BANG.

BANG.

BANG!

I jolt up, roll off the bed, and smack the floor with a grunt.

“Open this fucking door, Riv!”

A fourth bang, enough to cause the dorm door to rattle like another hit would rip it off its hinges.

I groan, tangled in my blanket, my head pounding like someone hit me with a fucking sledgehammer while I slept.

Then, the stupids bangs return.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

“You hear me?! I know you’re in there!”

Adam.

Shit. Shit.

I blink, dazed, heart thudding. The dorm room spins once before it settles. I’m on the floor, half-naked, wrapped in a blanket, wearing only my underwear.

Nelly, my roommate's side of the room is clean enough to let me know she’s gone for her morning class.

Bang.

I jolt.

“You psycho bitch! I saw the video—”

The video?

My eyes dart around, my brain too foggy to understand how the fuck I got here. The first thing I notice is my tank top, crumpled on the floor, stained with blood. Right beside it...

I gasp.

A black leather jacket. Not even close to anything I own. It was on the racer last night, what the fuck is it doing in my dorm room?

I yank my gaze away.

Not now.

I have bigger problems, Adam is at my door, talking about a video which probably contains evidence of me and Tamara vandalizing his car.

Another slam at the door. “And Tamara. She’s a dead bitch too! Both of you think this is funny?”

Yup.

We’re busted.

I scramble to my feet, blanket dragging behind me, chest bare and heart in my throat. The last thing I remember is grabbing a bottle out of Zero’s fucking cup holder, stupidly gulping its content without asking what it was, and then… Blackout.

Probably the most reckless decision I’ve made my entire life.

I don’t remember him dropping me off, not even getting into my own bed. Just brief flashes of his eyes, his mouth, the car, his hand gripping my thigh in the back seat, his tongue dragging between my folds while my fingers dug into his hair.

I bite down on a groan and snatch a hoodie off the back of my chair, shoving my arms into it. It smells like coffee and sweat.

Nelly’s.

The clock by my bed blinks: 8:37 AM.

“Fuck me.”

I’m thirty minutes late for my first class. My professor is a dick and locks doors after ten.

Adam persists at the door, “I swear to God, Riv—”

The knob rattles violently.

I croak, voice hoarse as shit. “I need you to go suck a dick, Adam.”

His voice explodes through the wood. “YOU RUINED MY FUCKING CAR!”

“You cheated on me. What did you think was gonna happen?”

“You’re going to pay for this, Eden, I swear to God.”

I don’t answer.

Then after that, silence.

I’m ruffling through my closet the very next minute, throwing on whatever. Jeans tugged up. Hair twisted into a bun that’s already falling. I brush my teeth in seconds, and clean my face with wipes. Books into my bag, shaky fingers, mismatched socks.

Doesn’t matter.

I don’t look back.

I swing the door open.

Adam’s not there anymore.

Good.

I’m flying down the hallway before I can think twice. I hit the lot, half-ready to see my car wrecked like I had done Adam’s, but no.

It’s just as I’d left it. I yank the door open, slam it, start the engine.

Then, out of nowhere, Adam appears. His blond hair is wild, eyes are bloodshot, he's screaming and pointing at me like a madman.

I can barely hear him through the windows, but I already know he’s cursing like a bitch.

I rev the engine.

He slams his palm on the hood. “YOU THINK THIS IS FUNNY?”

My hands tighten around the steering.

He looks like he’s about to lose it.

I rev again.

Adam eyes widens as he realises what I’m about to do, but I don’t give him the chance to move before I gun the car, tires shrieking.

He staggers back, and I swerve past him, close enough that the mirror nearly clips his face. His arms flail, feet scrambling.

In the rearview, I see him spin, red-faced and shaking, his mouth wide as he shouts, "ARE YOU FUCKING INSANE?!"

~~~

Professor Langston does not tolerate lateness.

Three years in his class have made that painfully clear. He once made a girl cry for showing up an hour late. Told her she could wipe her tears on the drop slip he was about to file on her behalf.

So when I glance at the time on my phone and see 8:59 a.m., my chest tightens.

“Shit.”

I shoot off down the corridor, shoes squealing on the floor. Everything is a blur. My mind is already bracing for the drop slip with my name on it.

Room 206, top floor, left wing.

I take the corner too fast. My shoulder hits the wall, I trip, and I crash into someone with full force.

I don’t get the chance to brace myself, my knee smacks something hard, and my phone flies from my grip. Their bag hits the ground, contents spilling across the floor…. books, wires, a black sketchpad.

“Shit. I’m sorry,” I say quickly, dropping to my knees to help.

“It’s fine,” he says calmly, already crouched across from me.

I grab a book first, then the sketchpad. Something catches my eye as he leans in. A silver chain dangling from his neck, hanging from it is a small glinting pendant of a wolf.

I pause.

Stare a second too long. But he tucks it back inside his shirt before I can get a better look, then reaches for the last item.

Our hands touch.

I freeze.

His fingers are rough and moist. And though the contact only lasts a second, it jolts through me like a wire touching water.

I look up.

His eyes meet mine.

Sea-glass green.

Brows puckers over them.

“You always run through people on your way to class?” he asks. His mouth quirks up slightly in a small smile.

“Only when I’m trying to avoid dying in Langston’s class,” I mutter, standing.

His brow lifts. “Langston? Literature major?”

“Advanced Literary Perspectives and Global Narratives,” I say, trying to catch my breath. “Monday mornings kill me.”

He stands with me. He’s very tall, and lean, dressed in a loose oatmeal hoodie and worn black jeans.

“Didn’t think lit majors ran like that,” he says.

“I don’t have time for this,” I breathe. I swing my bag over my shoulder and glance down the hall.

Almost there.

“Hey,” he says behind me.

I don’t stop.

“Hey. Wait.”

I turn the corner.

Room 206 comes into view.

My heart’s fucking sprinting.

I stop at the door for half a second. Just long enough to wipe my sweaty hands on my jeans, then I open it.

The room is fucking silent.

Everyone looks like they just got their asses handed to them: slouched over, eyes glazed, I can hear the sniffles of a sobbing girl in the corner. A few heads lift, but no one really reacts.

Not even a snicker.

Weird.

I step in quietly, glancing toward the front, already preparing myself to see Langston. His tired, balding head, his ugly corduroy jacket.

But then he turns.

And it’s not Langston.

My legs stop working.

For a second, I forget how to breathe.

LYSANROS' POV

When life throws you a shot at redemption, you don’t waste time asking why. You take it without hesitation before it fucking disappears like every other thing.

That’s what this was supposed to be.

My shot at living again, not for anyone else, but for me… ME.

Teaching wasn’t part of the plan. Living among humans is just collateral. The only choice I had left. I’ve spent decades avoiding places like this. And the years after, building up my life to fit in. Degrees and certifications, a condo with white walls, a few human flings here and there. When it's a full moon, it’s very hard to keep my desires and urges to mate on the low. And without a wolf mate that could endure my urges till morning, I take to bed more than one human woman at once, rotating the shift till my wolf is satisfied by morning.

Living with a double identity had just been so easy. Suits in the day and leather jackets with a helmet on race nights.

It was going fine, until last night. When my wolf sensed our mate in the crowd, and went feral with want, chanting in my head for her. “Mate, mate, mate.”

Bastard wouldn’t shut up.

For a human girl.

How pathetic?

The Moon Goddess must’ve been mocking me. I never even imagined a second-chance mate after Catherine, let alone one who was human. After everything I’d lost, after how brutally the Ashridge Pack cast me out, she sent me this.

A reminder of the failure I had been to my pack. I told myself I would reject her on the spot, but she’d taken a swig of my liquor, too strong a mixture for a mere human like her, and then came at me without restraint.

And my control burned to cinders.

I dragged her into the backseat, fingers thrusting deep, her pussy soaked, squelching, pussy juice and saliva dripping down my chin.

She came on my tongue, trembling, moaning, grinding against my face like she’d been starved.

I didn’t mark her… yet.

I didn’t fuck her… yet.

I tell myself that is the last time I’ll see her, my wolf, Valek, counters.

Now I’m at my new job, halfway through my first lecture, when I feel her.

Even before she comes into view. Walking down the hallway and Valek starts prancing like a fucking pup again, “Mine, Mine, Mine!”

I grit my teeth so hard my jaw aches.

And then she shoves the door open.

She freezes.

Fuck, I freeze.

The scent of her fills the room so intensely I feel the blood rush to my cock.

I clench my fists, breathing in through my nose. I don’t do this. I don’t lose control.

She’s late.

Fucking late.

And bold enough to shove the door open as well.

I squint at her, “Nice of you to join us, Miss...”

She hesitates, “R-Riven.”

“Surname?”

“Coll.”

A grin stretches my lips. “You’re an hour late to my first class. Do you have a medical emergency you’d like to share with the room?”

Silence.

“Car trouble? Brain damage? Poor time management?”

A few heads turn.

A snicker breaks out in the back.

I let it hang.

Of course, I know why she’s late.

My dick is throbbing behind the podium and I’m clenching hard at the edges now, Valek isn’t making this any easier.

“You’re the one who licked her clean, not me,” he growls low. “Let me out. Let me scent her again—”

Shut the fuck up.

“Make me.”

I will. I’ll cage you so deep you’ll forget what air tastes like.

He snarls inside me, dragging claws down the inside of my ribs, pacing endlessly. He wants me to have her again. He wants her on all fours this time, not just a taste, he wants to mark her.

I grind my molars and force my voice level.

“Find a seat,” I snap at her.

She hesitates.

The class is silent.

Then she turns and starts up the steps toward the back.

No.

“Front row.”

She stops mid-step. Looks over her shoulder like she’s not sure she heard right. Her lips part.

“I said front.”

She turns, walks down slowly, her fingers trembling as she clutches her bag. Her face is pale, but her eyes—fuck, those cobalt blue eyes are glassing up.

Good.

She sits.

I don’t give her time to breathe.

“See me after the class.”

The little human is aroused. I can smell it emanating from her in strong waves, but nothing on her face reveals how turned on she is by me. Instead, her face is beet red, and I can't tell if it's embarrassment from being so turned on or if she's mad. I bet on the latter as she gets up from her seat, grabs the bag, fingers still trembling as she storms in my direction.

My grin tugs into a smirk.

Her hands and voice tremble when she's in front of me, and her eyes are glassed over. "Zero."

I let out a lazy, indulgent sigh, straightening up from the podium. I tilt my head slightly, feigning confusion. "I believe the proper address is Professor Barron, Miss Coll. Now, why were you late?"

The question is a bait. I know exactly why she was late. She'd been with me up until this very morning.

But I wait to see if she'll take the bait, to see how much she remembers of her losing herself into my arms last night. Very reckless, very promiscuous, but I also had lost my control after she boldly, so unexpectedly pulled my zipper down while I drove, touched me, and then begged me to return the favor.

Immediately, the anger in her features dissolved to shame or embarrassment. Her eyes widened for a few seconds before she bats her lashes and lowered them. Her cheeks coats a reddish pink shade, and the smell of arousal is now tainted with anxious sweat.

''Tell me,'' I pester, slurring on my words. ''What's the problem. No longer mouthy/ Because last night you seemed to have a lot to say.'

She gasps.

My fingers tightens around the podium.

"Now, as if bracing herself for the next words, she takes in a greedy gulp of air, before. "I want to know what happened last night. I can't remember anything, but…"

"But?"

The pink of her cheeks flames hotter. "I have flashes."

"Flashes of what?" I press on.

"You…."

"Me where?"

She bites into her lower lip with a soft whine. That single act nearly drives me berserk. Stop, stop doing that, stop looking at me like that, stop making that sound. I lean closer, hungry for her confession, or her memory, or anything.

She closes her eyes, a fresh wave of tears gathering beneath her lids—this time they look like tears of confusion and fear. When she opens her eyes, the shame has morphed into a brittle, defensive accusation.

"I was drunk, Mr. Barron." Mr. Barron. The way she says it, so softly… I stifle the groan in my throat as she continues talking, her voice still trembling as if she's trying to tread gently through every word. "I have no memory of what happened after I took that drink. And you…." She pants, her bronze skin flushing crimson, the contrast striking against the brown hair that frames her face. "Y-you must have…"

"I must have what?" I press, my control hanging by a thread.

I step around the podium. She immediately takes a step backward, eyes—those striking blue eyes—wide and darting. I tower over her, and her short stature makes her look even smaller as she instinctively shrinks and shies away.

Mine. She is retreating. Hunt her. Valek's insistence is a burning heat in my gut.

I take another deliberate step toward her. My heart is thudding loudly and my ears are perched, listening for any tell-tale sounds of a janitor or another faculty member coming down the hallway to the lecture room. The hallway is silent.

"Let's review the facts, Miss Coll," I murmur. "Let's see how things had progressed at the race last night, shall we?"

I take another step. She takes another step back, her back beginning to graze the front row chairs.

"First, there was a police raid," I continue, watching her face tighten with fear. "You were waiting like a confused pup, completely abandoned."

"I– I wasn't abandoned." She stutters.

My head dips in a tilt. "Oh, really? Were you with a friend? A boyfriend? One that was going to come save you?"

I close the last gap between us. She has nowhere to go. Her back hits the hard plastic of the chair in the front row, and she slumps into it, effectively trapped between the chair and my presence. She looks up at me, those blue eyes full-blown, reflecting the overhead fluorescent lights.

I take a quick peek at the door—still closed. I then hunch forward, bracing one hand on the chair back and the other on the armrest, caging her in. My chest is only inches from hers.

Valek is happy. Ecstatic. Yes. This is right. Close. Closer. Put your hands on her.

I can smell more of her from this close, the vanilla, the sweat from her fear, the deep, musky trace of arousal clinging to her skin beneath her clothes. It's intoxicating. I force my hands to stay put, instantly creating a rule. Only words and proximity. Never contact, not while I wear this suit.

"I came back to pick you up," I continue, my voice a rough murmur, feeling her hot breath against my throat. "I was generous, Miss Coll. Because you genuinely looked like you were in the wrong place. You didn't fit in."

She tries to talk back again but only manages a stutter. "I-I-I was going to c-call a c-cab—"

"No, you looked too frightened to even move," I breathe, watching the wide terror in her blue eyes. "If I hadn't come back for you, your ass would be detained today, sitting in a precinct waiting for someone to bail out the reckless little student."

My eyes drop to her lips, focusing intensely on the soft, parted curve of them. They were plump and cherry pink. She notices the slow look and lets out an involuntary whimper in response. My gut tightens at the sound.