Chapter 3
Dante
The weight room at the Blackwood Athletic Complex was a cathedral of pain, and I was its most devout worshiper.
Four hundred pounds of iron sat on the bar across my chest. The metal was cold, biting into the thin fabric of my shirt, pressing down on my sternum with a heaviness that almost matched the pressure inside my skull.
One.
I pushed the weight up. The movement was explosive, violent. My triceps screamed, the tendons in my arms straining like bridge cables.
Down.
Two.
I needed this. I needed the burn. I needed the physical suffering to drown out the memory of her scent.
It had been three days since the blizzard cleared.
Three days since the plows dug us out of the Solitude Cabin.
Three days since I had walked away from Arabella Thorne without looking back, leaving her standing in the snow while I shoved myself into Coach Vane’s truck and demanded to be taken to the isolation ward at the hospital.
Coward, the wolf whispered in the back of my mind. You left her. She was cold. She was ours.
"She is human," I gritted out through my teeth, the sound lost in the clang of the weights.
Three.
The memory of the cabin was a fever dream. A blur of firelight, shivering limbs, and the smell of vanilla driving me to the brink of insanity. I hadn't taken her. I hadn't knotted her. I hadn't bitten her.
But God, I had wanted to.
I had spent forty-eight hours locked in the bedroom of that cabin, clawing at the walls, listening to her breathing on the other side of the door. Listening to her hum to herself to keep calm.
And there was that one moment. The boiler had failed. The temperature dropped. She had been freezing. I had come out. I had wrapped her in the blankets. I had held her.
I could still feel the phantom sensation of her soft curves pressed against my hardness. The way she fit. The way her heart had hammered against my ribs, syncing with mine.
Mine.
I slammed the bar back onto the rack with a deafening crash that echoed through the empty gym.
"Easy, Cap. You trying to break the equipment or just the sound barrier?"
I sat up, wiping the sweat from my eyes with my forearm. Jax was leaning against the dumbbell rack, spinning a hockey puck in his hand. He looked wary. Everyone looked wary of me lately. Since the aborted Rut, my pheromones were unstable. I smelled like ozone and violence.
"What do you want, Rook?" I snapped, grabbing my water bottle.
"Coach wants us at the Hive tonight," Jax said, tossing the puck in the air and catching it. "Team bonding. Mandatory attendance. Even for brooding Alphas who tried to eat the scenery all weekend."
"I'm not going," I said, standing up. I towered over him, but Jax was used to it. "I have film to watch."
"You have a problem to fix," Jax corrected, his voice dropping the joking tone.
"The team is jittery, Dante. They can smell it on you.
You're unsatisfied. You're edging. If you don't come out, drink a beer, and act like a human being for a few hours, the freshmen are going to start wetting themselves every time you walk into the locker room. "
I glared at him. He was right, which was annoying. A Pack leader—even a hockey captain—couldn't lead through fear alone. He had to be present.
"Fine," I growled. "One hour. Then I’m gone."
Jax grinned, the Golden Retriever popping back out. "Perfect. Oh, and wear something nice. It’s a mixer. Sorority girls. Maybe you’ll find someone to... you know. Help with the tension."
I stiffened. The thought of another woman touching me—of cheap perfume and easy smiles—made my stomach turn.
"Not interested," I muttered, heading for the showers.
"Suit yourself," Jax called after me. "But don't say I didn't try to save your sex life!"
I walked into the steam of the showers, letting the scalding water beat against my scars. I washed the sweat off, but I couldn't wash off the feeling that I was walking into a trap.
The Hive was vibrating.
Technically, it was a fraternity house—Alpha Delta Phi—but everyone knew it as the Hive. It was a massive, gothic victorian mansion on the edge of the woods, built with timber beams thick enough to withstand a shifter tossing someone through a wall.
Tonight, it was packed.
The bass from the speakers thumped in the floorboards, a rhythmic heartbeat that traveled up through the soles of my boots. The air was thick, a humid soup of body heat, spilled alcohol, and the chaotic, clashing scents of three hundred college students.
I stood in the corner of the living room, leaning against the dark wood paneling, nursing a red solo cup of lukewarm keg beer I had no intention of drinking.
I was scanning the room. It was instinct. Assessing threats. Monitoring the exits. Watching the pack.
"You look like you're plotting a murder," a voice said beside me.
I looked down. It was Grant, our goalie. A Bear shifter with shoulders as wide as a doorway and a beard that hid half his face.
"Just thinking," I said.
"About how much you hate parties?" Grant chuckled, taking a sip of his drink. "Relax, Cap. We crushed Washington. Enjoy the spoils."
I looked out at the "spoils." Girls in tiny skirts dancing on the tables. Shifters wrestling playfully on the sofas. It was carnage. It was excess. It was everything I usually ignored.
But tonight, my senses were dialed up to eleven. The suppression drugs I’d taken at the hospital were wearing off, leaving my nerves raw.
Then, the wind changed.
Someone opened the front door, letting in a blast of icy night air.
And with it, her.
My head snapped toward the entryway so fast my neck cracked.
Arabella.
She walked in with Elena, looking entirely out of place. She wasn't wearing a tiny skirt. She was wearing jeans and a thick, oversized cream sweater that looked soft enough to sleep in. Her platinum hair was loose, falling in soft waves around her face. Her cheeks were flushed pink from the cold.
She looked... holy. In this den of sin and sweat, she looked like a beacon of purity.
And she looked terrified.
Her violet eyes were wide, darting around the room, taking in the chaos. She clutched the strap of her purse like a lifeline.
Why is she here?
The wolf in my chest woke up, stretching its claws. She came for us.
"No," I whispered to myself. "She didn't."
I watched as Elena grabbed her hand and dragged her into the crush of bodies. I saw Arabella flinch as a drunk linebacker stumbled past her. I saw the way she shrank in on herself, trying to make her body smaller, trying to disappear.
I should leave. I should turn around, walk out the back door, and go run through the woods until my lungs burned.
But my feet were rooted to the floor.
I watched as they made their way to the makeshift bar in the kitchen. I watched as Elena handed her a drink. I watched Arabella take a hesitant sip, her nose wrinkling at the taste.
And then, I watched the threat materialize.
Markus. A coyote shifter. A junior. Plays defense. He was slick, arrogant, and had a reputation for not taking 'no' for an answer.
He slid up to Arabella, leaning his arm on the counter behind her, trapping her.
A low, menacing growl started in my throat. It was involuntary. A rumble of warning that the humans in the room couldn't hear, but the shifters nearby definitely could. Grant took a step away from me, eyeing me warily.
"Dante," Grant warned low. "Chill."
I didn't chill. I watched.
Markus said something. Arabella smiled—a tight, polite, terrified smile. She shook her head.
Markus didn't back off. He leaned closer. He reached out and touched a lock of her hair.
The world turned red.
I didn't make a conscious decision to move. One second I was by the wall, the next I was cutting through the crowd like a shark through water. People scrambled to get out of my way. They felt the wave of aggression rolling off me.
I reached the kitchen just as Markus was leaning in to whisper in her ear.
I didn't touch him. I didn't have to.
I stepped into his personal space, looming over him.
"Markus," I said. My voice wasn't loud. It was dead calm. The kind of calm that happens right before a bomb goes off.
Markus froze. He looked up, his eyes widening as he saw me. He smelled my scent—burnt sugar and pure, lethal dominance.
"Cap," Markus stammered, pulling his hand back from Arabella’s hair as if he’d been burned. "I was just... welcoming the freshman."
"She's not a freshman," I said, my eyes never leaving his. "And she's not interested."
"Right," Markus swallowed audibly. "Right. My bad."
He scrambled backward, nearly knocking over a bowl of pretzels, and disappeared into the crowd.
Silence descended on the little pocket of the kitchen.
I turned slowly to look at her.
Arabella was staring up at me, her eyes huge. She was breathing fast, her chest rising and falling beneath that soft sweater. She smelled like fear, but beneath that... beneath that was the vanilla. And the heat.
"Hi," she whispered.
"You shouldn't be here," I said roughly. It was the same thing I’d told her in the cabin. It was becoming our refrain.
"Elena made me come," she said, her voice shaking slightly. "She said I needed to get out. That I was moping."
"Are you?" I asked, stepping closer.
The kitchen was crowded, but it felt like we were the only two people in the universe. The air between us was charged, heavy with the secrets of the weekend.
"Maybe," she admitted. She looked at my chest, then up to my eyes. "I haven't seen you. Since... since the plows came."
"I've been busy," I lied.
"Jax said you were in the hospital," she challenged, a spark of boldness in her voice.
I narrowed my eyes. "Jax talks too much."
"Are you okay?" she asked softly. She reached out, her hand hovering for a second before she seemingly thought better of it and dropped it to her side.
That hesitation killed me. I wanted her to touch me. I wanted her hand on my chest. I wanted to feel her skin against mine so badly my teeth ached.
"I'm fine," I said. "You're the one who crashed a car."
"I'm fine too," she said. "Just a few bruises."
"Where?" The word came out sharp, demanding.
She blinked. "My hip. My shoulder. It’s nothing."
I clenched my hands into fists at my sides to keep from checking them myself.
"Come with me," I commanded.
I didn't wait for an answer. I turned and walked toward the back hallway, toward the library. It was the only quiet room in the house.
I heard her footsteps following me. Good girl.
I opened the heavy oak door of the library and ushered her inside, closing it firmly behind us. The muffled thump of the bass faded instantly, replaced by the smell of old books and leather.
I turned to face her.
She was standing in the middle of the room, looking small and soft and incredibly beautiful.
"Why are you really here, Arabella?" I asked, leaning back against the door, crossing my arms.
"I told you, Elena..."
"Don't lie to me," I interrupted softly. "I can hear your heart beat. It skips when you lie."
She pressed her lips together. She looked down at the Persian rug.
"I wanted to see if you were real," she whispered.
I pushed off the door. "What does that mean?"
She looked up, her eyes searching mine. "In the cabin... it felt like a dream. You were... you were different. You were sick, I know, but you were..."
"I was a monster," I supplied.
"No," she shook her head firmly. "You were gentle. In between the growling and the... the heat. You held me when the fire died down. You kept me warm."
"I was using you as a heat sink," I said coldly, trying to push her away. Trying to make her hate me. "It was instinct. Survival."
"Was it?" she asked. She took a step toward me.
"Don't come closer," I warned.
"Why?"
"Because I am not in the cabin anymore, Arabella. There is no blizzard. There are no excuses. If I touch you now... it’s not for survival."
She stopped. But she didn't retreat.
"What if I don't want excuses?" she asked. The question hung in the air, heavy and dangerous.
I stared at her. "You don't know what you're asking for. You're a human, Arabella. You study myths. You think you know us? You don't know anything."
"Then teach me," she said. Her voice was barely audible.
I closed the distance between us in two strides. I backed her up until her legs hit the edge of a mahogany desk. She gasped, her hands coming up to rest on my chest to steady herself.
The contact burned.
I placed my hands on the desk on either side of her, caging her in. I lowered my head until our noses were almost touching.
"This isn't a game," I murmured. "This isn't some college romance where we go to the movies and I carry your books. If I let this happen... if I let us happen... I will consume you. I will own you. There won't be any part of you that doesn't belong to me."
Her breath hitched. Her pupils dilated, swallowing the violet.
"You think I'm scared?" she whispered.
"You should be."
"I'm not."
"Liar," I smirked. "Your heart is beating like a hummingbird."
"It's not fear," she breathed.
My gaze dropped to her lips. They were parted, pink, inviting.
I wanted to kiss her. I wanted to kiss her until she forgot her own name. I wanted to lift her onto this desk and spread her legs and finish what the blizzard had started.
I leaned in. I tilted my head.
Her eyelids fluttered shut. She tipped her chin up.
The door handle rattled.
We sprang apart as if we’d been electrocuted.
The door swung open, and Jax stumbled in, holding a half-empty pitcher of beer.
"There you are!" he shouted, oblivious to the thick, murderous tension in the room. "Dante, man, Coach just texted. He wants a head count. And... oh. Hi, Arabella."
Jax looked between us. He saw Arabella’s flushed face. He saw me, standing rigid, my hands curled into fists, looking like I was about to murder my best friend.
Jax’s smile faltered. "Am I... interrupting?"
"Yes," I snarled.
"No," Arabella said quickly, stepping around the desk, smoothing her sweater. "I was just leaving. I... I have to study."
She didn't look at me. She rushed past Jax, keeping her head down, and disappeared into the hallway.
I watched her go. The loss of her presence was physical, like a limb being torn off.
Jax watched her leave, then turned to me, raising an eyebrow.
"Study?" he asked. "In the middle of a frat party? In the dark? With you?"
I walked over to him, snatched the pitcher of beer from his hand, and downed half of it in one swallow.
"Shut up, Rook," I said, wiping my mouth.
"You're playing with fire, Cap," Jax said quietly, his voice serious for once. "She's the Liaison's daughter. She's human. If you break her... the Pack Council will have your head on a pike."
I slammed the pitcher down on the desk.
"I'm not going to break her," I said, staring at the empty doorway where she had stood.
"No?" Jax asked. "Then what are you going to do?"
I thought about her scent. I thought about the way she had looked at me, daring me to cross the line.
"I'm going to ruin her," I whispered. "For anyone else but me."