Chapter 14
Arabella
Happiness, I discovered, was a powerful narcotic.
It blurred the edges of reality. It softened the harsh lines of caution I had drawn around my life for twenty-one years. It made me reckless.
I was sitting in The Grind, my usual table by the window, but I wasn't hiding behind a textbook tower today. I was actually smiling at my laptop screen as I typed up the transcript of my latest "interview" with Dante.
Subject: Mating Rituals and Emotional Bonding.
Notes: Subject displays high levels of protective instinct. Verbal affirmation is frequent. Physical touch is...
I paused, biting my lip to suppress a giddy giggle.
...constant and overwhelming.
I looked up. The sun was shining on the snow-covered quad. Students were throwing frisbees in boots. The world looked brighter, saturated with color.
I felt invincible.
Dante and I had been "together" for two weeks. Fourteen days of secret meetups, stolen kisses in the stacks, and nights spent tangled in my twin bed (Sarah had conveniently started sleeping at her boyfriend's place, a fact I suspected Dante had orchestrated via Jax).
My thesis was writing itself. Halloway had actually nodded approval at my last draft. My father hadn't called in three days.
We were getting away with it.
My phone buzzed on the table.
Dante: Look left.
I looked left.
Through the large glass window of the coffee shop, I saw him.
He was walking across the quad with Jax and Grant. He was wearing his team gear—black sweats, grey hoodie, backward cap. He looked devastatingly handsome.
He wasn't looking at me directly—that would be too obvious—but as he passed the window, he raised his hand to adjust his cap. As he did, he tapped two fingers against the brim.
Our signal. I see you. I love you.
My heart did a little flip in my chest. I tapped two fingers against the glass in return.
He smirked—a tiny, barely-there twitch of his lips—and kept walking.
I watched him go, a warm heat spreading through my veins. He was mine. The monster of the mountain was mine.
"You're doing it again," a voice said.
I jumped, nearly knocking over my latte.
Elena slid into the chair opposite me. She didn't look happy. She looked sharp, her Lynx eyes narrowing as she studied my face.
"Doing what?" I asked, feigning innocence.
"Smiling at nothing," Elena said. "And staring at Moretti like he's a piece of prime rib."
"I was just... people watching," I lied.
"Uh-huh," Elena leaned in, dropping her voice. "Ara, be careful. People are starting to talk."
"Talk about what?" My stomach tightened.
"About how you're always at the library when he is. About how you're wearing his jersey at games. About how you look... glowing." She sniffed the air subtly. "And how you smell like him."
"We're study partners," I insisted, but my voice lacked conviction. "We spend a lot of time together."
"Study partners don't exchange pheromones like that," Elena said bluntly. "You smell bonded, Ara. To a shifter, it's like a neon sign."
"Is it... is it bad?" I whispered, glancing around the crowded shop.
"It's dangerous," Elena warned. "Markus—the coyote guy? He's been asking questions. Asking why the Captain is suddenly obsessed with the Human Liaison's kid. He's jealous, Ara. He wanted captaincy next year. He's looking for a weak spot."
"Dante handled Markus," I said confidently. "He won't try anything."
"Hubris," Elena muttered, taking a sip of my coffee without asking. "The Greeks wrote tragedies about it for a reason."
I waved her off. "Don't be dramatic, El. We're fine. Dante is focused. I'm focused. Nobody is going to find out."
Elena just shook her head, her expression grim. "Famous last words."
The slip-up happened on Tuesday.
It was stupid. It was entirely my fault.
I had left my favorite scarf—a blue cashmere one my mom had given me before she passed—in Dante’s truck the night before.
I realized it after my morning lecture. It was freezing out, and my neck felt naked. I texted him.
Ara: My scarf is in your truck. Can I grab it?
Dante: I'm in film study. Truck is unlocked in the player lot. Take what you need.
I walked to the arena. The player lot was behind the building, secluded and usually empty during practice hours.
I found his truck easily—the black beast towered over the sedans. I opened the passenger door and climbed up onto the running board.
There it was, draped over the gear shift. It smelled like him. I buried my face in it for a second, inhaling the scent of cedar and smoke, letting it calm my nerves.
I grabbed it and hopped down.
As I closed the door, I heard footsteps crunching on the gravel.
I froze.
I turned around.
Standing ten feet away, leaning against a red sports car, was Markus.
He was smoking a cigarette, watching me with hooded, predatory eyes.
"Lost, Thorne?" he drawled, blowing a plume of smoke into the cold air.
My heart hammered against my ribs. "Just... grabbing something I left."
"In the Captain's truck?" Markus raised an eyebrow. He pushed off the car and walked toward me. His movement was loose, slinking. Coyote energy. "Didn't know the tutoring included car privileges."
"It doesn't," I said, clutching the scarf to my chest. "I dropped a book. He let me get it."
"A book," Markus repeated. He stopped a few feet away, invading my personal space. He sniffed. "Funny. That scarf doesn't smell like a book. It smells like Alpha."
"It's cashmere," I said, trying to step around him. "It holds scents."
Markus stepped sideways, blocking me.
"You know," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Moretti is riding high right now. Everyone loves him. The team. The scouts. Even the humans."
He took a drag of his cigarette.
"But he's unstable. Everyone knows about his dad. Everyone knows the blood is bad. It's only a matter of time before he snaps."
"He's not unstable," I defended hotly. "He's the most disciplined person on this team."
Markus smirked. "Touched a nerve, did I? You defend him like a mate, Thorne."
"I defend him because he's a good person," I snapped. "Unlike some people."
Markus laughed. It was a dry, ugly sound. "A good person. Right. Tell me, does a good person lie to his Pack? Does a good person break the Council laws about fraternizing with the Liaison's family?"
My blood ran cold. "I don't know what you're talking about."
"I think you do," Markus said. He flicked his cigarette butt into the snow. "I think you and the Captain are playing a dangerous game. And I think... it would be a shame if someone tipped off your daddy."
"You wouldn't," I whispered.
"Try me," Markus challenged. "Or... maybe we can work something out. Maybe you can tell me what Moretti is hiding. Is he using? Is the knee worse than he says?"
"I'm not a spy," I said, backing away. "And there's nothing to hide."
"Everyone hides something," Markus called after me as I turned and walked away fast. "I'll find it, Thorne. I always find the rot."
I practically ran back to the main campus. My hands were shaking so hard I could barely zip my coat.
Markus knows. Or he guesses.
I needed to tell Dante. I needed to warn him.
I pulled out my phone to text him.
Ara: Markus saw me at the truck. He’s suspicious.
My thumb hovered over the send button.
I hesitated.
Dante was in film study. Then he had practice. Then he had a meeting with Vane. He was already stressed about the knee, about the scouts, about everything.
If I told him Markus was threatening me... Dante would kill him.
Literally. He would find Markus in the locker room and put him through a wall. And if he did that, he would be suspended. The scouts would leave. His career would be over.
I can't tell him, I realized. I have to handle this. I have to be the buffer.
I deleted the text.
Ara: Got the scarf. Thanks! See you tonight?
I hit send.
I felt a pit form in my stomach. The first lie.
It was for his own good, I told myself. I was protecting him.
But as I walked back to the dorm, the scarf around my neck felt less like a comfort and more like a noose.
That night, we met in my room.
Dante climbed through the window at midnight, bringing a gust of cold air and the scent of exhaustion with him.
He looked tired. Shadows under his eyes, a limp in his step. But when he saw me, his face softened.
"Hey," he whispered, pulling me into his arms before he even took his coat off.
"Hey," I murmured into his chest.
He kissed me. It was slow and heavy, tasting of mint toothpaste and need.
"God, I missed you," he said against my hair. "Vane rode my ass all afternoon. The defense is sloppy. I had to run drills until I puked."
"Is the knee okay?" I asked, pulling back to look at him.
"It's holding," he said dismissively. "How was your day? Did you get the scarf?"
My heart skipped a beat.
"Yeah," I said, forcing a smile. "Got it. No problems."
"Good." He walked over to the bed and sat down heavily, groaning as he stretched his leg out. "Come here. I need to recharge."
I climbed onto the bed and straddled his lap, facing him. I began to massage his shoulders, working out the knots of tension.
He closed his eyes, his head falling back. "You have magic hands, Ara."
"Just practice," I said softly.
I looked at his neck. The scar. The vulnerable throat exposed to me.
I thought about Markus. I thought about the threat.
I should tell him.
"Dante?"
"Hmm?"
"If... if someone found out," I started cautiously. "Like, hypothetically. What would happen?"
He opened one eye. "Found out about us?"
"Yeah."
"Depends on who," he said. "If it's the team? They'd probably just give me shit. But if it's someone who wants to hurt me..."
He sat up straighter, his hands gripping my hips.
"Why? Did something happen?"
His gaze was intense. Piercing.
"No," I lied again. "Just... Elena was making comments today. About how I smell like you."
Dante relaxed. He chuckled. "Elena has a nose like a bloodhound. Don't worry about her. She's Pack. She's loyal."
"Right," I said. "Loyal."
"Don't worry, sweetheart," he said, pulling me down for a kiss. "We're careful. Nobody knows anything that matters."
I kissed him back, but my lips felt numb.
Markus knows.
We spent the night together, but I couldn't sleep. Every creak of the dorm settling sounded like footsteps. Every shadow looked like a threat.
Dante slept heavily, his arm thrown over me, trusting me completely.
I lay awake, staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the secret pressing down on my chest.
I was protecting him. I was.
But as dawn broke, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple, I couldn't shake the feeling that I had just made a terrible mistake.
The next day was Wednesday. Game day minus two.
I was in the library, trying to focus on my Folklore paper. The Myth of the Lone Wolf: Why Isolation Leads to Madness.
Appropriate.
My phone buzzed.
Unknown Number: Check your email, Thorne.
I stared at the screen. My blood turned to ice.
I opened my laptop. I logged into my university email.
There was a new message. From an anonymous sender.
Subject: Tutoring Session?
I clicked it.
It was a photo.
Grainy, dark, taken from a distance. It showed a truck parked on a logging road under the moonlight. Two figures were standing in the snow.
One was massive. One was small.
They were kissing.
It wasn't explicit, but it was undeniable. It was Dante and me. On the mountain.
Below the photo was a single line of text.
Meet me behind the arena in 20 minutes. Come alone. Or I send this to Daddy.
I gasped, slamming the laptop shut. The sound echoed in the quiet library.
Markus. He must have followed us. Or had someone follow us.
Panic clawed at my throat.
If my dad saw that photo...
He would pull my funding. He would expel Dante. He would destroy everything.
I had twenty minutes.
I grabbed my coat and ran.
The rear of the arena was a desolate place. Dumpsters, snow piles, and the humming machinery of the cooling units.
Markus was waiting.
He wasn't alone. Two other guys—freshmen, coyote shifters—were with him. They were laughing, smoking.
When they saw me, they straightened up.
"She came!" Markus crowed, tossing his cigarette. "I told you she'd come. Loyal little mate."
I stopped ten feet away, panting, my breath clouding in the freezing air.
"What do you want?" I demanded. "Delete the photo."
"Such aggression," Markus tsked. "You've been spending too much time with the Alpha."
He pulled out his phone, waving it at me.
"This photo is gold, Thorne. It's leverage. It's my ticket to the first line."
"You want playing time?" I asked incredulously. "You're blackmailing me for ice time?"
"I want Moretti out," Markus said, his face hardening. "He's hogging the spotlight. The scouts only look at him. If he's suspended... suddenly, I'm the star defenseman. I'm the Captain."
"You're delusional," I spat. "You're not half the player he is."
Markus’s eyes flashed yellow. He took a step forward.
"Maybe not," he snarled. "But I'm smarter. I know how to play the game."
"So what?" I asked, trembling. "I pay you? I beg you?"
"No," Markus said. He smiled, a cruel, sharp thing. "You break him."
I froze. "What?"
"You dump him," Markus said. "Publicly. Brutally. You tell him he was just a research project. You tell him he's a monster. You shatter his focus right before the Frozen Four."
"I won't," I whispered.
"Then I send the photo to your dad," Markus shrugged. "And to Dean Vance. And to the NCAA ethics board. Moretti gets investigated. He gets benched. He loses the draft. Same result for me, but much messier for you."
He stepped closer.
"If you break him," Markus continued softly, "he plays angry. He plays sloppy. He screws up the championship. The scouts see he's unstable. They drop him. And I step up to save the team."
"You're evil," I said.
"I'm ambitious," he corrected. "You have twenty-four hours, Thorne. Do it before the game on Friday. Or I hit send."
He turned and walked away, his lackeys laughing as they followed him.
I stood there in the snow, alone.
The photo. The threat. The choice.
Destroy his career by being with him. Or destroy his heart to save his future.
I sank to my knees in the snow, burying my face in my hands.
I had thought we were invincible. I had thought love was enough.
But love didn't stop blackmail. Love didn't stop ambition.
I realized then that I had been wrong. I wasn't the anchor. I was the weight that was going to drown him.
And now, I had to cut the rope.