Chapter 2
BOONE KINKAID
Coach runs us until half the guys look ready to puke on the turf.
“You’re an asshole,” Tate pants beside me as we head for the tunnel. “Coach saw you sprint that last forty without breaking a sweat. He’s going to drug test you tomorrow.”
“I’m a wolf, Tate.”
“He thinks you’re a wolf on gear.”
“I’ll pee in his cup.”
Behind us, Mikey drops flat on the grass. “Leave me here. Tell my mom I died doing what I hated.”
I turn around, grab Mikey by the forearm, and haul him up before taking his gear bag. “You’re not dying. Walk.”
“Fuck you, Boone.” Mikey stumbles forward anyway.
In the locker room, I drop onto the bench and pull out my phone. An alert pops up from the Peer Academic Support Program. New student assignment.
Creature Bio 201 with Perkowinski. Student name: Maisie Pope.
Her first paper is attached. There’s a giant red forty-six stamped on the first page.
“Jesus,” I mutter.
Tate leans over my shoulder. “What?”
“Back up.” I angle the screen away.
“Who is it?”
“Maisie Pope.”
I open the file and start reading. The structure is solid. Her arguments make sense. She knows the basics, but the second she hits lineage traits and pack bonding, she crashes. Perkowinski grades heritage theory like everyone in the room grew up living in a den. Humans don’t have that context.
“She just needs someone to explain the background,” I say.
Tate stares at me. “You’ve known her name for twelve seconds and you’re already defending her?”
“I’m reading her paper.”
“You’ve got your project face on.”
“I don’t have a project face. Fuck off.”
After my shower, I stop by the academic center to print her paper. I read through it a second time at a table, marking up the margins with a pen so she can see exactly where Perkowinski started taking off points.
Reed walks by, glances down, and yells toward the hallway, “Kinkaid printed a girl’s homework!”
“Shut the fuck up, Reed,” I say.
Mikey wanders over, looking fully recovered. “Is she hot?”
“I don’t know what she looks like,” I say, stacking the pages. “I’m tutoring her tonight.”
Tate rounds the corner, grinning. “He’s read it twice, highlighted it, and written handwritten notes in the margins. For a girl he hasn’t even met.”
“It’s preparation.”
“It’s called developing feelings for a PDF.”
The room erupts. I grab my stuff, shove past Tate, and head out the door before I punch him.
The east wing of the library is quiet. An enchanted return cart glides past my table, dropping books onto the shelves by itself without making a sound.
I’m fifteen minutes early, sitting at our assigned table with my notes spread out, reviewing her second page.
Then her scent hits me.
My head snaps up.
Every muscle in my body locks tight. A deep, violent jolt slams straight into my ribs.
Mate.
Mine.
Get up. Grab. Touch. Scent. Keep.
No. Sit the fuck down.
I clamp my jaw shut to force my canines back before they tear through my gums. My hands grip the edge of the table so tight the wood grain creaks.
She’s walking down the aisle toward me. Auburn hair pulled into a messy ponytail, bag slung over one shoulder, looking tired and pissed off.
She’s my mate. Zero doubt. My wolf is losing it under my skin, screaming at me to drag her against my chest and claim her right here in the middle of the stacks.
Sit. Still.
I force my fingers to loosen.
She stops in front of me. “Boone Kinkaid?”
“That’s me.” She drops her bag into the empty chair. “You’re the tutor?”
“Yeah.”
Her eyes narrow. “You play football.”
“I do.”
She sits across from me. “So you’re going to explain generational trait bonding to me between practice and whatever else football players do?”
I stare at her. Then I laugh.
“Something funny?” she asks.
“A little.”
“Great.”
“You thought I was a dumb jock.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Rich werewolf asshole?”
She presses her lips together. “Maybe a little.”
“Fair.” I turn the printed paper toward her. “Your writing isn’t the problem. You understand the textbook. But Perkowinski expects you to know how pack bloodlines trigger latent traits, and the book doesn’t explain that because it assumes you grew up around shifters.”
She blinks at the notes I scribbled in her margins. “You actually read this.”
“Twice.”
“And the book really is missing that stuff?”
“The book is trash.”
A small smile breaks across her face. My chest goes tight.
“Okay,” she says, pulling out her notebook. “Show me what I missed.”
We work for an hour. She picks it up fast—smart, sharp, asking blunt questions until she understands the exact mechanics. Every time she gets frustrated, she bites down on the end of her pen, and I have to force myself to look at the paper instead of her mouth.
Then her stomach growls. Loud.
She freezes.
“When did you eat?” I ask.
“Don’t.”
“Maisie. When?”
“Breakfast.”
I check my phone. It’s past six. “You haven’t eaten in ten hours?”
“I was busy.”
I stand up.
“Where are you going?”
“Getting food downstairs.”
“Boone, sit down. I don’t need you buying me dinner.”
“Turkey sandwich okay?”
She glares at me, then sighs. “Turkey is fine. And chips.”
“Drink?”
She fights a smile. “Hot chocolate.”
I head downstairs, grab the food, and come back. The second I set the sandwich in front of her, the frantic edge in my chest settles.
Fed. Safe.
She takes a bite, watches me, and shakes her head. “You’re weird.”
“You were starving.”
“Most tutors wouldn’t care.”
“I’m not most tutors.”
We finish another forty minutes of notes until she completely rewrites her failed section. When we pack up, she stands and puts on a thin canvas jacket that won’t do shit against the night wind.
“That’s your jacket?” I ask.
“Yes.”
“It’s fifty degrees out.”
“I’m fine.”
I pull my heavy team hoodie over my head and hold it out. “Take this.”
“No. You’ll freeze.”
“I’m a wolf. Take the damn hoodie.”
She rolls her eyes, takes it, and pulls it on.
It swallows her whole. The hem hits her thighs and the sleeves cover her knuckles. The second my scent wraps around her, my wolf lets out a satisfied, possessive growl that I barely keep behind my teeth.
She pushes the sleeves up. “Same time Thursday?”
“Yeah.”
She looks at me, softer now. “Thanks, Boone. For the notes. And the food.”
“Eat lunch tomorrow.”
“Goodnight, Boone.”
“Night, Maisie.”
I watch her walk out the glass doors into the cold.
My wolf wants to chase her down, throw her over my shoulder, and drag her back to my place.
I stay where I am.
The wolf recognized her automatically. That’s biology. That’s fate.
But I like her. I like how stubborn she is. I like that she called me out the second she sat down. I like how smart she is and the way she smiled when she finally understood the biology concept.
She has no idea what she is to me. She’s stressed about a scholarship and fighting to pass a class. If I drop a mating bond on her head right now, I’ll terrify her.
She deserves time. She deserves to make her own choice.
I sling my bag over my shoulder and head for the exit.
Thursday is two days away. I just have to make it forty-eight hours without losing my mind.
It’s going to be fucking impossible.