Chapter 4-Sten
“Oh, this is vile. This is absolutely ghastly.”
Amrin held her breath dramatically as she shoved another armful of clothes into the washer, her nose wrinkling in disgust.
I leaned against the doorway of the tiny laundry alcove attached to my quarters and crossed my arms, watching her struggle with what was likely the eighth pair of black pants she’d unearthed from the disaster that was my room.
“It’s not that bad,” I muttered.
Her head whipped toward me.
“Sten, I found something growing in one of your mugs.”
“That narrows it down very little.”
She stared.
Then laughed.
Actually laughed.
Soft at first, then louder, warm and bright and entirely too fucking pretty for a place like this.
Gods.
That sound did things to me.
I dragged my gaze away before she noticed—before I noticed anything else about this captivating Witch.
Too late.
I’d already noticed everything else about her.
The oversized black t-shirt she wore—mine—hung off one shoulder, exposing smooth pale skin that still carried the faint pink flush from the rainstorm earlier.
Her own shirt was tumbling around in the dryer behind her, and I was having increasingly violent thoughts about sabotaging the machine so she’d never put it back on.
Who the fuck wore white on an island where it rained seventy percent of the time?
Apparently, one absentminded little Witch with her head permanently in the clouds.
Not that I was complaining.
The memory of that soaked white fabric plastered against her body had nearly killed me.
And the pink bra underneath?
Sweet gods above.
Whoever invented bras deserved worship.
Some powerful Sorcerer had clearly crafted those things with divine intervention, because how two tiny scraps of lace and wire managed to lift and frame her breasts like an offering to the heavens was beyond me.
And my ancestor was the actual fucking Moon—how’s that for reference?
Rrrrr.
I shifted slightly against the wall as she bent to grab the now-empty laundry basket, the tight little shorts she’d changed into stretching obscenely across the curve of her ass.
Fuck. Me.
My cock hardened instantly.
Again.
This was becoming a serious problem.
I adjusted myself subtly beneath my sweats, praying to every deity in the Nine Realms that she remained as oblivious as she usually was.
Which, thankfully, she did.
Amrin had absolutely no idea what she looked like.
No idea how devastating she was.
How every step she took made something within me tighten.
How every little wiggle of those plush hips made my thoughts darken into things wholly inappropriate for civilized company.
Her thick thighs brushed together as she moved.
Her soft stomach peeked out every time she reached upward.
She’d tied the hem of my shirt beneath her tits for comfort, cinching the fabric beneath her breasts and exposing the gentle inward curve of her waist.
And me? How was I taking all of this? This intrusion to my home—my stuff—my fucking life?
Easy.
I was losing my fucking mind.
“You know,” she said, holding up a black shirt between two fingers like it might bite her, “normal people own more than one color.”
“Color is distracting.”
She snorted. “You sound like a serial killer.”
“Maybe I am.”
“Hm.” She tossed the shirt into the machine. “You’re too grumpy to be a serial killer.”
I blinked.
“That’s your logic?”
“Yes.”
“That’s terrible logic.”
“Still alive, though.”
Fair point.
I watched her move around my tiny quarters like she belonged there, and something low and dangerous unfurled inside my chest.
Mine.
The thought came unbidden.
Immediate.
Possessive.
And strong enough that I physically stiffened.
No.
Absolutely not.
This little relationship—no, not that, but whatever you called it—was already spiraling far beyond where it should.
As far as pep talks went, the one currently happening inside my head was fucking pathetic.
Get it together.
She’s here to clean your room, not save you. Not ruin your life.
I still didn’t know why I’d asked for this.
Out of all the things I could have demanded in exchange for helping her with Franco’s absurd assignment—I’d asked her to clean.
Not kiss me.
Not touch me.
Not even spend time with me intentionally.
No.
I’d somehow landed on domestic fucking chores.
Pathetic.
But there she was.
In my space.
Wearing my clothes.
Filling the silence that had lived there for years.
And gods help me, I already didn’t want her to leave.
The next day was worse.
Much worse.
Because now I knew what it felt like when she wasn’t there.
Amrin had hung my shirt carefully on the hook beside the door before leaving, telling me to “air it out before you throw it back into the abyss you call a hamper.”
I hadn’t moved it.
Wouldn’t move it.
The faint scent of her still clung to the fabric—something soft and warm beneath the rain and detergent—and every time I looked at it, my chest tightened painfully.
Pathetic, Sten.
Completely fucking pathetic.
I paced outside my quarters instead, boots grinding against damp stone while the forest surrounding my isolated little shack whispered with restless magic.
Unlike the other graduate students, I didn’t live inside the main towers of the Asgarheim Runevald Institute.
Professor Kenna had allowed me to take this place. To live separately.
Away from the others.
Away from the Pack-born Monsters whose bloodlines had hunted mine for centuries.
Neutral territory or not, there were some instincts even Runevald couldn’t erase.
Besides, my powers made communal living dangerous.
Moon-shadow cloaked the entire structure now, shifting darkness wrapped around the cottage like a living thing.
The ley lines beneath this part of the forest were quieter, easier to manipulate. Easier to disappear within.
And disappearing was something I excelled at.
Especially last night.
See, I couldn’t let Amrin walk alone under the shadow of night.
So, I’d followed her home.
Gods.
Just thinking it sounded unhinged.
But what was I supposed to do?
Let her walk alone through the forest in my borrowed shorts and her little white t-shirt with all that skin on display? Tempting Monsters and gods knew what else with her sweet innocence and open honesty?
Abso-fucking-lutely not.
The moment she’d left my quarters, something feral and ugly had risen inside me.
What if someone saw her?
What if they looked too long?
What if someone touched her?
No.
No fucking way.
So I’d stepped into the Moon shadows and followed silently behind her.
Invisible.
Watching.
Protecting.
Like a complete psychopath.
The worst part?
I hadn’t regretted it for a second.
She’d wandered the path like she existed in another reality entirely, stopping every few minutes to stare at something most people would overlook.
A glowing flower blooming between roots.
Rainwater caught in spiderwebs.
The stars flickering between storm clouds.
She noticed everything.
Took it in with this quiet wonder I couldn’t remember ever feeling myself.
And now—now she was late.
And I was slowly going insane with worry.
I glanced toward the forest again, irritation sharpening into unease.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
The moon hadn’t risen yet, meaning the shadows were thinner tonight. Harder to manipulate. Harder to hide within.
Still—if she got lost in those woods, if she was hurt—the thought alone made my stomach twist violently.
I shoved off the porch, already moving toward the tree line.
Then—I heard it.
Humming.
Soft.
Faint.
I froze.
Tilted my head.
Listened.
Five minutes later, she appeared between the trees.
And my heart—that dead thing sitting below my ribcage—actually fucking stumbled.
She wore cutoff jean shorts tonight.
Tiny ones.
The kind that showed entirely too much thigh and made me instantly violent toward every male currently breathing on this island.
Her bright blue shirt stretched tightly across her chest, outlining every lush curve beneath it.
My mouth went dry.
My cock hardened so fast it bordered on painful.
Why the fuck had I put on sweatpants?
Amateur mistake.
Her robe was folded over one arm while she walked reading a book, humming softly to herself, completely unaware she looked like every fantasy I’d ever had dragged into reality.
Gods.
She was adorable.
“Oh, hi,” she said brightly when she finally noticed me.
Her smile hit me like a physical blow.
“Hey,” I grunted automatically, dragging my expression back into its usual sullen mask.
Safer that way.
Necessary.
Because yes—I was absolutely fucked in the head over this girl.
And no—I really shouldn’t be.
For her sake and mine, I should absolutely walk away. End this. Here and now.
She was too good for me.
Too soft.
Too bright.
Too fragile.
And I was a disaster wrapped in celestial power and bad decisions.
I should tell her to forget the assignment.
Tell her to stay away from me.
Tell her I wasn’t safe.
But I didn’t.
Instead, I stood there in fucking sweatpants, hard as stone, greedy for every second she looked at me.
And the truth?
The really dangerous truth?
I didn’t think I would ever willingly give that up.
Not now.
Maybe not ever.