Chapter 2 #2
I must have grabbed it. Last night, in the chaos, when I had practically chased her out of the box. She had left it on the bench, and I had scooped it up without thinking, acting on pure instinct to gather anything that smelled like her.
I sat there in the back of the lecture hall, staring at the folder.
I should throw it away. I should leave it on a table in the student union.
I opened it.
The pages were covered in intricate, hand-written notes. Not just music notes—words. In the margins of the staff paper, written in cramped, frantic handwriting, were reminders.
Don’t rush the vibrato.
He’s watching. He’s always watching.
Breathe, Maya. Just breathe.
Perfect isn't good enough.
I traced the words with my thumb. The paper felt fragile.
He’s always watching.
Who was watching? Her father? A professor? An ex?
A surge of irrational, molten jealousy flooded my veins. The Wolf didn't like the idea of anyone watching her. Watching her was my job.
I closed the folder with a snap.
I couldn't throw it away. It was important to her. I could smell the anxiety clinging to the pages. She needed this.
And, if I was being honest with myself—which I rarely was—I needed an excuse.
I checked the time. 10:45 AM. The Conservatory was on the other side of campus. If I walked fast, I could drop it off at the front desk and leave before she ever saw me. No contact. No conversation. Just returning property.
It was the honorable thing to do.
"Bullshit," I whispered to myself.
I stood up in the middle of the lecture, ignoring the professor's annoyed glare, and walked out.
The Music Conservatory was a different world.
If the hockey arena was a temple of ice and violence, this building was a shrine to fragility. The floors were polished parquet. The walls were lined with portraits of dead composers who looked like they judged you for breathing too loudly.
The air here smelled different. It smelled of rosin, old paper, lemon oil, and expensive perfume. It was quiet, but a tense kind of quiet.
I felt massive here. I felt like a bull in a china shop. My boots were too loud on the floor. My shoulders felt too wide for the hallways. Students with violin cases scurried out of my way, their eyes widening as they took in my size and the scowl etched into my face.
I walked to the main reception desk. It was empty. A sign read: Back in 5 Minutes.
I didn't have five minutes. My skin was starting to itch again. Being this close to her territory was triggering the hunt.
I turned down a hallway, following the sound of instruments. I didn't know where I was going, but my nose did. I caught the scent trail. It was faint, woven through the smell of floor wax, but it was there. Vanilla.
I followed it up a narrow flight of stairs to the third floor. This area seemed older, less renovated. The practice rooms here were smaller, the doors heavy wood with small glass windows.
I turned a corner and stopped dead.
She was there.
She was standing at the end of the hallway, near the freight elevator. But she wasn't alone.
A man was standing over her. He was older, maybe fifty, wearing a tweed jacket and a look of imperious disdain. He was holding a stack of papers—her papers—and shaking them in her face.
I couldn't hear the words yet, but I could smell the emotions.
From him: Arrogance. Contempt.
From her: Shame. Fear. Submission.
The Wolf in my head let out a sound that would have stopped a grizzly bear.
I moved.
I didn't run. I didn't stomp. I flowed down the hallway, a silent, deadly shadow. As I got closer, the voices sharpened into focus.
"...absolutely unacceptable, Maya," the man was saying, his voice a sneer. "The Dean expects brilliance. This? This is mediocre. This is pedestrian. If you play like this on Friday, you might as well withdraw from the program now and save your parents the embarrassment."
Maya was shrinking. She was physically making herself smaller, her shoulders hunched, her head bowed. She was nodding, taking the abuse, absorbing it like a sponge.
"I'm sorry, Professor," she whispered. "I'll try harder. I just... I lost my annotated music last night and—"
"Excuses," he spat. He took a step closer to her, invading her personal space. He raised a hand, not to hit her, but to gesture aggressively near her face.
That was it. The line was crossed.
"Back. Off."
The words tore out of my chest, vibrating the glass in the practice room doors.
The Professor spun around. Maya’s head snapped up.
When the man saw me, he flinched. I knew what I looked like. I was towering over him, my hands balled into fists at my sides, my jaw locked tight enough to grind diamonds. I wasn't just a student interrupting a conversation. I was a threat assessment that he was failing.
"Excuse me?" the Professor sputtered, trying to regain his dignity. "Who are you? This is a private—"
I ignored him. I looked straight at Maya.
She looked wrecked. Her eyes were red-rimmed. Her hair was pulled back in a severe bun that looked painful. She was wearing a bulky sweater that swallowed her frame, but I could see the way her hands were trembling.
"You dropped this," I said, holding up the black folder.
Maya stared at it, then at me. Her mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"I found it at the rink," I said, my voice dangerously soft. "You left it when you ran."
The Professor looked between us, his eyes narrowing. "You were at the hockey rink? Instead of the practice rooms?" He turned back to Maya, his face twisting. "Is this what you're doing? Chasing athletes instead of focusing on your craft?"
The air in the hallway changed. It grew heavy. Static electricity crackled along my skin.
I took a step toward the Professor. Just one. But it was enough to make him stumble back against the wall.
"Careful," I warned him. My voice dropped into the sub-register, the place where the Alpha command lived. "Be very careful with your next sentence."
The man paled. He looked at my eyes—which I knew were flashing gold—and his survival instinct finally kicked in. He cleared his throat, adjusting his jacket nervously.
"Right. Well. I expect you in the studio at 6:00 PM, Maya. Do not be late."
He scurried past me, hugging the wall to avoid brushing against my arm.
When he was gone, the silence rushed back in.
Maya didn't move. She was staring at me like I was a grenade that had just landed in her lap.
"You brought it back," she whispered.
I held the folder out to her. "Take it."
She reached out. Her hand was shaking. As she took the folder, her fingers brushed against mine.
Contact.
It was like touching a live wire. A jolt of heat shot up my arm, straight to my chest, seizing my heart. I heard her gasp. I felt the shockwave ripple through her.
We stood there, frozen, connected by the leather folder and the electricity arcing between us.
This was the forced proximity I had feared. Not a physical cage, but a moment. A moment where the rest of the world dissolved, leaving only the predator and the prey.
"Why?" she asked, her voice breathless. "You told me to get out. You told me you'd call security."
"I lied," I said.
She stepped closer. She was doing it again. Instead of retreating, she was drawn to the danger. "Who are you, Leo?"
I looked down at her. I could smell the Professor's cheap cologne on her sweater, and it made me want to scrub her skin until she smelled only like vanilla again.
"I'm the guy you need to stay away from," I said, my voice rough.
"I don't think I can," she admitted. The honesty in her voice floored me.
I shouldn't say it. I should turn around and walk away. But the Wolf was at the controls now.
"Then you're going to get hurt," I murmured, stepping into her space until my chest brushed against her shoulder. I leaned down, my lips grazing her ear. "Because I don't know how to be gentle, Maya. And you look like you break easy."
The elevator doors behind her pinged open. A group of students spilled out, laughing.
The spell broke.
I pulled back, my eyes finding hers one last time.
"Keep the music," I said. "And stop letting that little man talk to you like that. Next time, I won't just use my voice."
I turned and walked away, my heart hammering a war rhythm against my ribs.
I had returned the folder. I had done the right thing.
But as I walked out of the conservatory and back into the cold air, I knew the truth.
I hadn't closed the door. I had just invited her in.