Page 3 of Just One Bite

The cobblestone bridge that leads to Noxx House is bathed in blue lights.

I stop to gawk at the trickling water with lights lining the edges as the river bends into the trees.

Noxx House looms above in a clearing with worn stone, a gabled roof, and a tower on the far right.

The windows next to the front entrance are stained purple, and growing up the side onto the roof are branches of moon nightingales—a periwinkle flower that glows at night.

I only know that because of Eva and her not-so-subtle flower obsession.

The building isn’t as massive and breathtaking as the castle but still as big as my former school with at least three stories.

The lawn that wraps around Noxx House stretches far beyond what I can see, and there’s another path leading out of sight.

The sounds of celebration echo in the air from all sides, including a pack howling in the distance.

Gathered around the porch are various groups of older students already sporting their Noxx House purple, which varies in shades ranging from a deep-bluish plum to a light shade of lavender.

They stop their conversations and stare for a moment as I pass.

It can’t be helped. As soon as my feet hit the hardwood of the porch, my shoulders drop.

I open the door and the foyer is in chaos. Some men bicker back and forth before disappearing into the common room on the right. There’s a large arched opening on the left—

I stop, nearly toppling into someone because I’m staring at the tall ceilings and the stained-glass lights.

“Hi, Welcome to Noxx Hall. My name is Cherry,” a woman with pure plum eyes greets me.

Her hair is raven black on top and runs into long blue tendrils.

I’m a little jealous. Ballet companies prefer neutral colors, so I’ve had dark-brown hair my entire life.

Emma almost convinces me to dye a little strip under my hair for my birthday every year, but I refuse because it’s too risky.

A ballet dancer from my old school had to dye their natural-blue hair to black since before they were ten.

“You must be Olivia.”

“How did you know?”

“It’s my job to know all of the students assigned to Noxx House this semester, including identification.”

It’s not hard to identify me. Heterochromia isn’t uncommon, but I’ve never seen anyone with a similar gold and violet pairing like me.

Plus, it’s normally seen in Weres. Mom used to say it was like I’d gotten the best parts of her love.

Dad’s golden eyes and her violet ones that her mother had.

“ It’s pure magic ,” she’d said. She loved the unknowns of magic and potions.

“Here’s the number for your dorm assignment, among other things you may need.”

I finger the thick parchment between my fingers. Hidden between schedules is another map, a detailed list of the buildings on campus, and a pamphlet for The Donor Program.

I scoff, surprised she didn’t give me the speech.

There are commercials, presentations, and carefully curated campaigns dedicated to getting humans and werewolves to join since before we can talk.

I’d already passed a few humans with badges, clinging to their lanyards.

For many, being in The Donor Program is a sign of pride.

It does have its perks. Better job opportunities, easier access to loans, and first dibs on housing in the city.

But not everyone wants to be a donor or can be.

Those who can’t for medical reasons can file exemptions and still get access to the perks, but having blood that’s more desirable doesn’t fall under any type of exemption.

“Anything catch your eye?”

“The dance department.”

“Oh, yes, I remember you were selected for auditions. You’ll find the booth at orientation if you want to meet the program director. I will warn you, not many first-years get accepted in the company, but we encourage you to apply anyway.”

“I’ll get accepted.” I tuck the pamphlet into my bag, then look up when I realize I might have offended her. Sometimes, people take my confidence as rudeness.

She doesn’t though. Instead, her eyes spark with excitement. “That’s the spirit we like to see in Noxx House.”

There isn’t much to unpack, so I decide to leave it.

Other than a few old pictures of Mom and my sisters and some blankets from home, my suitcase is at least eighty percent ballet clothes.

The room isn’t that big, but the ceilings are high, which helps it appear more spacious.

I want to scrub the whole place—the crevices in the stone walls, the tile floors with star patterns that lead to a small hearth, the arched windows—but I’ll save that for tonight when I likely won’t be able to sleep.

I run my fingers over the warm wood of my bed frame.

The wood accents make the whole place feel less cold.

My sisters and I had all summer to prepare for our move to Doxlothia Academy, but much of the history and traditions are hidden from the public, even with the constant stream of press at the school.

My dad, who used to be a professor here, became extremely protective after my mom died, and my sisters and I weren’t allowed to leave Groveshire unless he came along.

That all changed when our acceptance letters came.

“Are you okay?”

Emma had screamed so loud I ran into our bedroom.

Tears streamed down her face, and she shakily held up an envelope. “Look.”

The words were scrawled with a black pen. Urgent: Doxlothia Academy.

“Well, what does it say?” I asked.

“I’m in. I got accepted.”

“When did you apply? ”

“Are you kidding? I didn’t! But here, look—you and Eva have one.”

I grabbed the envelope and wasted no time opening it. There at the top confirmed my greatest want in a matter of seconds.

“I got in too.” Without another word, I opened Eva’s. She was at work and would yell at me for it, but I had to know.

“We’ve all been accepted.”

“Why?”

I only knew one person with the power to do that. But why?

My father had changed his mind, and just like that, my dream school was at my fingertips.

But the mystery of his reasoning haunts me as I remember his warning to bring my first aid with me everywhere I go on campus.

I leave mine at the foot of the bed. Following my father’s wishes is a habit I stopped long ago.

With a hand on the sapphire doorknob, I open the door to move into the chaos of the hallway. I brace myself for the man running by with a box in his hand while another chases after him at a speed I can’t comprehend.

My body stops before my brain registers it, then I’m staring at the man coming from the door directly across from mine.

We close our doors at the same time. They click closed, and we halt.

A tall man with broad shoulders towers over me just a few feet away, wearing a mask—something you’d see in a horror movie. His shirt is nonexistent, and my eyes catch on the jagged scars across his chest.

My heart beats in my ears. Strange. A hot flash rings up my spine, and my throat dries when I open my mouth to exchange words. What words? Any. All. Something is better than nothing. You’d think I’d never seen a male with his shirt off before.

He twirls his fingers at me in a casual wave, and my senses snap back into place. I rest a hand on my chest and saunter down the hallway, my heart drumming hard against my ribcage. I’m just jumpy because of all the changes.

My phone chimes as I make my way onto the porch.

Em: Haunted maze before orientation!!!

I sigh. That was mentioned in the pamphlet. They turn the path that leads to the castle into a maze. Doxlothia and their traditions.