Fated to a Human

Chapter 23

The day passed in a blur of buzzing excitement and over-the-top prom chatter. Students scurried through the halls comparing hair appointments, nail inspo photos, and last-minute dress alterations. Snapchats were filled with selfies of tux fittings and girls showing off rhinestone-covered shoes they could barely walk in.

But for Rory, the excitement faded into static. All she could think about was getting through detention and escaping the stares—the whispers about her and Skylar, about the punch, the blood.

She walked out of the school building as the final bell rang and her two favorite idiots—Nathan and Peter—were waiting by the front steps.

Nathan was leaned against the railing, arms crossed, a smirk on his face like he didn’t just wait thirty minutes for her.

Peter was on his phone, probably trying to secure a last-minute discount at some luxury tailor.

Rory’s steps slowed.

Then she paused entirely—her head tilting back toward the sky.

Thick, dark clouds loomed overhead, rolling in heavy and angry.

Nathan smelled it first. The storm. Then… something else.

Panic.

He looked at Rory sharply. Her chest rose faster. Her pulse quickened.

“Hey,” he said gently, stepping closer. “You okay?”

She cleared her throat, but her voice cracked. “Yeah, I just… I don’t like thunderstorms.”

Peter glanced up, instantly clocking the fear in her eyes. Without hesitation, he threw an arm around her shoulders. “Then you’re coming with us. We’ll get high, make fun of Mr. Marrow’s nose mole, and watch the rest of Fifty Shades. Bonding and bondage.”

Rory let out a shaky laugh, forcing a smirk. “Fine. But I’m picking the weed this time. That last batch made me think Nathan turned into a Care Bear.”

Nathan raised an eyebrow. “Care Bears are terrifying.”

Rory cracked a real smile.

By the time they pulled into Peter’s massive circular driveway, the first boom of thunder cracked through the sky like a whip. Rain pelted the windshield as Peter punched the garage code.

Inside, the storm roared around the estate, but it couldn’t touch them.

Peter lit a joint the size of a cigar and passed it around while they lounged in the living room. The fire was going, candles were lit, and the giant TV filled the space with a sultry soundtrack as Christian Grey tried once again to pretend emotional unavailability was sexy.

But even through the haze of weed and laughter, Nathan kept glancing at Rory.

She laughed at the movie. She joked. She leaned into Peter’s side and gave Nathan crap for his popcorn obsession.

But her smile didn’t reach her eyes.

And every time thunder cracked, her shoulders tensed just a little more.

By midnight, the storm was still howling and Peter had passed out with his arm draped over a fuzzy pillow like it was a lover.

Nathan stood and stretched. “I’ll show you to a guest room.”

Rory hesitated, glancing out at the storm through the wall of windows.

The lightning lit up the sky like a strobe light.

Then thunder hit. Loud. Close.

She flinched and instinctively reached for Nathan’s arm.

Her hand wrapped around his forearm, and he felt her trembling.

Nathan’s wolf growled inside him—low and protective.

Protect her. Keep her safe. She’s ours.

Rory let go quickly, embarrassed. “Sorry. I—um. Could you maybe… stay with me? Just until I fall asleep?”

Nathan froze.

His body screamed no. Everything inside him was on edge. He hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep in a week thanks to her—dreams so vivid he’d wake up hard, sweating, and aching.

Being this close to her, smelling her skin, the way she touched him without even realizing it—it was dangerous.

But then she looked up at him.

Eyes wide. Vulnerable. Scared.

And he caved.

He clenched his jaw and nodded. “Yeah. Sure.”

He led her upstairs to the softest room, the one with pale gray walls and a queen-sized bed dressed in white and burgundy. The room smelled faintly of lavender and cedar.

Rory climbed into the bed, slipping under the covers and curling onto her side facing the door.

Nathan sat stiffly beside her before slowly lying back on top of the comforter, arms crossed tightly over his chest like a soldier trying not to move.

Then—

CRACK.

Thunder exploded overhead, rattling the windows.

Rory yelped softly and instinctively flung herself against him.

She buried her face in his side, her arms wrapping around his torso like she was holding onto a life raft.

Nathan froze.

Her body was warm, soft. She smelled like vanilla, lavender and weed.

And she was shaking.

Without thinking, his arm slipped around her shoulders, pulling her closer.

He let her rest her head on his chest, her breath syncing slowly with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“I hate storms,” she whispered. “I know it’s stupid…”

“It’s not stupid,” he said softly.

He didn’t ask why. Didn’t need to. Not tonight.

Her breathing slowed. She relaxed against him.

And Nathan lay there, listening to the storm outside and the girl beside him… and tried to ignore the way everything in him whispered—

Mine.

---

Nathan didn’t remember falling asleep.

He stirred slowly, mind hazy, body warm and heavy with comfort. For a moment, he forgot where he was. He wasn’t in his room. The mattress was softer. The sheets smelled like lavender and something sweeter—vanilla, maybe.

And… something was in his arms.

Soft. Warm. Curved perfectly against him like it was made to be there.

He shifted slightly, his arm tightening instinctively around whatever—or whoever—he was holding. His body responded on autopilot, his hips tilting forward, his chest pressing into softness.

His breath caught in his throat.

Vanilla and lavender.

And then—

A throat cleared.

Soft. Awkward. Definitely human.

Nathan’s eyes snapped open.

Rory.

His heart jumped to his throat as the realization smacked him square in the face. He wasn’t just holding Rory.

He was curled around her like a wolf claiming his mate, his arm slung low around her waist, his morning erection fully pressed against her backside like it belonged there.

“s**t—sorry,” he muttered, flipping to his back so fast he nearly rolled off the bed.

Rory pushed up on one elbow, turning just enough to look at him—her hair messy, eyes soft with sleep, and a sly smirk tugging at her lips. “Relax,” she said, trying not to laugh. “It’s fine. You were asleep. You weren’t trying to grind on me on purpose… right?”

Nathan groaned and threw an arm over his face. “God, kill me now.”

Rory stood, stretching her arms over her head and yawning like this was any other morning—not the most mortifying one of his teenage life. “Well, if it makes you feel better, I’ve definitely woken up next to worse.”

Nathan peeked at her through his fingers. “That’s not comforting.”

She giggled, grabbing her bag and heading for the bathroom.

Somehow, that did comfort him.

Ten minutes later, they were rushing out the door, the rain now a distant memory. The sky was cloudy but dry, and the air smelled fresh—like storm aftermath and possibility.

Rory, thank the gods, kept extra clothes in her backpack. She emerged from the bathroom in black jeans and a cropped maroon hoodie that left just a sliver of her stomach visible. Nathan tried not to look. He failed. Twice.

Peter—still passed out on the couch with a hand in a bag of Cheetos—jumped awake and rushed to get ready.

They got to school on time, just barely.

But all day, Nathan couldn’t focus.

Not in History. Not during weights. Not even in Calculus, which usually numbed his brain enough to distract him from literally anything.

Because that morning kept replaying in his head. Over. And over.

The feeling of her pressed against him. The way she fit in his arms. The sound of her sleepy voice. Her scent.

His body.

His reaction.

He wanted to crawl into a locker and never come out.

But Rory?

She acted like nothing happened.

Totally cool. Totally unbothered. Like waking up with her best friend spooning her with morning wood was just… Thursday.

She cracked jokes in English class, helped Peter try to convince the art teacher to add glitter to prom decorations, and even bumped Nathan’s shoulder in the hallway like usual.

Every time he looked at her, expecting awkwardness, all he got was that same casual smirk. Like she knew exactly what she was doing. Like she was waiting to see if he’d bring it up.

But Nathan couldn’t.

Because one, he didn’t trust himself not to say something stupid. And two… he was terrified that if he said something, she’d stop acting like it was no big deal.

And he wasn’t ready for that.

He wasn't ready to admit how badly he wanted it to not be a big deal.

Because then it might mean something.