Chapter 1

A year ago, if someone had told me I’d be working at a school filled with shifters, I would have said they were crazy.

I checked my phone to see how long I had before I needed to get dressed and get on the road to POSHA—the Polar Shift Academy. It was only five-thirty, and with the academy’s very progressive start time of nine in the morning, I’d have plenty of time to kill.

With so much pent-up, nervous energy in me, I decided to take a quick run through town. Running would help me get some of the nervous energy from starting my new job out of my system and would have the added benefit of loosening up all the tight muscles in my neck and shoulders before I had to spend the day running around and chasing children.

Sliding off the velvety seat cushion, I left my seating chart and files on the kitchen counter and walked back to my room to change.

It still threw me for a loop every time I walked into the bedroom of the quaint beach house. Looking out the huge windows and seeing the shoreline only a short walk away never got old, nor did falling asleep to the sound of the crashing waves each night and watching the sun peek up over the pinks and purples of the horizon.

I could never have afforded this by myself. It’s not like kindergarten teachers make six-figure salaries (though I think we all should, thanks very much.) The only way I could live in such a perfect place was thanks to an unlikely run-in with a lycan who helped me get back on my feet when my life had all but fallen apart.

It was hard for me, after leaving an abusive relationship, to accept the act of kindness. Lana just gave me this place to live in as long as I paid the utilities and kept the place nice. She even gave me a small stipend when I first came out—called it advanced house-sitting.

For the first few months, I’d kept waiting for the other shoe to drop, kept waiting for Lana to snap and kick me out or get tired of how sad and broken I was after Wyatt.

But it never happened. Lana gave me the time I needed to heal both physically and mentally and even set me up with this brilliant job I was certain I was underqualified for.

That was Lana, though, I’d eventually learned. Aggressively, annoyingly, persistently generous—and if you ever dared say no to that kindness, she made sure to make you feel like an absolute villain within the space of a couple of hours.

Smiling at that, I shucked off my jeans and swapped them for a pair of stretchy jogging shorts. I abandoned my shirt in favor of a cropped tee and sports bra that wouldn’t make me feel like I was going to melt in the sweltering heat of the South Carolina summer morning. I was careful not to look at the bite mark on my shoulder as I changed, not wanting to fall down another rabbit hole of self-pity and sadness.

I didn’t like thinking about the days I’d spent healing from Wyatt’s failed bite—an action that not only would have marked me as belonging to him forever but would have likely killed me if it had triggered a change into a lycan. I’d felt utterly alone in the hospital, the object of judgment and scorn of all the people I’d grown up with. I avoided thinking about it at all costs if I could help it.

Finally, I pulled my sandy hair into a high ponytail before grabbing my wireless earbuds and heading out the door.

My bedroom opened to a white-washed deck with stairs that led down to a driftwood pathway all the way to the shoreline. I slipped on my dew-dampened running shoes and tied them tightly, then headed down into the sandy pathway and onto the nearest sidewalk.

I waved at a few of my neighbors as they walked their dogs or sat on the benches that peppered the walkways, offering visitors a chance to sit and bask in the salty air or admire the sunrise. Each one knew me by my face, if not my name, and a couple wished me a good morning, which I was happy to return.

Once I was out of danger of being rude to anyone or accidentally missing a pleasant bit of chit-chat or a morning hello—Southern manners and all that—I put my earbuds in, set my jogging playlist to shuffle, and started running.

The playlist was full of high-tempo songs that made me feel like the hottest bitch around, which was an absolute necessity when you spent the morning getting sweaty in glorified pajamas.

Before long, I was on my usual trek through the little neighborhood parklet.

The parklet had a nice runner’s path that weaved through a meticulously landscaped strip of land—probably the result of a city beautification project championed by the local housewives with too much time on their hands and not enough problems to keep them entertained. I was grateful it was so close to where I was living. I’d found comfort in a good run since freshman year in high school, and it was made all the better when you could see rabbits and gophers skittering through the tasteful vegetation. It made me feel like Snow White in running shoes.

As I ran deeper into the shaded parts of the path, however, I started to get a nagging feeling, a sort of tickle against the hairs on the back of my neck. I looked down at my arm and found it prickled with gooseflesh.

Slowing my pace a bit, I plucked one earbud out of my ear and looked behind me. When I did, I saw nothing but the stretches of the path I’d already traversed. Not a soul in sight—not even one of the rabbits.

I shook off the feeling. I was just being paranoid.

This sensation had happened a lot when I’d first come out to New Middle Bluff last year. I couldn’t even count the number of times I’d begged Lana to come over and sniff around for Wyatt, like a kid asking their mommy to check their closet for monsters. Every single time, she always came up empty.

It was probably just the stress of starting at POSHA. At least that was what I told myself as I took a detour from my usual route through the neighborhood in favor of heading toward the city instead. There was no reason to stay in the relative quiet of my neighborhood when I could avail myself of the comfort of having a bunch of eyes on me in the city. It wasn’t like someone would pull up on a busy street and shove me in a windowless van, right? Someone would probably stop them.

Hopefully.

I found it remarkable how quickly the suburbs gave way to the hustle and bustle of boulevards and business offices—how familiarity gave way to anonymity. I ran through the city, watching people from different walks of life going about their day: exhausted bartenders just finishing their night shift, yoga instructors perky with coffee and prescribed amphetamines heading into posh gyms, businessmen already rubbing their temples with the frustration du jour on the other end of their phones.

Having grown up in a small town like Leighton Valley, it never ceased to amaze me. Sometimes I came into town to people-watch on less busy days. Sometimes I wished I had an apartment in the city instead of on the beach—but only sometimes.

The only downside to running in the city was having to stop a lot more to wait for lights to change. Normally that was just par for the course when running in the city, but with each crosswalk and the thinning crowds of people as they went to work came a new wave of fresh paranoia that made me feel like I was going to jump out of my skin.

At each light, I looked around, trying to see if some creeper was ogling me from his car or if some old lady who had a problem with exposed midriffs was scowling at me. But, again, every time I looked, no one was paying me any mind.

I was nearing the end of my route, and the problem was worsening. I’d really wanted to avoid taking my emergency anxiety meds today, but it was becoming more and more apparent that if I wanted to function at all today, it would be a necessity.

I’d get to the Daily Grind, the local artisan coffee shop, go in for a chamomile tea to see if it would help ease my panic, then take the bus or a Lyft back home to avoid the anxiety of feeling like I was being followed all the way there.

It was a good plan, I decided as I checked over my shoulders for the hundredth time on this run that was supposed to make me feel better.

But I looked just a little too long—let my mind wander just a little too far—because out of nowhere, I jogged right into a brick wall. I bounced off it, the air knocked out of my lungs as I stumbled back. Before I could fall on my ass, a huge, firm hand caught my arm and steadied me.

I was still panting as my head spun. I tried to catch my bearings, looking for the evil wall that had dared get in my way as I was jogging. I realized, though, that I hadn’t run into a wall.

I’d run into a man.

A huge, towering mountain of a man with perfect, slicked-back chocolatey brown hair. The meticulously groomed beard was the same shade as his hair but with a few amber hairs mixed among them. He was like the most beautiful lumberjack that ever lived, looking far too good in his tight black T-shirt.

Focus, Ruth, focus!

He looked down at me with eyes the color of rich, dark-roasted coffee. His heavy brows knitted together as he examined me from head to toe.

“Whoa there, you okay? You hit me going about twenty miles an hour,” he said.

I wobbled a bit, and he set down an empty coffee cup to use his other hand to steady me again.

“Easy, easy,” he said as he snapped his finger in front of my eyes. “You in there, Miss? Can you see how many fingers I’m holding up?”

He held up his thumb and first two fingers.

“Two fingers,” I said.

His brow furrowed more, and I watched the corners of his mouth turn down in concern.

“O-one is a thumb,” I stammered. “S-sorry, probably not the best time to joke about semantics.”

His breath left him in a relieved gust before he let out a hearty laugh. “It’s a good joke. I’m glad I don’t have to call an ambulance for you. That would probably be the first time a paramedic had to deal with a head-on collision of two people.”

It was then that I realized what I’d just done to the poor man.

“Oh! Oh my god! I just ran straight into you at full speed. Are you okay?”

Without thinking, I patted his torso, finding it wet and sticky. My hands slowed as I looked toward the coffee cup he’d just set down.

“Hey now, if you’re going to try to get fresh with me, at least take me to dinner first,” he said with a crooked grin.

I snapped my hand back as fast as if he’d burned me.

“First, I careen into you and ruin your morning coffee. Now I’m stealing your virtue,” I croaked. “I’m so sorry. You must think I’m a complete idiot. Are you, though? All right, I mean? Did I burn you or anything? Crack a rib?”

He laughed, the sound warm and bright and tickling up my spine in a way that felt just right. “No, I think it’d take at least three of you to crack a rib. How about you, though? The light left your eyes there for a second. I was afraid you were going to faint.”

I looked back over my shoulder like I had when I rammed into him at full speed. I couldn’t tell if it was because of him or because whatever had followed me finally left me the hell alone, but the feeling that I was being watched or followed had vanished.

Note to self: to combat paranoia and anxiety, just find a hot guy and ruin his morning coffee.

I looked back up at him and nodded. “I’m fine. So sorry for ruining your morning.”

“Believe me. This is the best morning I’ve had in a while,” he said, lips curving into a smile. “This is my favorite coffee place. You should go in and get yourself a drink before you go running, just in case. You have a good day now.”

“Wait, can I buy you another coffee?” I said.

“Another day, maybe, if we run into each other again—or if you run into me, I guess.”

I gave a laugh that was just a little too eager. “Um, yeah. S-sounds good,” I said awkwardly.

He picked up his near-empty cup and deposited it in a nearby trashcan. Giving another crooked smile, he turned and walked down the street.

I was left standing there, almost dumbfounded by what I’d just experienced.

Then I realized I didn’t even get his name.