Chapter 14
Riley
Happiness, I discovered, was a powerful narcotic.
It blurred the edges of reality. It made red flags look like decorative bunting. It made the bitter cold of a British Columbia winter feel like a warm embrace.
I walked across the quad, my boots crunching on the fresh snow, humming a song that had been stuck in my head since Spike hummed it in the shower three days ago.
Three days since the motel. Three days since "I love you."
We were invincible. That was how it felt. Spike had passed his oral exam. The team was in the finals. I had aced my midterms. We were managing the secret perfectly—sneaking into the art studio, meeting in the stacks, stealing kisses in his truck with the windows fogged up.
It felt like we were getting away with the heist of the century.
"Bennett!"
I turned, a smile already plastered on my face. It was Henderson, the equipment manager. He was standing by the loading dock of the arena, waving a clipboard.
"Hey, Henderson! Need help with the laundry?"
"Need help with everything," he grumbled, but his eyes were kind. "The Badgers messed up the visiting locker room. Someone wrote 'Apex sucks' in shaving cream on the mirrors. It’s a tragedy."
I laughed. "I'll grab the Windex."
I trotted over to him, feeling light. Feeling seen.
Usually, Henderson treated me like a niece he tolerated. Today, he looked at me differently. Thoughtfully.
"You're chipper," he noted as we walked down the tunnel. "Most students look like death during finals week. You look like you just won the lottery."
"Just had a good week," I said, dodging a puddle of melted snow. "Good grades. Good... sleep."
"Sleep," Henderson repeated. "Right. Is that what the kids are calling it?"
I froze mid-step. My heart did a little stutter.
"What do you mean?"
Henderson stopped and looked at me. He was a badger shifter—stout, gray-haired, with eyes that missed nothing. He sniffed the air, his nose twitching.
"You smell like him, Riley," he said quietly.
The blood drained from my face.
"Like who?"
"Don't play dumb. You smell like Thorne. Like ozone and burnt wood. It's faint—you're covering it well with whatever floral nonsense you spray on yourself—but to a shifter? It's like a neon sign."
I gripped the strap of my backpack, panic rising in my throat.
"Henderson, I—"
"Relax," he interrupted, holding up a hand. "I'm not going to snitch. I like the kid. He's been calmer lately. Less... murdery. I assume that's your doing."
I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding. "Maybe."
"Just be careful," Henderson warned, his voice dropping. "Coach Miller is blind when he wants to be, but the Dean isn't. And neither are the Alumni. If Henderson Senior catches wind of this... of a Latent mixing with the star Alpha... he'll burn you both down."
"I know," I whispered. "We're being careful."
"Are you?" Henderson pointed at my neck. "Because that scarf is slipping. And unless you got attacked by a vacuum cleaner, that's a hickey."
My hand flew to my neck, yanking my scarf up. My face burned.
"Right," Henderson sighed. "Get inside. Clean the mirrors. And fix your scarf."
He walked away, shaking his head.
I stood there for a second, my heart pounding. Careful. We thought we were being careful. But Henderson knew. If Henderson knew, who else knew?
It's fine, I told myself. Henderson is an ally. He won't talk.
But the seed of doubt had been planted. The bubble of invincibility had a crack.
Later that afternoon, I met Spike in the library.
Not in the stacks this time. In the main reading room. In public.
We had a "tutoring session." It was legitimate. He had a final paper due on Pack Economics. We sat at a large table near the window, books spread out between us.
"So," I said, tapping the page with my pen. "Supply and demand of prey animals in the pre-industrial era."
Spike groaned, rubbing his face. "Boring. Can't I just write about how they hunted?"
"Economics, Spike. Not hunting tactics. Focus."
He looked at me over his book. His amber eyes were warm, filled with a secret humor.
"You're bossy when you're teaching," he murmured.
"I'm effective."
"You're sexy."
I kicked him under the table. "Stop it. People are watching."
"Let them watch." He leaned back, stretching his arms over his head. His t-shirt rode up, exposing a strip of tanned skin and the edge of his tattoo.
I saw three girls at the next table stop studying to stare. One of them whispered something to her friend, and they both giggled.
A flash of possessiveness—hot and irrational—spiked in my chest. Mine.
I glared at the girls. They quickly looked back at their laptops.
Spike smirked. He had seen it.
"Jealous, Mouse?"
"Territorial," I corrected, turning back to the book. "Now read the paragraph on trade routes."
He chuckled, but he started reading.
For an hour, we were just students. We debated. We laughed quietly. Our knees touched under the table—a constant, reassuring pressure.
It was perfect.
Then, my phone buzzed.
Maya: Emergency. Need you at the sorority house. Now.
I frowned. Maya wasn't in a sorority.
Me: What? You hate sororities.
Maya: Vera invited us. To the Sigma Theta pre-finals mixer. She specifically asked for you.
My stomach dropped. Vera. The Cheer Captain. The She-Wolf who wanted Spike.
Me: Why would she ask for me?
Maya: She said she wants to 'bury the hatchet.' And there's free food. Come on, Riley. Please? I don't want to go alone into the lions' den.
I looked at Spike. He was engrossed in his notes, chewing on the end of a pen. He looked peaceful.
If I told him Vera invited me, he would tell me not to go. He would get protective. He might even come with me, and that would cause a scene.
I can handle Vera, I thought. I'm not afraid of her anymore. I have the Alpha.
"I have to go," I said, packing up my bag. "Maya needs help with... something."
"Everything okay?" Spike asked, looking up.
"Yeah. Just girl drama."
He reached out and grabbed my hand across the table. He squeezed it. "Be safe. Text me later?"
"Always."
I pulled my hand away—reluctantly—and walked out.
I didn't see the person standing in the aisle of the history section, watching us through the gap in the books. I didn't see the phone raised, the camera lens glinting in the library light.
I walked out feeling confident.
I was wrong.
The Sigma Theta house was a mansion. White pillars, manicured lawn, the scent of money and exclusivity wafting from the front door.
Inside, it was a hive of activity. Girls were everywhere—beautiful, polished, terrifying girls. Most were shifters, sleek and predatorial in their movements. A few were high-status humans.
I felt like a mouse walking into a cat convention.
"Riley!" Maya waved from a couch in the corner. She looked relieved to see me. She was holding a plastic cup of punch like a shield.
I made my way over to her. "What are we doing here, Maya? This isn't our scene."
"I know," Maya hissed. "But Vera cornered me in the caf. She was actually... nice? She said the cheer squad needs help with stats for their competition routines and thought we could collaborate."
"Stats for cheerleading?" I raised an eyebrow.
"Angular momentum. Toss height. It's physics, Riley. You love physics."
Before I could respond, a shadow fell over us.
"Riley. You came."
Vera stood there. She was wearing a white dress that looked like spun sugar. Her blonde hair was perfect. Her smile was sharp enough to cut glass.
"Vera," I said, keeping my voice neutral. "Maya said you wanted to talk stats."
"I do," Vera purred. "But first, a drink. To welcome you."
She handed me a cup. It smelled fruity and dangerous.
I didn't drink it. I just held it.
"Come," Vera said, linking her arm through mine. It was a grip of iron. "Let's go somewhere quieter. My room. I have the routine videos on my laptop."
She pulled me toward the stairs. I glanced back at Maya, who gave me a thumbs up. Traitor.
I followed Vera up the grand staircase. Her room was at the end of the hall. It was huge, decorated in cream and gold. It smelled of roses—her scent.
She closed the door. The noise of the party vanished.
"Sit," she said, pointing to a velvet chair.
I sat. "So, the routine?"
Vera didn't move to get a laptop. She leaned against her desk, crossing her arms. Her smile vanished.
"Let's cut the crap, Riley," she said. Her voice was cold. "We both know why you're here."
"To help with physics?"
"To spy," she corrected. "You think you've won, don't you?"
"I don't know what you're talking about."
"Spike," she spat the name. "You think because he's sleeping with you, he's yours? You think a Latent can hold an Alpha like him?"
My heart hammered. "I'm his tutor, Vera. That's all."
"Don't lie to me." She walked over to the desk and picked up her phone. "I have eyes everywhere, Bennett. The library. The cafeteria. The motel."
I froze. The motel.
"He took you to the Pine Ridge," she said, scrolling through her phone. "Classy. Did he pay for the room in cash? Or did he use the team card?"
"How do you—"
"I know because I know him," Vera interrupted. "I know he feels guilty. He feels sorry for you. You're the charity case. The broken little bird he thinks he can fix."
She laughed. It was a cruel sound.
"But here's the thing, Riley. Spike has a destiny. He's going to the NHL. He's going to be a star. And he needs a Mate who can stand beside him in the spotlight. Not a mouse who hides in the shadows."
She turned the phone around.
On the screen was a photo.
It was taken through a window. It was blurry, grainy, but unmistakable.
It was Spike and me in the library. Today. Holding hands across the table. The look on his face—the softness, the adoration—was damning.
" cute," Vera said. "But do you know who else would find this cute? The Ethics Board. The Dean. Henderson Senior."
She tapped the screen.
"This is proof of a relationship, Riley. Proof that he lied to the board. Proof that the tutoring is a sham."
The air left the room.
If she showed this photo... Spike would be expelled. His eligibility would be revoked. He would lose everything.
"What do you want?" I whispered.
Vera smiled. It was the smile of a predator who had just trapped her prey.
"I want you to leave him," she said. "Break up with him. Before the finals. Tell him it was a mistake. Tell him you were using him for... I don't know, status? Sex?"
She shrugged.
"Make him hate you. Make him focus on the game. If you do that... this photo disappears. If you don't..."
She let the threat hang in the air.
"He'll never believe I used him," I said, my voice shaking. "He knows me."
"Does he?" Vera leaned closer. "Spike is paranoid, Riley. His father betrayed his mother. He expects betrayal. If you feed him the right lie... he'll swallow it whole."
She walked to the door and opened it.
"You have twenty-four hours. Fix it. Or I destroy him."
I walked out of the sorority house in a daze.
I left Maya behind. I didn't text Spike. I walked blindly through the snow, my chest feeling like it had been carved out with a rusty spoon.
Make him hate you.
It was the only way to save him.
If I stayed, the photo came out. He lost hockey. He lost his suppressants. He succumbed to the madness.
If I left... he kept his future. But I broke his heart. And mine.
I reached the Hive. I stood outside, staring up at his window. The light was on. I could see his shadow moving around. He was probably studying. Or texting me.
My phone buzzed.
Spike: Thinking about you. Also thinking about pizza. Come over?
I stared at the screen through blurred tears.
I typed back:
Me: Can't tonight. Busy.
It was the first lie. The first brick in the wall I had to build between us.
I turned and walked away, back to my dorm, back to the cold, empty reality of a life without him.
I had promised to help him carry the bomb.
But now, to save him, I had to be the one to blow us up.