Chapter 3 #2
I didn't run. I stalked. I wove through the crowd with lethal efficiency. People bumped into me and bounced off like they’d hit a brick wall. I didn't feel them. My vision tunnelled.
I reached them just as Tyler reached out to touch her hair.
"You have really pretty hair, you know that?" Tyler was slurring. "You should let me—"
I stepped in behind him. I didn't touch him. I just leaned down, placing my mouth close to his ear.
"Time to go, Tyler."
He froze. He turned around, annoyed, ready to fight whoever interrupted him. When he saw it was me, the blood drained from his face.
"Oh. Hey, Stan. I was just—"
"I know what you were doing," I said. My voice was calm. terrifyingly calm. "But you're done. The keg is empty. Go find another one."
It wasn't a suggestion. Tyler looked at me, looked at Rachel, and did the math. He wasn't going to win. He scurried away like a rat.
I turned to Rachel.
She looked up at me, her eyes wide. Her chest was heaving. Up close, the scent was overwhelming. The vanilla was spiked with anxiety—a sharp, electric tang that made my mouth water.
"You came," I said. It sounded like an accusation.
"I didn't have a choice," she said, her voice breathless. She straightened her spine, trying to reclaim some height. It was futile. I towered over her. "Chloe threatened to burn my flashcards if I didn't come out tonight."
"Chloe is an idiot," I said bluntly. "And this is not a place for you."
"Why?" She took a sip of her drink—it looked like cheap beer, and she grimaced. "Because I'm a nerd? Because I don't fit in with the cool kids?"
"No," I stepped closer, blocking her from the rest of the room. I made myself a wall. "Because there are predators here, Rachel. And you look like..."
I stopped myself. You look like the only thing I want to eat.
"Like what?" she challenged. There was a spark in her eyes tonight. The alcohol? Or just defiance? "Like prey?"
The word hung between us. Heavy. Charged.
"Yes," I rasped. "Exactly like that."
She stared at me, her gaze dropping to my mouth and then back up. She wasn't scared. That was the problem. She should be terrified.
"Maybe I can handle myself," she said. "I handled you this morning, didn't I?"
The memory of the hydro room crashed over us. The steam. The heat. My hand on her wrist.
"That wasn't handling me," I murmured, leaning down until our faces were inches apart. "That was me letting you survive."
Her breath hitched. "Is that a threat, Captain?"
"It's a safety briefing."
Someone bumped into my back—a dancer losing their balance. I didn't move an inch, but the contact pushed me slightly closer to her. My chest brushed hers. Just a graze.
It was electric.
I felt her nipples harden through the fabric of her shirt. I heard her heart skip a beat.
My control fractured.
"Come with me," I said.
I didn't wait for an answer. I reached out and wrapped my hand around her upper arm. Her skin was soft, warm. I could feel the delicate bone beneath the muscle. I could snap her like a twig. The thought made me sick and thrilled at the same time.
I pulled her away from the wall, towing her through the crowd.
"Stan, wait—where are we going?"
I didn't answer. I dragged her past the kitchen, past the crowded living room, and kicked open the door to the back porch.
It was empty. It was freezing cold—ten degrees below zero—but the air was clean. Silence fell over us as the heavy door slammed shut, muffling the music.
The porch was wrapped in darkness, illuminated only by the moonlight reflecting off the snow-covered forest that pressed against the railing.
I released her arm immediately, putting distance between us. I walked to the railing, gripping the frozen wood until it groaned, staring out at the trees. I needed the cold. I needed to cool my blood.
"You can't just drag people out of parties, Stan," Rachel said. Her voice was shaking, but she stood her ground. "It's rude."
"I'm saving you," I said, not turning around. "Tyler was about two seconds away from grabbing your ass. And Johnson was looking at you like you were a steak dinner."
"So you decided to be the bigger bully?"
I turned around. She was shivering. She didn't have a coat. The cold was biting into her skin.
"Here."
I stripped off my t-shirt.
"Stan, no, it's freezing—"
I didn't listen. I pulled the black shirt over my head and tossed it to her. Now I was bare-chested in the sub-zero air. The cold felt good. It felt like clarity. Steam rose off my skin, visible in the moonlight.
Rachel caught the shirt. She stared at my chest—at the tattoos, the scars, the sheer expanse of skin. She swallowed hard.
"Put it on," I commanded. "You're turning blue."
She hesitated, then pulled my shirt over her head, over her own top. It swallowed her. It hung to her mid-thighs.
And then the scent hit me.
My scent. On her.
Seeing her wearing my clothes... it did something to the Wolf brain. It was a claiming. She wears my mark. She smells like me.
I crossed the distance between us in two strides.
She backed up until she hit the wall of the cabin. There was nowhere to go.
I placed my hands on the logs on either side of her head, caging her in. Again.
"Why are you here, Rachel?" I demanded. My voice was a low growl. "Why did you come to this school? Why did you take this job?"
"I told you," she whispered, looking up at me. Her eyes were dark pools. "The scholarship. I need..."
"You need to run," I cut her off. "You need to transfer. You need to get as far away from me as possible."
"Why?" She reached out. Her hand hovered over my chest, over the tattoo of the wolf on my pectoral. She didn't touch it, but I could feel the heat of her palm. "Because you're 'The Butcher'?"
"Because I want to do things to you that aren't on the syllabus," I said. The truth tore out of my throat. "Because when I look at you, I don't see a trainer. I see a mate."
The word slipped out. Mate.
Her eyes widened. She didn't know the shifter context. She thought I meant... partner. Girlfriend.
"You don't even know me," she argued weakly.
"I know enough." I leaned in, unable to stop myself. I buried my nose in the curve of her neck, right where her pulse hammered. I inhaled. Vanilla. Fear. Desire. "I know you're terrified. I know you're brave. And I know you want me to kiss you."
"Stan..." Her voice was a whimper. Her hands landed on my bare waist. Her fingers were ice cold, but they burned like brands.
"Tell me to stop," I whispered against her skin. My lips grazed her jawline. The stubble on my chin rasped against her softness. "Tell me to back off, Rachel. Give me a command. Because I can't stop myself."
She shivered. Her hands tightened on my waist, pulling me closer.
"I don't want you to stop," she breathed.
The restraint snapped.
I growled, a savage sound that no human throat could make. I tilted her head back, my hand tangling in her hair, and I lowered my mouth to hers.
Crash.
The sound of breaking glass shattered the moment.
"Whoops! My bad!"
The back door flew open. Light spilled onto the porch.
I ripped myself away from Rachel, spinning around with a snarl on my lips, ready to kill whoever had opened that door.
It was Miller. He was stumbling, holding a broken beer bottle. He blinked, looking from me to Rachel.
Rachel was pressed against the wall, wearing my shirt, her lips parted, looking thoroughly ravished. I was shirtless, steaming in the cold, eyes glowing.
Miller sobered up instantly. The Wolf in him recognized the Alpha in me. He took a step back, holding his hands up.
"Sorry, Cap," he stammered. "Didn't know the... didn't know the porch was occupied."
I stared at him, my chest heaving. The moment was gone. The spell was broken. The reality of who I was and who she was came crashing back down.
I turned back to Rachel. She looked dazed.
"Keep the shirt," I said roughly.
I didn't wait for her to respond. I couldn't look at her. If I looked at her, I would kill Miller, grab her, and drag her down to my room and lock the door for three days.
I stormed past Miller, back into the heat and noise of the party, leaving the only thing I wanted out in the cold.
I was in trouble.
We were all in trouble.