Rohan said, relief in his voice. “I’ll send you the details. Thanks, sis. Appreciate it.”

We said our goodbyes, and I put my phone down, heart hammering like a frantic drumline. It felt surreal, the kind of news that resets your entire weekend. I was no longer lonely Evie with a half-eaten bag of potato chips. Suddenly, I was Evie, anticipating the arrival of a gorgeous, long-distance friend I’d been half in love with since we met.

I couldn’t help it: I squealed aloud. I’m glad no one was around to see me bounce like a fool across my living room. My reflection in the mirror next to my front door almost made me laugh—I looked like a giddy teenager, cheeks flushed, brown eyes bright with excitement. My hair was an unruly mess around my shoulders, but I barely cared. Sophie was coming. To Bloodmoon. Tomorrow.

That night, I hardly slept. The old fantasies I used to entertain came rushing back. Maybe she’d catch sight of me, smile that devastating smile, and before I knew it, we’d be having coffee, strolling the city, ignoring the mate gathering in favor of reuniting. Only it couldn’t be that simple, right? For all I knew, she was still searching for her mate (and wasn’t that the whole point of her trip?). She might have zero interest in me beyond friendship.

But something in me longed for more. Was it foolish to picture Sophie’s face lighting up at the sight of me, the curve of her lips telling me she’d missed me just as intensely?

I decided to try if there was the slightest chance of making an impression. So the next morning, I yawned through my early classes, mind spinning with possibilities. Back at my apartment, I raked my fingers through my brown waves, hoping they would cooperate. I rarely put much thought into my looks—my wolfish genetics kept me fit, and I was usually content with a hint of tinted lip balm and calling it a day. But now I toyed with the idea of makeup. Should I accentuate my eyes? My cheeks? I eventually decided on a minimal approach, not wanting to look out of character. My reflection showed the typical me: big brown eyes, slightly flushed cheeks, and hair that cascaded around my face in gentle waves. A swirl of nervous excitement flipped my stomach.

Winter in Oregon meant I had to consider warmth. My usual uniform involved a simple sweater or a cozy jacket. I settled on my thick coat with the fur-lined hood, figuring it was functional enough for the damp chill and possibly looked decently put together. But as noon approached, I realized I was running out of time. Traffic in Portland can be unpredictable.

Cursing under my breath, I grabbed my keys, scarf, and gloves, then dashed out. Every red light was personally conspiring to delay me. When I pulled into the parking garage at Portland International Airport, the clock on my dash read 12:25. My heart rate soared. I jogged through the concourse, weaving around travelers dragging suitcases, trying not to collide with families hugging and chatting. The overhead announcer’s voice reverberated in the busy terminal, but I could barely pick out any words over the rush of blood in my ears. Sophie’s flight should have landed a while ago—was she waiting for me?

I passed the arrivals board, searching for her flight number, but a sudden, hypnotic scent stopped me in my tracks. It pierced through the usual airport mix of cleaning fluid, coffee, and food-court grease—something infinitely more enticing. It reminded me of night-blooming flowers after a fresh rain but with an undercurrent of something warm and sweet. A tingle shot through my limbs, and my wolf, Noria, stirred to life inside me.

‘Mate,’ she growled, her voice firm and certain in my mind.

My heart thundered. Mate? Now? Here? That impossible dream I’d often harbored soared up in my chest. My entire being lit up with an electric pull. Without thinking, I pivoted toward the origin of that beautiful, feminine fragrance. It felt like a thread tethered me, reeling me in. I pushed through the throng of people, not even checking faces yet, simply following that intoxicating scent.

Noria nearly howled with longing. My breath came fast and shallow. I could feel the wolf’s excitement, her unwavering conviction that I had stumbled onto my destiny. The next second, I caught sight of a tall, graceful figure with glossy dark hair falling past her shoulders. Even from behind, something about her elegant and relaxed posture sent sparks down my spine. Then she turned, scanning the crowd.

My breath caught painfully. Sophie.

She was more radiant than the last time I saw her. Her hair was a deep, inky black, framing her face in a sleek curtain that contrasted with her lightly tanned skin. A smattering of freckles across her nose gave her a playful, down-to-earth appeal, though everything else about her exuded confidence. Those eyes, a vivid, stormy gray, flicked around in search of someone—maybe me. Her cheeks, lightly bronzed even in winter, hinted at time spent outdoors or an active lifestyle. The moment she looked up, her gaze locked on mine.

She froze, lips parting, as if she, too, realized something had shifted in the air. Even across the distance of a few yards, I could see her chest rise with a shaky breath. Time seemed to stall. The crowd and noise of the airport faded, and all that remained was the two of us. My wolf roared in triumph.

‘Mate,’ Noria repeated in my head, joyous and reverent.

Could it be her? Sophie was my mate? The improbable realization both terrified and thrilled me. I stepped forward, wanting to close the distance but fearing what this meant for us. She, too, took a hesitant step. Then, her expression burst with recognition and an indescribable joy. A dazzling smile curved her full lips.