Nova pov-

If hell had a GPS location, my dad just drove us straight into it.

The sign on the gate said "Noctis Dominium Academy" in gold gothic letters that looked straight out of a vampire Netflix series.

I drag my fingers down the foggy glass, watching the spiked gates crawl open. They look like something out of a Dracula movie, all gothic and extra, with sharp metal spirals that scream trespassers will die

Noctis Dominium Academy- aka the Ivy League of supernatural schools, aka enemy territory, aka the last place on earth I'd ever want to breathe.

The whole campus was castle-like, dripping in old money vibes and power. You know the kind—stone walls, iron gates, creepy gargoyles, and towers so high you'd think dragons lived there. Basically, Hogwarts, if Hogwarts came with trust funds, pack politics, and heirs who'd eat you alive if you dared breathe wrong.

And me? I was the glitch in the system.

The whispers started before the car even stopped. Students in perfect uniforms—pressed blazers, polished boots—turned their heads, smirks curling like they could already smell me.

"Is that… the Omega?"

"Why would they even let one in here?"

"She's not gonna last a week."

Omega. The word hit like spit in the face every damn time. I clenched my fists on my lap, nails digging into my palms.

Beside me, my stepsister Serena fixed her lip gloss in the car mirror, completely unbothered. Of course she was. She was born pretty, born spoiled, born perfect. Her mother, sitting next to her, gave me her usual side-eye—sharp, judgmental, like she was still questioning how I hadn't died in the womb like my real mother did giving birth to me.

"Sit up straight," my stepmother muttered, her voice like nails on a chalkboard. "You're representing your pack, even if you're… what you are."

I rolled my eyes. What I am. Like it was contagious or something.

Dad's fingers tighten on the steering wheel. His profile's sharp, cold—he looks like every part the powerful Alpha. Everyone's scared of him. Everyone except me. And maybe that's why I love him so much. He turns those glacier eyes on me, and just for a second, the ice melts.

"You're stronger than them, Nova," he says, loud enough that my stepmother could hear. "Don't let them touch you."

My chest tightens. It's rare he shows it—his soft side. The part of him that's mine and mine alone. That's why Serena, my stepsister, shoots me that look—the one where she wants to claw my face off. And why my stepmother, Camilla, smiles like she just swallowed a lemon.

"Really, darling?" Camilla drawls from the passenger seat, her perfume choking the entire car. "You're going to waste your words on her? The Academy isn't a place for… strays."

I clench my fists. One day, I swear I'll snap her fake nose right off her smug face.

Dad doesn't even look at her. That's the thing. He never gives Camilla the warmth he gives me. Which, honestly, is the only weapon I've ever needed.

Still didn't stop the twist in my stomach as the academy gates swallowed us whole.

The air here was heavy. Electric. Like something in the atmosphere was waiting, watching. My skin prickled, the tiny hairs on my neck standing up. Weirdest part? It felt almost like… recognition.

And then I saw him.

He wasn't even doing anything. Just standing with a bunch of other heirs, his hands shoved in his pockets like he owned the entire goddamn courtyard. Broad shoulders, black t-shirt tight over his chest, tattoos crawling up his arms and disappearing under his sleeves. His hair was messy in that didn't try but looks stupid hot anyway way, and his eyes—gray, stormy, freezing—landed on me like a blade pressing against my throat.

Instant. Hate.

The corner of his mouth curled into a smirk, the kind you'd want to slap off someone's face, and something in my chest stuttered. Not attraction. Nope. Just adrenaline. Or rage. Or both.

"Welcome to your new nightmare," Serena whispered, leaning close like she couldn't wait to see me burn.

And for the first time since the car crossed into enemy territory, I believed her.

I glanced back through the window but he was gone.

Strange, who was he? and why did I suddenly have this instant dislike for him?

I pride myself to be an absolute good judge of character, but why was I already condemning a guy I haven't even talk to?

The SUV rolls to a stop, and Serena flips her perfect glossy hair, smirking at me like I should crawl out under the car instead of walking through the front gates. Her nails are painted blood red. Fitting.

I yank open the door before she can say anything nasty. The air outside hits me—cold, sharp, humming with something I can't explain. Like static before a storm. It runs across my skin, making the tiny hairs on my arms stand up.

That's when I feel it.

The pull.

Like someone invisible just hooked a wire into my chest and tugged. My breath stumbles. My pulse skips.

I scan the crowd, and though I don't see him again, I swear I could feel his gaze on me— watching me.

And then the whispers start again. Louder. Sharper. "Omega."

Like it's my name. Like it's all I'll ever be.

I square my shoulders, lift my chin, and plaster on my best don't mess with me face. They want to see me crumble? Too bad. Nova Sinclair doesn't break for anyone.

Even if, deep down, I can feel the storm waiting for me inside these castle walls.

Maybe it's not a literal storm, but it feels like the kind that creeps up right before thunder rips the sky open. You know that heavy silence before lightning strikes? Yeah—that. It's crawling under my skin, buzzing in my bones like my instincts are screaming: run.

But I don't run.

Instead, I roll my shoulders back, tug my jacket tighter, and keep walking like I own this place—even though the stares around me make it very clear I don't. Everywhere I look, there's a sea of expensive leather boots, silk uniforms that probably cost more than my car back home, and smiles that are about as warm as an ice bath.

Whispers follow me down the hallway like a bad perfume.

"Is she really an Omega?"

"She definitely is from her scent"

"Isn't her Father an Alpha? Her father must've lost his mind…"

"Pathetic."

If looks could kill, I'd have been buried six times already. Still, I smirk. Because here's the thing—I'd rather bite my tongue bloody than let these spoiled royals know they're getting to me.

Serena, of course, drinks it all in like it's her coronation parade. She struts beside me in her shiny boots, practically glowing under their stares, chin high as if she's the goddess of this academy and I'm her charity case little shadow. If she smirks at me one more time, I might actually trip her down these castle steps—by accident, of course.

My stepmother doesn't even bother pretending. "Don't embarrass us, Nova" she hisses under her breath nails digging into my arm like claws. "Try to stay quiet and out of the way. It's bad enough we have to drag an Omega into this academy at all."

I yank my arm free, whispering back, "Relax, you'll still get your precious photo-op of Serena looking like the heir she isn't."

Her eyes narrow, but before she can snap, my dad clears his throat.

One sound. That's all it takes. His presence cuts through like a blade, quiet but sharp, pulling me back from the edge. He doesn't say much, he never does—but when his hand brushes my shoulder, just barely, it's like he's telling me: I see you. Don't let them break you.

And that's the thing about my dad. He's colder than a January wind, calculating, always two steps ahead like some alpha chess master. But with me? With me, sometimes—just sometimes—he slips. Just enough to remind me I'm not completely alone in this mess. It's a secret warmth no one else gets, least of all Serena or her mother. Which probably explains why they hate me as much as they do.

So yeah. Maybe this whole place reeks of trouble, maybe I don't belong here, maybe every stare feels like it's already planning my funeral—but as I stare up at those massive iron gates creaking shut behind us, one thought flashes through my mind:

This is only the beginning.

And something tells me the storm I'm walking into won't be content with just rain.

...

Nova Pov-

They say orientation week is where you learn the rules. But for me, it felt more like the moment I was about to break every single one of them.

The grand hall of Noctis Dominium is… a nightmare out of a Gothic Pinterest board. Chandeliers dripping crystals like frozen tears, black banners embroidered with silver wolves, walls that look like they've heard too many secrets and won't ever tell. All the heirs of powerful packs stand scattered around like peacocks—silk dresses, tailored suits, too much perfume, too much arrogance.

And then there's me.

The Omega.

The glitch in their perfect bloodline system.

I feel their stares sticking to my skin, like gum on a shoe you can't scrape off. The whispers aren't even subtle anymore—

"Is that her?"

"The Omega?"

"She won't last a week."

The great hall was alive with chatter—pack leaders, future Alphas, Betas, warriors, and Omegas like me, all clustered under a ceiling painted with constellations. It should've felt inspiring, like the start of something. Instead, the air buzzed with nerves, rivalry, and the subtle tang of dominance pressing down on my lungs.

My stepmother sat smugly at the far end of the table, her thin smile daring me to embarrass my father. Serena, of course, glowed beside her, perfect posture, perfect hair, perfect everything. The image of a future Luna.

Me? I slouched in my chair, bored but restless, my leg bouncing under the table. I could feel Father's gaze flicker to me once in a while—cold to everyone else, but softer when it landed on me. He didn't have to say it; I was the only one who'd ever cracked that wall around him. Maybe that was why Serena and my stepmother hated me. Because no matter how hard they tried, they couldn't steal the one part of him that was mine.

The Headmaster rose, his voice deep and ceremonial, speaking of unity between packs, of discipline, of how this academy was a place to rise above old grudges. I almost laughed. Rise above grudges? My entire existence felt like one long list of grudges—my stepmother, Serena, half the pack who whispered "Omega" like it was a curse.

Suddenly doors to the hall slam open.

And everything shifts.

Everyone glance to the entrance and it's guy from before.

He walks in like he owns the air we're all trying to breathe.

Tall. Broad shoulders. Black shirt unbuttoned just enough to reveal the edge of ink curling down his throat. Tattoos—sharp lines that make you want to stare too long. Storm-grey eyes. And that aura. Cold. Dangerous. Like the room drops ten degrees just because he showed up.

The whispers go dead silent, then erupt again, louder, hungrier.

"BlackWood…"

"The Heir…"

"God, he's even hotter up close—"

Wait, so he's Blackwood? I knew there was just something about him that prompted the feeling of hate from me.

He doesn't even glance at them. His eyes sweep the hall once, bored.

The room shifted around him. Students straightened in their seats. Some lowered their eyes in respect. Others in fear.

But me? I stared.

And then he spoke.

"Pathetic," his voice cut through the air, deep and edged with contempt. He didn't shout, but every syllable hit like a blow."Half of you don't even belong here."

He steps onto the stage beside the Headmistress. And then he speaks.

"Let's make this clear," he says, voice like ice cracking. "Weaklings have no place here. This academy isn't a charity. You earn your right to exist here—or you get eaten alive.His gaze swept over the crowd, cold and merciless. "Especially Omegas."

Gasps broke out. A few students darted glances at me, like the word itself was a knife pressed against my throat.

And then his eyes found mine.

I feel my stomach drop, but I refuse to let him see it. Everyone else looks down, submitting to the weight of his stare. Not me. My chin lifts. My eyes lock on his like magnets snapping into place.

It's like staring at a storm you know will swallow you whole.

And still—

I don't blink. I don't look away.

It was like the whole hall vanished, swallowed into silence. Grey met brown, predator and prey—or at least, that's what he thought. His stare was ruthless, daring me to drop my gaze, to shrink, to accept what he'd already decided I was.

But I didn't.

My chin tilted higher, my spine locked straight, and I glared back at him with every ounce of defiance I had in me. Heat licked at my skin, but it wasn't embarrassment. It was something else. Something sharper, more dangerous.

The whispers started immediately.

"Did she just—"

"An Omega, staring back—"

"She'll regret that—"

The Blackwood Heir's mouth curved—not a smile, but something darker, the kind of expression that promised war. For a second, I swore I saw something flicker in his eyes, like he wasn't sure if he wanted to crush me or… something else.

My pulse hammered. The air between us crackled, hot and suffocating, like we were standing too close even though half the hall separated us.

I hated him. Instantly. Deeply.

But my body betrayed me, a shiver running through me that had nothing to do with fear. I couldn't explain it, didn't want to.

Because the one thing I knew for certain, as his storm-grey eyes burned into mine, was this:

The Blackwook Heir was trouble.

And somehow, I was already tangled in it.

"Nova." My father's hand tightens on my shoulder, grounding me. Protective. Possessive. His eyes burn at the Blackthorne on stage. "Don't."

But it's too late. The line has been crossed.

The Blackwood Heir just declared war.

And I—stupid, stubborn, impossible me—answered.

No one defied an Alpha's heir. And certainly, no one spoke about Omegas like that in front of my father—Alpha Veyron—without consequence. But what truly set the hall ablaze wasn't just the insult. It was the way his eyes lingered, sharp and deliberate, pinning me as though I were the very definition of weakness he spoke of.

The audacity.

Heat rushed through my veins—rage, humiliation, and something I couldn't name. My hands curled into fists at my sides as every bone in me screamed to stay quiet, to obey the unwritten law of never drawing fire from a predator like him.

But I had never been one to obey.

I rose from my seat, every whisper slicing sharper as I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. My heels clicked against the marble, loud, defiant. His gaze didn't waver. If anything, it sharpened, a smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth like he was amused by my rebellion.

"How brave of you," I said, my voice sweet but laced with steel. "Showing up late and thinking anyone cares what the spoiled son of Blackwood thinks."

The room seemed to exhale in shock.

His smirk grew, cold and cutting, his storm-grey eyes glinting.

"Careful, little Omega. You might convince me you actually believe that."

My pulse spiked. That voice—smooth, dripping with sarcasm, designed to infuriate—slid down my spine like an unwanted caress.

I lifted my chin, refusing to break eye contact. "I don't need to convince you of anything. The only pathetic thing here is the idea that your words matter."

The heir took one slow, deliberate step toward me. And then another. I should have stepped back. I didn't.

"Funny," he murmured, close enough now that I could see the faint flecks of silver in his irises, the sharp line of his jaw. "Your mouth says one thing, but your eyes… they tell me you're scared. Shaking."

I bit down hard, fury buzzing in my chest. "What you're seeing isn't fear. It's disgust."

He chuckled low, a sound that seemed meant for me alone, though the entire hall heard it. "Disgust looks a lot like intrigue on you." His eyes flicked, just for a second, down my frame—quick enough to make it deniable, long enough to make my skin burn where his gaze had been.

The whispers around us turned fevered. My father sat silently, his posture rigid but his eyes watchful, not yet interfering. He was measuring. Testing. Letting me stand—or fall—on my own.

And gods, I refused to fall.

I stepped closer, until the air between us was barely a breath. "Keep looking at me like that," I hissed softly, "and you'll learn exactly how wrong you are."

His lips tilted in that maddening half-smirk again, but the storm in his eyes flickered, deepened. He leaned forward, head lowering slightly until his breath brushed against my cheek. Close enough to touch, but not daring—not yet.

"Maybe I want to be wrong about you," he whispered, just for me. "Maybe I want to see what you'll do when I push harder."

The tension cracked like lightning, thick enough that no one dared move.

And still—I didn't look away. Neither did he.

My heart pounded, furious and alive, tangled with an attraction I didn't want to feel, one I couldn't even name.

We stood there, defiance and dominance clashing like fire and gasoline, our faces mere inches apart—both refusing to yield, both daring the other to make the first move.

The storm had arrived.

And it wore the name Blackwood.

...

Nova pov-

The storm had arrived.

And it wore the name Blackwood.

The silence cracked open like thunder as the Headmaster cleared his throat. "Mr. Blackwood," he said, tone strained, "As vice principal I'd have to ask you to stop, these words are not welcome within these walls. Your father requested unity—"

"Unity?" the heir scoffed, tilting his head like the very word was a joke. "This place is a graveyard of weaklings playing warrior. I'm just saying what everyone's already thinking."

The nerve.

The Vice principal's lips pressed into a thin line. His eyes flicked nervously toward my father, who hadn't moved an inch. Alpha Veyron sat like a wall of stone, his aura calm but heavy, radiating enough power that the nearest heirs looked like they wanted to shrink out of their skin. He didn't rise. Didn't interrupt. He was watching me instead.

Testing me.

He already told me not to react but I did, and I don't regret it.

The hall was vibrating now—whispers hissing like snakes, boots shifting against marble, the word Omega slipping sharp and cruel between rows. And all of it kept circling back to me.

Because the Blackwood heir's storm-grey eyes were locked on mine.

He didn't blink. Didn't look away. He pinned me there like prey, like I was the living embodiment of everything he despised. My body thrummed with defiance, heat crawling under my skin.

"Funny," I said, my voice sugar and steel, carrying through the hall, "for someone who thinks he's the strongest here, you sure talk a lot for validation."

The smirk that curled across his lips was pure arrogance, but it flickered—just enough that I knew I'd hit a nerve.

He stepped down from the stage, slow, deliberate, predatory. The crowd parted instinctively. My pulse hammered harder with every click of his boots against the floor.

"Validation?" he echoed, voice low, almost amused. "No, little Omega. I don't need validation. I neither do I need weaklings pretend to be brave."He said coldly.

My chin lifted higher. "Then you should be obsessed with me. Because I'm not pretending."

The whispers exploded again. Serena hissed my name under her breath from across the table, my stepmother's nails digging into the wood as if she could will me back into my seat. But I didn't break. Couldn't.

The heir stopped right in front of me. The air thickened, charged, as if the room itself held its breath. His storm-grey eyes dragged over me with lazy cruelty, lingering far too long before snapping back to my face.

Too close. Too much.

"You've got fire," he said softly, a thread of mockery in his tone. "But fire burns out quick when it's starved. Careful—you might choke on your own sparks."

Heat shot up my spine. "Maybe. Or maybe I'll burn you alive first."

The curve of his mouth sharpened. A dangerous half-smile. He leaned forward, our faces barely a breath apart now, his voice dropping low enough that it slid straight under my skin.

"Try me."

The whole world seemed to vanish around us. It was just his storm and my defiance colliding, reckless and furious, drawn together even as we swore we'd rather die apart.

but screw that.

"Really?" I said, loud enough for the whispers to spike. "Of all the packs, it had to be yours?"

He looked down at me, slow, like he had all the time in the world. His eyes—God, those stupid eyes—did that thing where they start at your face and then dip. I swear I felt them trace every line of me, like he was cataloging my flaws and loving it.

Heat rushed up my neck, but I forced a smirk. "You lost, Blackwood? The trash is outside."

He didn't even blink. Just that lazy, cocky smirk that made my fists itch. "Funny. I could say the same about you. Except—" His gaze dipped again, lower this time, lingering, taunting. "You're harder to throw away."

My stomach dropped. My skin prickled. I hated him. I hated him. But my body? My body was a traitor.

I stepped closer, almost nose-to-nose now. "Don't mistake my disgust for interest."

He leaned in, just enough to make my pulse stutter. His breath ghosted across my lips when he whispered, "Don't worry, princess. Interest isn't something you inspire."

Liar. The way his eyes darkened said otherwise. The way my knees almost buckled said otherwise too.

The whispers had become gasps now. The tension was thick enough to choke on. And just when I thought one of us was going to snap—

"Enough!"

The word cut through everything. My father's voice. My blood froze.

And then—another voice. Deeper. Colder.

"Damien."

The doors of the hall opened, and there he was: Alpha Blackwood himself. Tall, terrifying, dripping in power like it was his cologne. His gaze swept the room, landing on me like I was something to crush, then sliding to his son.

"Stand down."

For a second, I thought his son wouldn't listen. His jaw tightened, his eyes locked on mine like he wanted to keep this battle going, right here, right now. And honestly? Part of me wanted that too.

But finally, with agonizing slowness, he stepped back. Not away—just enough to keep everyone from calling it a full-blown fight. His smirk said this isn't over.

My heart was pounding, my lips tingling, and I hated that I couldn't look away. I had made my point. Everyone in that room would remember my boldness. But him? He was going to remember me.

I walked back to my seat like I hadn't just stared down a Blackwood with the entire school watching. Inside, though? Inside I was fire.

And somewhere deep down, in a place I wanted to set on fire and bury, I already knew: this was just the beginning.

*****

I was so done.

Done with this stupid orientation, done with Serena's endless chatter about who looked hot in the crowd, done with the stupid name Damien Blackwood. Damien. Ugh. That was the kind of name girls carved into notebooks with little hearts around it—not the name of the world's biggest, most insufferable jerk.

He vanished after that humiliating stunt in the hall, thank the Goddess. I could finally breathe without his storm-cloud aura shadowing me.

When my driver finally pulled up with my car—my car, sleek and familiar and the only thing keeping me sane in this godforsaken place—I practically ran for it.

"Tell Dad I'll check in later!" I called, slamming the door before my father could launch into another lecture.

I just needed air. Escape. A moment where I wasn't stuck in everyone's gawking little whispers about me and him.

The dorms weren't far. But of course, when I pulled up, the lot was full. Like, completely packed. Students swarming everywhere, the cliques already forming. Laughing, whispering. And me? Circling like an idiot with nowhere to park.

And then I saw it.

The museum.

Big, ancient, dramatic—the sacred heart of Blackwood Academy. With giant bold signs plastered everywhere: NO PARKING. NO ENTRY. TRESPASSERS WILL FACE CONSEQUENCES.

Yeah. Whatever.

I killed the engine, tossed my hair back, and smirked. "Consequences can wait."

Except…my car didn't agree.

The moment I tried to reverse into the space, the wheel jerked out of my grip, the engine roared like it had a demon of its own, and before I could even scream—

CRASH.

Metal crunched, glass shattered, alarms wailed.

And I sat there in the driver's seat, heart in my throat, staring at the massive, spiderweb crack now etched across the museum's sacred stone wall.

"Oh. My. Goddess."

Students screamed, some laughed, and I swore I heard someone gasp, "She's dead. She's literally dead."

And then—like he'd been summoned from the depths of hell—he was there.

Damien Blackwood.

Storming across the pavement like an executioner, fury carved into every line of his face. His aura was suffocating, sharp enough to slice through bone, and suddenly I forgot how to breathe.

The car door ripped open so violently it nearly tore off its hinges.

"Get—out," he snarled.

Before I could argue, his hand clamped around my arm, yanking me out so hard my shoulder screamed. I stumbled into him, chest colliding with something solid and hot, before he slammed me against the car.

The breath whooshed out of me. His grip was bruising, his body caging mine in.

"You think you can waltz into my territory and wreck it?" His voice was low, lethal. His breath hit the side of my neck, hot and terrifying and something else I didn't want to name. "You have no idea what you just did. I should break you right here."

A shiver slid down my spine, traitorous and electric. My heart hammered, not entirely from fear. His eyes locked on mine, dark and dangerous, and for one split second, the world disappeared.

It was just him. His fury. His heat pressed against me.

And the undeniable spark crackling in the air like fire waiting for a match.

I hated it. I hated him.

So why did it feel like my body was betraying me?

"Let go," I spat, shoving at his chest, but my voice wasn't as steady as I wanted.

His mouth curled in the faintest, cruelest smirk, as if he could taste the lie in my defiance.

"Oh, Nova," he murmured darkly, fingers tightening around my wrist. "You've got no idea how deep you've already stepped into my world."

And for the first time since meeting Damien Blackwood, I realized something that scared me more than his anger.

I didn't know if I wanted him to let go.