Chapter 3 #2
I didn't pull him. I just held him. I let my weight settle.
Kyle froze. He looked down at the hand—my hand—that was currently encompassing the entire back of his neck.
"She said to move," I said.
I didn't shout. I didn't have to. My voice was a rumble of thunder directly in his ear.
Kyle spun around, his face flushing with drunken bravado that evaporated the second he realized he was looking up at my chin.
"Thorne," he squeaked. "I was just... we were just talking."
"You were crowding," I corrected. I leaned down, bringing my face close to his. I let my eyes flash. Just a flicker of red. "And you're breathing all of your air in my space."
"Your space?" Kyle looked confused. He glanced at Riley, then back at me. "I didn't know she was... is she yours?"
The question hung in the air.
Is she mine?
The logical part of my brain screamed NO. She is forbidden. She is fragile. She is a liability.
The Wolf roared YES.
"She's under my protection," I said, choosing the diplomatic lie. "Which means if you touch her again, I'm going to fold you into a pretzel and mail you back to the track house. Do you understand?"
Kyle nodded frantically. "Yeah. Sure. Whatever, man. She’s weird anyway."
He scurried away, disappearing into the crowd like a rat.
I turned to Riley.
She was pressed against the wall, her chest heaving. Her eyes were wide behind those glasses, reflecting the chaotic lights of the party. She looked stunned.
And she looked angry.
"I didn't need you to do that," she hissed.
"You looked like you were drowning," I said, my voice rough.
"I was handling it."
"You were backing into a wall," I countered. "That's not handling it. That's cornering yourself."
I looked at her. Really looked at her. Up close, the sweater did nothing to hide her scent. The vanilla was spiked with anxiety—sharp and acidic—but underneath, that honey sweetness was blooming, triggered by the adrenaline.
It was driving me insane.
"Come with me," I said.
"Where?"
"Somewhere where I don't have to smell cheap cologne and desperation."
I didn't wait for an answer. I reached out, my hand hovering over her lower back. I didn't touch her—I didn't trust myself to touch her skin again—but the heat radiating between my palm and her sweater was enough to make her jump.
I steered her through the archway, past the crowded kitchen where people were doing keg stands, and down the narrow hallway that led to the back pantry.
It was a small room, lined with metal shelves stocked with industrial-sized bags of chips and cases of energy drinks. It was quiet. Dark.
I kicked the door shut behind us.
The silence was instant and heavy. The bass from the party was just a dull thud in the floorboards now.
Riley spun around to face me. "You can't just drag me into a closet, Spike. People will talk."
"Let them talk," I said, leaning back against the door, crossing my arms. I blocked the exit. "Better they talk than I have to watch you get pawed by a guy named Kyle."
"I wasn't getting pawed," she argued, though her cheeks were flushed pink. She adjusted her glasses, a nervous tic I was starting to memorize. "I was de-escalating. It’s a negotiation tactic."
"It’s a prey tactic," I said bluntly. "You were appeasing him. You were hoping if you were polite enough, he wouldn't bite."
Riley stiffened. She took a step toward me, invading my personal space. It was a brave move. Or a stupid one.
"Not everyone solves problems with their fists, Thorne," she said. "Some of us have to use our brains because we don't have two hundred pounds of muscle and a wolf in our subconscious doing the heavy lifting."
"Is that what you think I do?" I asked quietly. "You think the wolf does the work?"
"I think you use your size as a crutch," she said, her voice shaking slightly but her chin held high. "I think you intimidate people because you're afraid of what would happen if you actually had to talk to them."
Checkmate.
I laughed. It was a dark, dry sound. "You're analyzing me again, Doctor. Be careful. I'm not in the library now. And I'm not wearing my armor either."
I took a step forward. She took a step back, hitting the shelving unit behind her. A bag of chips crinkled loudly.
"You shouldn't be here, Riley," I whispered. "You don't fit in this world. Look at you."
I gestured to her outfit. "You dressed up. You put on the jeans. You let your hair down. Why? Who are you trying to impress?"
"I'm not trying to impress anyone," she lied. I could smell the lie. It smelled like sour milk. "Maya made me come. She said I needed to be social."
"Maya is an idiot," I said. "She served you up on a platter. Do you know what you look like to the guys out there?"
I stepped closer, until my boots were touching hers. I placed my hands on the shelving unit on either side of her head, caging her in. I didn't touch her. I wouldn't touch her. But I needed her to understand the danger.
"Tell me," she breathed. Her eyes were locked on mine. Her pupils were blown wide.
"You look like a challenge," I murmured, lowering my head until our noses almost brushed. "You look soft in a room full of sharp edges. And you smell..."
I inhaled. The honey scent was overwhelming here in the small, dark space. It coated my tongue. It made my head swim.
"You smell like something I shouldn't want."
Riley didn't pull away. She tilted her head back, exposing the long, pale column of her throat. It was an instinctual baring of the jugular. Submission. Trust.
"Then why did you save me from Kyle?" she whispered.
"I didn't save you," I corrected, my voice dropping to a gravelly growl. "I was guarding my territory."
"Am I your territory?"
The question hung between us, heavy and dangerous.
I stared at her mouth. Her lips were parted, pink and swollen. I wanted to taste them. I wanted to bite her bottom lip until she bled, then lick the wound closed. I wanted to ruin her for anyone else.
"You're my tutor," I said, the words tasting like ash. "And if you get eaten by a frat boy, I fail History."
Riley flinched. The rejection hit its mark. I saw the hurt flash in her eyes, followed quickly by the return of her walls.
Good. Hate me. It’s safer if you hate me.
"Right," she said, ducking under my arm. "Of course. The grade."
She moved to the door. I didn't stop her.
But before she opened it, she paused, her hand on the knob. She didn't look back at me.
"You know, Spike," she said softly. "For a guy who claims to be a monster, you spend a lot of time protecting the things you're supposed to break."
She opened the door.
The noise of the party flooded back in—the bass, the laughter, the screaming.
"And for the record," she added, glancing over her shoulder. Her eyes were dry, but fierce. "I wore the jeans for me. Not for you."
She slipped out into the hallway, disappearing into the crush of bodies.
I stood alone in the pantry, surrounded by potato chips and the lingering ghost of her scent.
My hands were shaking. I clenched them into fists, driving my nails into my palms until the sharp sting of pain grounded me.
Liar, the Wolf whispered in my head. You wanted to claim her. You wanted to tear that sweater off and mark her skin so everyone in this house knows she belongs to the Apex.
"Shut up," I said to the empty room.
The door pushed open again.
I spun around, hope flaring in my chest like a match strike.
It wasn't Riley.
It was Vera.
She looked at me, then at the empty space where Riley had been. Her nose wrinkled, smelling the vanilla and honey in the air. Her expression went cold. Deadly cold.
"We need to talk, Spike," Vera said. Her voice was calm, but her eyes were shards of ice. "About your... study habits."
She knew.
I looked at the Cheer Captain, the perfect Alpha female, and felt absolutely nothing.
"Not now, Vera," I said, pushing past her.
"If you choose a Latent over the Pack," she called after me, her voice cutting through the noise, "you know what happens. The Pack eats the weak."
I stopped. I didn't turn around.
"Let them try," I said.
And then I walked back into the chaos, looking for a fight I was finally ready to win.