Fated to a Human

Chapter 6

By the next morning, Nathan had developed a solid plan.

Avoid Rory Rodriguez at all costs.

Don’t look at her. Don’t talk to her.

And for the love of god, do not breathe when she’s nearby—especially in Mythology.

It wasn’t easy, but it was working… sort of.

She always sat near the back of the class, usually sketching in the margins of her notebook or twirling her pen between her fingers. Nathan made sure to keep his head down and a desk between them. He trained himself to take shallow breaths, to not inhale too deeply when she was close.

Because when she got close, it was like standing at the edge of a wildfire. His instincts stirred, his body tensed, and his mind nearly short-circuited with urges he couldn’t control.

Thankfully gym was outside today.

And that meant distance—especially since Coach made them run laps on the outdoor track. The fresh air helped. So did being able to keep space between himself and Rory.

At least, it should have helped.

Nathan jogged around the bend of the track, beads of sweat rolling down his neck, his dark shirt clinging to his torso. The sun was bright but not punishing, casting long shadows across the field. Everything should have felt normal.

Except…

Rory was running in front of him.

Wearing short black athletic shorts that hugged her hips and showed off long, toned legs. Her dark tank top was cropped just enough to reveal a sliver of smooth skin above her waistband—just a hint, but enough to mess with his head.

Nathan slowed slightly. Not because he was tired—but because he couldn’t stop looking.

The way her hair bounced behind her in a loose ponytail. The curve of her back. The powerful, graceful rhythm of her stride.

Then something new caught his eye.

A tattoo.

High up on the side of her thigh, half-hidden by the hem of her shorts. He squinted, trying to make it out. It looked like…

A wolf. Intertwined with some kind of floral mandala design.

His heartbeat thudded harder in his chest.

It was probably nothing. Just a cool design. Maybe a coincidence. But his instincts didn’t care. His wolf didn’t care. The beast inside him recognized something in it. Something wild. Something beautiful. Something that called to him.

And then, like a switch flipping, his imagination took over.

He pictured her laying back in bed, legs open, that tattoo exposed from the side of her panties. His hands on her thighs, his lips tracing the edge of the ink. He imagined her skin—soft and warm and smooth as silk. He wondered how she tasted—how sweet she must taste.

His jaw clenched as the image in his head grew bolder. He pictured himself between her thighs, tongue teasing, savoring every inch of her. Her fingers in his hair. Her breathy moans.

He shook his head—hard.

No. Stop. Not now.

His breathing had turned shallow and uneven, his body heating up with want. He picked up the pace, trying to shake the images, to pull himself out of the spiral.

And that’s when he heard her.

Not Rory.

“Hey, stranger,” a familiar voice called out, laced with flirtation and confidence.

Nathan blinked as Skylar jogged up beside him, matching his pace. She was glowing—perfect skin, bleach-blonde ponytail swinging, her cheerleading tank top knotted up to show her toned stomach.

“What are you doing tonight?” she asked with a bright, knowing smile.

It was Friday.

And normally, that meant one thing: the beach bonfire.

Drinks. Music. Friends. Making out under the stars.

Skylar and Nathan sneaking away, arguing, hooking up.

A cycle they repeated over and over.

But this time…

Nathan didn’t want it.

He didn’t want the games. The meaningless s*x. The temporary high.

He wanted—needed—distance.

“I don’t know,” he muttered, frustrated. “Might just stay home tonight.”

Skylar frowned, clearly caught off guard. “Seriously? You never stay home on a Friday.”

Nathan gave her a half-shrug, looking ahead, jaw tight. “Yeah, well… there’s a first for everything.”

Before she could press him further, he pushed his pace faster, surging forward with long, powerful strides. Her voice faded behind him.

He didn’t look back.

Didn’t need to.

He could still feel Rory’s presence ahead of him on the track.

And even though he was running from everything—Skylar, his urges, his instincts—he knew exactly who he was chasing.

Lunchtime was Nathan’s favorite part of the day—for one reason only: routine.

He and Peter always arrived early, slipping into the cafeteria five minutes before the first bell rang. It was the only way to actually sit, eat, and breathe before the chaos began. Once the floodgates opened, the cafeteria turned into a jungle—especially when the cheerleaders made their daily attempt to surround Nathan like vultures in lip gloss and uniform.

Today, like clockwork, Nathan dropped his tray on their usual table near the back wall. It was out of the way, partly hidden by a pillar and a half-broken vending machine that hummed like a dying robot. Perfect.

Peter sat next him, already unwrapping his protein bar and opening a sparkling water like they were on a picnic in Beverly Hills.

“So,” Peter started, popping a grape into his mouth. “On a scale of one to 'call the cops,' how badly did you lose control during gym yesterday?”

Nathan shot him a look. “I'm eating, Peter.”

“That’s not a denial.”

Before Nathan could respond, something caught both their eyes.

Rory.

She’d just entered the cafeteria, tray in hand, scanning the room with mild disinterest and a tiny crease between her brows. She wore ripped black jeans and a dark red long-sleeve shirt that hung off one shoulder. Her earbuds were still in, and for a second she looked like she might just walk out and eat on the lawn instead.

She was clearly new here—not just to the school, but to the way these lunchroom politics worked. Her gaze passed over the jocks, the mean girls, the band kids, the quiet loners… and finally landed on them.

Peter grinned.

Nathan immediately tensed. “Don’t.”

Peter raised an innocent brow. “Don’t what?”

“Peter—”

“Rory!” he called, waving a manicured hand.

Nathan nearly slammed his head against the table.

Rory raised an eyebrow and pulled one earbud out, tilting her head slightly as if she wasn’t sure Peter was talking to her.

“I promise we don’t bite!” Peter added.

Nathan groaned under his breath.

She glanced around again—this time slower—and seemed to weigh her options. Jocks? No thanks. Mean girls? Hard pass. Anime kids? She looked like she was seriously considering it… until one guy in a “Naruto” headband started slurping instant noodles straight from his thermos.

Decision made.

Rory sighed walking over and sat down across from Nathan without a word. Her tray clattered a little on the table. She had water, a sandwich, and an apple that looked like it had been beaten with a baseball bat. Public school cuisine at its finest.

Peter beamed like he’d just adopted a rescue cat.

“Well now that we’re all friends, hi!” he said. “You remember me, I'm Peter. This is Nathan—Captain of the football team, part-time gym god, full-time emotionally constipated mystery.”

Nathan didn’t even look up. He held his breath and gave Rory a small nod.

Rory smirked, unimpressed. “Hey.”

Her voice was smooth and slightly raspy, like she’d just woken up from a nap or maybe a dream. It was casual, careless—real.

Nathan found himself… listening.

Actually listening.

Peter, of course, was already in full interview mode. “So where are you from? You’ve got a kind of Southern vibe—like… Texas? Tennessee? Nashville Star turned punk princess?”

“Texas,” Rory said, opening her water. “Austin, originally. My dad’s a businessman. Travels a lot with my stepmom. I normally live by myself.”

Peter blinked. “Oh wow. That sounds lonely.”

Rory shrugged like it didn’t bother her. “It is what it is.”

Nathan still hadn’t said anything, but he was taking it all in. The way she spoke. The way she avoided eye contact but still managed to keep control of the conversation.

Peter leaned in. “Okay, real talk. Favorite color?”

Rory smiled faintly. “Dark blue.”

Nathan’s eyes flicked up. Same.

Peter gasped. “Oh, classy. Love that. Okay, favorite food?”

“Sushi,” she said, biting into her sandwich.

Nathan stilled. Same again.

Peter laughed. “Okay, I’m starting to think you’re just saying that to sound cool.”

Rory smirked. “Why? You ask everyone their favorite color and food on day two?”

“I’m nosy,” Peter said proudly. “And I make excellent snap judgments based on superficial trivia. Next question: Favorite band?”

Rory paused. “Do I have to pick just one?”

“You can list three.”

“Alright… Nickelback, Bryce Savage, and early 2000s Linkin Park.”

Peter gasped again like he’d just been proposed to. “Oh my god, marry me.”

Nathan chuckled under his breath, trying to keep his smile hidden behind a bite of his sandwich. But he wasn’t laughing at Peter.

He was amazed.

Because each answer she gave hit closer and closer to home. It was like someone had taken pieces of his own playlist and painted them over her personality. Her tastes were wild and raw and real. No pretense. No social climbing. Just her.

But then came the kicker.

Peter, sipping his drink, asked casually, “What’s your favorite animal?”

Rory didn’t hesitate.

“Dire wolf.”

Nathan choked.

He quickly covered it up with a cough, setting down his drink and rubbing his mouth with the back of his hand.

Rory raised a brow. “You okay?”

“Wrong pipe,” he muttered.

Peter tilted his head. “Dire wolf, huh? That’s… oddly specific.”

“They were beautiful,” Rory said, tone softer now. “Massive. Ancient. Wild. And totally misunderstood. Everyone thinks they were just brutal predators, but they were actually social. Protective. Loyal.”

Nathan’s hands had curled into fists beneath the table.

His wolf stirred.

Not in a violent way.

But in a… connected way.

As if something inside him recognized her words—felt them in his bones.

He looked at her, finally, really looked at her.

And for just a second…

Rory looked back.