Freya's pov

The car ride drags on forever, yet it’s over too soon, and David keeps glancing at me in the rearview mirror, his hands gripping the steering wheel tight. Every few minutes, he opens his mouth like he’s going to say something, then closes it, leaving a heavy silence between us. It’s strange knowing he’s driving me to a school where he’s already spent two years, and when our acceptance letters came—his academic scholarship renewed, my hockey tryout opportunity—Mum cried with relief, because I wouldn’t be completely alone.

But David can’t shield me from everything, not without risking both our secrets.

“You remember everything we went over?” he asks as we pass through the iron gates of Crescent Moon Academy, where the wolf and moon crest in the metalwork looks normal to humans but obvious to people like us.

“Lower my voice, keep my shoulders straight, don’t let anyone get too close,” I say automatically, “and shower late at night when the bathrooms are empty, keep my head down but not so much I look suspicious.”

“And?” he presses, his voice tight.

My throat feels heavy, and I say, “We’re not related here, David Sterling and Frederick Sterling are just a coincidence, so don’t act familiar or come looking for you unless it’s an emergency.”

His jaw tightens, and he mutters, “That’s the part I hate most.”

“It’s the only way,” I say, my chest aching because we both know it’s true, since David spent two years building his reputation as a quiet student from Manchester, and a “brother” showing up who doesn’t look like him would raise too many questions.

“You got my number memorized?” he asks.

“And your room number, your class schedule, where you study,” I say, counting on my fingers, “your friend Christopher who doesn’t know about your real family, your Tuesday night study group, your job at the bookstore.”

David nods, but he’s still tense as the academy comes into view, and it’s huge, with stone buildings spread across neat lawns and towers stretching into the gray October sky. Students walk between classes in small groups, some clearly human, others moving with the smooth confidence that marks our kind, easy to spot if you know what to look for, like how they watch everything or carry themselves like predators.

My heart pounds so hard I’m sure David can hear it.

“Damn,” I mutter, then catch myself, because boys curse more, and I need to get used to it.

David pulls into a circular driveway in front of the main building and says, “You sure about this, because once you get out, I can’t…” His voice cracks, and he continues, “I can’t be your big brother here.”

“I know,” I say, grabbing my bag and hockey gear, my hands steadier than I thought they’d be, and having him here, even if we have to act like strangers, makes this feel less impossible. “I’ll be careful, I promise.”

“Text me, but make it look casual, like you’re just being friendly with an older student,” he says, turning to look at me. “And Frey, if anyone gets suspicious or starts asking questions—”

“I’ll let you know,” I say, squeezing his shoulder quickly, like it’s just a new student thanking someone for a ride. “Thanks, for everything.”

I get out before the moment lingers too long, slinging my gear over my shoulder as the car pulls away, and to anyone watching, it’s just an older student dropping off a new kid. Students pass by in groups, talking about normal teenage stuff mixed with careful mentions of pack politics, like rich human girls planning a shopping trip or three werewolf boys arguing quietly about family territory disputes.

No one looks at me twice, just another new student, and I catch a glimpse of David heading into the library, his familiar walk making my chest tighten, but he doesn’t look back.

The admissions office smells like old wood, and the human receptionist doesn’t even glance up when I say, “Frederick Sterling,” keeping my voice low and steady.

“Room assignments are in your packet, along with your schedule and dining info,” she says, handing me a thick envelope without meeting my eyes, “and orientation starts tomorrow at eight, don’t be late.”

“Thanks,” I say, clutching the envelope and heading outside.

My dorm, Northwind Hall, is a ten-minute walk across campus, past academic buildings and the library where David went, and then I stop short, because the hockey arena is right in front of me, all modern glass and steel that somehow blends with the old stone buildings. Through the big windows, I see the perfect ice and team banners hanging above, and I want it so bad it hurts.

Three years running national champions, the best of the best, and tomorrow, I’m going to try to prove I belong.

“First time seeing the rink?” a voice says behind me, and I spin around, my heart jumping.

A boy about David’s age stands there, hands in his pockets, dark hair across his forehead, tall and broad-shouldered with a confidence that says he’s never doubted his place. His scent hits me—pure werewolf, strong, probably an alpha—and even my human nose picks up something that makes my skin prickle.

“Yeah,” I say, deepening my voice, “it’s something else.”

“You play?” he asks, glancing at my hockey bag, his eyes sharpening like he’s sizing me up.

“I try to,” I say, adjusting my grip on the bag, aware my hands might look too small or too smooth. “You?”

He smiles, slow and sharp, and says, “You could say that, I’m Sebastian Knox.”

The name hits me hard—Sebastian Knox, co-captain of the Crescent Moon Wolves, leading scorer for two seasons, the guy London’s werewolf sports blogs wouldn’t stop talking about—and now he’s standing here, talking to me like I’m just another student.

“Frederick Sterling,” I say, sticking out my hand, hoping he doesn’t hear my heart racing, “but everyone calls me Freddie.”

His handshake is firm, warm, lingering just long enough to make my arm tingle, and his eyes widen slightly, but the moment passes fast. “Freddie,” he says, my name sounding strange in his voice, “you related to David Sterling, third-year guy who lives in the library?”

My stomach drops, but I force confusion into my voice and say, “Who, no, I don’t think so, it’s a common name, though.”

He looks at me for a long moment, and I keep my face neutral, hoping it’s convincing. “Yeah, maybe,” he says, then adds, “You trying out for the team?”

“That’s the plan,” I say, trying to sound sure of myself, “if I’m good enough.”

“Fair warning,” he says, stepping closer, his scent like pine and something heavier making my head spin, “we don’t go easy on new guys, especially ones who show up mid-semester thinking they’re hot shit.”

My cheeks burn at “new guys,” and I hope he thinks it’s just embarrassment. “Wouldn’t want you to go easy,” I say, lifting my chin, “I earn my spot or I don’t deserve it.”

Something shifts in his expression, maybe approval or surprise, and he says, “We’ll see about that,” his gaze flickering to my mouth for a second before meeting my eyes again. “Word of advice, some guys here don’t like outsiders, so watch yourself.”

“And you?” I ask before I can stop myself.

He leans in slightly, his voice low, and says, “I like seeing what people do when they’re under pressure, pushed to their limits, and something tells me you might surprise us, Freddie Sterling.”

He walks away, casual as anything, then pauses without turning and says, “Oh, and Freddie, if you don’t know David Sterling, keep it that way, kid’s got family drama he’d rather keep quiet.”

My heart stops—does he know something, is this a warning?—but the arena doors close behind him before I can say anything, leaving me with my racing pulse and his lingering scent.

I stare at the doors for a minute, trying to make sense of it, because David warned me this place is full of politics, werewolves from big families with old grudges, and if someone connects us, if they dig too deep, we’re done. Three days until tryouts, three days to convince the best young players in the country I belong on their ice, three days to prove I’m just another boy with the same dream, three days to protect David’s secret and mine.

I shoulder my gear bag and head toward my dorm, Sebastian’s words stuck in my head—something tells me you might surprise us, kid’s got family drama—and I wonder how much he suspects, because the biggest secret isn’t David’s past, it’s me, standing here in boy’s clothes with a fake name, trying not to fall apart.

I take a breath and keep walking, because the game starts now.

Freya's pov

My roommate is human, which is a relief, because I can tell the moment I walk into the room, no supernatural scent or sharp awareness, just a regular guy who can’t sense I’m hiding something.

“You must be Freddie,” he says, looking up from a textbook, sprawled across his bed with long arms and legs taking up space, strawberry blond hair falling over his eyes. “I’m Tyler, Tyler Chen.”

“Nice to meet you,” I say, dropping my gear by the empty bed, which must be mine, two beds, two desks, two dressers, and a window overlooking the quad, just a normal dorm room where I have to live as someone else.

“So what brings you to Crescent Moon mid-semester?” Tyler asks, closing his book, a thick biochemistry text, and continues, “Most people start in the fall.”

I’ve practiced this lie a hundred times, so I say, “Family moved for my dad’s job, and I had to finish the semester at my old school first.”

The words come out smooth now, too easy.

“That sucks,” he says, then nods at my gear bag, “What sport?”

“Hockey,” I say, pointing to the bag, “hopefully.”

Tyler grins and says, “Dude, you’re either brave or stupid, because the hockey team here is like royalty, half the school looks up to them, and the other half keeps their distance.”

My stomach twists, and I ask, “Keeps their distance?”

“Not literally, mostly,” he says, laughing at my face, “they’re not bad guys, but they’re all alphas or future alphas from big packs, with their own hierarchy thing us humans don’t really get, and they’re crazy good at hockey, like scary good.”

“You know a lot about the team?” I ask, keeping my voice even as I start unpacking.

“More than I should, probably,” he says, sitting up, more excited now, “my girlfriend Emma loves hockey, drags me to every game, and there are three co-captains: Logan Pierce, who’s already getting scouted by pro teams, Sebastian Knox, the tough guy, and Zane Cross, some kind of hockey prodigy, like the team’s big three.”

Three names, three alphas, and my hands pause on my clothes, because these are the guys I have to convince I belong with, the ones who run this team like they own the campus.

“They all get along?” I ask, trying not to sound too interested.

Tyler snorts and says, “That’s the weird part, Logan and Sebastian don’t like each other, barely talk outside of games, but they’re both co-captains, so they have to deal, and Emma says it makes the games tense as hell.”

They don’t get along, which could be useful if I can figure out why, so I ask, “What about the third one, Zane?”

“He’s newer to the team, but people say he’s amazing, kind of keeps the peace between the other two, I think,” Tyler says, flopping back on his bed, “honestly, they’re your biggest competition for making the team, so impress them, and you’re in, but if you don’t…”

He trails off, and he doesn’t need to finish, because I get it, so I keep unpacking, my mind spinning with three co-captains who don’t all get along, a team of alphas from powerful families, and David out there pretending we’re strangers.

What have I gotten myself into?

“Hey,” Tyler says suddenly, “want to grab dinner, so I can show you the dining hall and introduce you to some people?”

The idea of sitting in a crowded room, keeping up my act while talking to strangers, makes my stomach tight, but I need to start being Freddie Sterling, so I say, “Sure, sounds good.”

The dining hall is huge and loud, packed with students talking over each other, and Tyler leads me through rows of tables, pointing out groups as we go, saying, “Athletes sit over there,” nodding toward a corner where tables are pushed together, “but the hockey players have their own spot, see them?”

I look where he’s pointing, and my breath catches, because there’s Sebastian at the head of a long table, gesturing as he tells a story that makes everyone laugh, commanding the room even from this far away. Next to him is a guy with dark hair who must be Logan, not laughing, just watching the room like he’s tracking everyone. When his eyes pass our direction, I look down fast. At the other end of the table is a guy with lighter brown hair and an easy smile, probably Zane, listening to Sebastian but glancing at Logan like he’s ready to step in if things get heated.

“They’re tight,” Tyler says, “but you can see how it works if you pay attention, Logan’s the leader, Sebastian’s the muscle, Zane’s the one keeping things calm.”

Sebastian’s head turns, and our eyes meet across the room, sending a jolt through me like before, and he raises his eyebrows slightly before looking back at his teammates.

“Did he just look at you?” Tyler asks, sounding impressed, “That’s like getting noticed by a rock star.”

“We met earlier,” I mutter, staring at my food, “he seems okay.”

“Okay,” Tyler laughs, “that’s one way to put it, Emma says half the school’s got a thing for him, but he doesn’t date much, too focused on hockey and pack stuff.”

Pack stuff, right, because he’s not just a hockey player, he’s a werewolf from a big family, and I’m here pretending to be a boy to play on his team, which feels so ridiculous I almost laugh.

“You good?” Tyler asks, “You look like you’re gonna puke.”

“Just tired,” I lie, “long day.”

“Fair,” he says, “want to head back?”

I nod, relieved, but as we stand, I spot David at a small table in the corner, a textbook next to his plate, not looking my way, but his shoulders are tense, and I want to go to him, to talk to someone who knows me, but I follow Tyler out, leaving my brother behind like he’s just another face.

Back in the dorm, Tyler dives back into his book, and I text Mum and Lily something short and upbeat—everything’s fine, school’s nice, made a friend already—lies to keep them from worrying more than they do. I’m about to get ready for bed when my phone buzzes with a text from an unknown number.

“Hey Freddie, Sebastian here, got your number from the student directory, want to skate tomorrow before classes, just a few of us, 6 AM at the rink,” it reads.

My hands shake as I stare at the message, 6 AM, tomorrow, with Sebastian and probably his co-captains, not an invite but a test, and I know it.

I text back, “Sounds good, thanks for the invite,” keeping it short.

His reply comes fast, “Bring your best, the ice shows everything.”

I put the phone down and stare at the ceiling, because in less than twelve hours, I’ll be skating with some of the best young players in the country, and they’ll be watching every move, every shot, looking for any mistake. I’ll be doing it all while hiding who I am.

Tyler’s breathing slows as he falls asleep over his book, but I’m awake for hours, my mind running through everything that could go wrong—what if I’m not good enough, what if they see through me, what if Sebastian asks about David again, what if this whole plan collapses before it starts?

But there’s something else under the nerves, a spark of excitement, the thought of being on the ice again, playing the game I love at a level I’ve never tried before.

Tomorrow, I find out if Freddie Sterling can skate with the best, if Freya can pull this off.

Tomorrow, it all begins.

Freya's pov

I stare at my phone, reading Sebastian’s text again—6 AM at the rink, bring your best, the ice shows everything—and my stomach twists, because it’s 3 AM, and I haven’t slept, my mind running through every way this could go wrong, like not being fast enough, or them noticing I’m different, or messing up so bad they kick me out before I start.

Tyler mumbles about biochemistry in his sleep, and I want to wake him just to talk, but what would I say, that I’m scared three alpha werewolves might see through my disguise in a few hours? My hands shake as I get out of bed, fear making it hard to breathe, but there’s also excitement, a buzz under my skin, because this is my chance to prove girls even like me can play hockey as well as boys.

I slip into the bathroom and look in the mirror, where Freddie Sterling stares back with tired eyes and sharp cheekbones, the short haircut making my face look older, stronger, and I practice deepening my voice, squaring my shoulders, standing like I belong even though I feel like I’m falling apart.

“You can do this,” I whisper to myself, “you’ve played hockey your whole life, they’re just boys, big, intimidating boys, but still just boys.”

It doesn’t calm me much.

My alarm buzzes at 5:30, but I’m already dressed, hockey gear feeling heavy, each piece another part of the lie I have to keep up, and the walk to the arena feels endless, the campus quiet with frost on the grass, my breath puffing out in the cold, my heart pounding so loud I’m sure it echoes across the empty quad.

I reach the arena, hands shaking as I push the door open, and inside, the dim emergency lights make everything feel strange, quiet, heavy. I’m lacing my skates when footsteps echo behind me.

“Early bird, huh?” Logan says, already in full gear, standing still but giving off a quiet strength that makes my mouth dry.

“Couldn’t sleep,” I say, hoping my voice stays steady, “thought I’d get here early.”

He nods, eyes locked on mine, studying me like he can see every secret I’m hiding, and says, “Smart, Sebastian doesn’t mess around, he’ll push you until you break or prove you belong.”

“What about you?” I ask before I can stop myself, “Do you think I belong?”

The question hangs between us, my pulse racing, palms sweating in my gloves, and Logan’s stare sharpens, making me feel exposed, but he says, “I think you’re hiding something, but everyone’s got secrets, what matters is if you can play when it counts.”

He steps onto the ice, moving smooth and confident, and I want that ease, that sureness, so bad it hurts, so I take a breath and follow him, the cold air hitting my face, clearing my head, because this is where I’ve always felt right, where fear fades, and it’s just me and the game.

“Look who showed up early,” Sebastian’s voice cuts through the rink as he skates out from the other tunnel, Zane right behind him, and my brain freezes.

Sebastian moves like he owns the ice, all sharp confidence, and when his eyes meet mine, my stomach flips, heat spreading through me. “Hope you’re ready, Sterling,” he calls, “because we’re not going easy on you.”

Sterling, not pretty boy this time, but the nickname from yesterday still stings, making me wonder if I look too soft, if he suspects something, or if he’s just being a jerk.

Zane glides up, smiling, but his eyes are sharp, calculating, and he says, “Morning, Freddie, ready to show us what you’ve got?”

With all three staring at me, I feel small, like they’re circling me, their alpha energy making me want to run, but this is my shot, my dream, so I force a grin and say, “Born ready.”

Sebastian’s smile is all challenge, and he says, “Let’s see it.”

The next hour is brutal, drills that would exhaust anyone, fast passing sequences that burn my arms, one-on-one battles for the puck that leave me gasping, shooting exercises where they pick apart every move while I fight to stay upright.

But I keep up, and more than that, I shine, every late night in London’s underground rinks, every time I got knocked down and stood back up, every goal I scored when no one believed in me, it all comes together, and I’m not just good enough, I’m better.

The fear is gone, replaced by adrenaline and joy, because this is why I risked everything, why I cut my hair, left my family, became someone else, for moments like this, playing the game I love at this level.

“Damn,” Zane says after I slip past Sebastian so clean he almost falls, “where’d that come from?”

I grin, chest tight with pride, and say, “Just warming up.”

Sebastian skates over, stopping close, his scent—pine and something heavy—making my head spin, my heart pounding, and he says, “Not bad, Sterling,” his voice rough, “but let’s see you handle real pressure.”

Logan slides in on my other side, Zane on the other, and I’m boxed in by three alphas, their intensity making it hard to breathe, the air heavy, tense.

“Three-on-one,” Sebastian says, “keep the puck for thirty seconds, you’ve got our respect, lose it…”

“I won’t lose it,” I say, my voice steadier than I feel, even though I’m shaking inside.

Sebastian leans close, his breath near my ear, and says, “Confident, I like it, but confidence without skill’s just noise.”

He pulls back, eyes locked on mine, challenging, and I can barely think straight, but the puck drops, and it’s chaos, Sebastian coming at me with raw force, Logan precise and relentless, Zane quick and tricky, but I’ve been ready for this my whole life without knowing it.

I move fast, slipping through gaps, using their size against them, finding space where there shouldn’t be, passing to myself, dodging like they’re standing still, fear gone, just fire and focus, fifteen seconds, twenty, twenty-five.

Sebastian dives for the puck, and I slide it between his legs, spinning past so fast he nearly hits Logan, then Zane tries to trap me against the boards, but I use his speed to slip by, twenty-eight, twenty-nine.

“Time!” Zane calls.

The rink goes quiet, just our heavy breathing, and I’m shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline, but I’m still standing, still holding the puck, still here.

Sebastian skates over slow, stopping close, his eyes intense, and says, “Well, I’ll be damned.”

Logan joins him, nodding, and says, “Kid’s got real skill.”

“Skill?” Zane says, sliding up, and they’re around me again, but it feels different, like I’ve earned something, “That was something else.”

Sebastian taps my helmet with his glove, a small gesture that feels big, and says, “Welcome to the team, Freddie Sterling, try not to outshine us too bad.”

I should feel on top of the world, because I passed their test, earned their respect, got my spot on the Crescent Moon Wolves, but as they skate toward the locker room, I see Sebastian glance at Logan and Zane, something passing between them, sharp and unspoken, making the air feel heavy again.

I passed their test, but as I watch them talk in low voices, I can’t shake the feeling the real challenge is just starting, and I don’t know if Freddie—if I—can handle what’s next.

Sebastian’s words stick with me—the ice doesn’t lie—but I’m starting to think the ice might be the only thing telling the truth here.