Chapter 17
1833 Words
Nathan sat slumped at his desk, head resting in one hand, eyes bloodshot from yet another night of little to no sleep.
He was exhausted.
Not from football.
Not from training.
But from her.
Rory.
Every night she haunted his dreams—except they weren’t nightmares. No, they were hot, raw, relentless s*x dreams that felt more real than dreams ever should.
And they were getting worse.
Every time he closed his eyes, she was there—naked, wanting, whispering his name in a breathy moan that made his entire body burn. Her hands gripping his back, her hips grinding into him, her lips parted in anticipation as he hovered just above her, the bond between them electric and magnetic.
He’d wake up drenched in sweat and shame.
And every morning?
Sticky sheets.
Again.
He’d gone through three sets in four nights.
And what made it worse—infinitely worse—was the ache.
The deep, primal, aching hunger in his chest that never went away. His wolf was becoming more possessive, more demanding, more desperate to claim her.
It was driving him insane.
The single-drop dose of Madame Lucy’s sedative wasn’t cutting it anymore. By the fourth night, he’d upped it to three.
The vial was half gone now.
He felt dulled when he took it, distant from his wolf like he’d been placed in a soundproof cage—but it gave him just enough space to breathe. To not throw Rory against the nearest wall and lose control.
And now, sitting in class Monday morning, listening to Ms. Carter drone on about Shakespeare, Nathan wasn’t thinking about iambic pentameter.
He was thinking about Rory’s lips.
Her breathless gasps.
Her thighs.
God, her thighs.
He sat up straight and exhaled slowly, trying to will the tension away from his body. His jeans were too tight for these kinds of thoughts.
To make things worse, the school was now buzzing about prom.
Posters were everywhere. Streamers, banners, whispers, and stupid announcements over the PA. Rory didn’t seem interested, and Peter was already practically planning their outfits. Nathan just wanted to survive the week without losing his mind.
Prom meant dancing.
Close proximity.
Suits and dresses and skin.
And Rory—looking like temptation wrapped in silk.
He rubbed his eyes with both hands. This was hell. Mate bond hell.
“Nathan?” Ms. Carter called out from the front of the classroom.
He looked up, startled.
“Would you care to read Romeo’s lines from Act II?”
Nathan blinked. He had no idea what page they were on.
Peter snorted beside him and whispered the page number under his breath.
Nathan opened the book, found the line, and tried not to picture Rory while reading a literal love confession.
He failed miserably.
By lunch, his head was pounding.
He sat down at their usual table outside, slouched with his tray full of food—though even he wasn’t as hungry as usual.
Peter raised an eyebrow. “You look like death.”
“Feel like it too,” Nathan muttered.
“Another wet dream?” Peter teased with a bite of his salad.
Nathan didn’t answer.
That was the answer.
Rory showed up moments later in a flowy dark t-shirt and high-waisted jeans, her long hair down in soft waves. She smiled as she sat, her tray in hand, and Nathan felt his heart skip, then thud hard in his chest.
He barely heard her say hi.
His wolf paced.
Three drops. Three, and he still felt like he could barely hold it together.
He forced a smile and nodded. “Hey.”
Her scent hit him like a wave—sweet vanilla and lavender. He shifted in his seat, jaw tense, willing himself not to stare at her lips as she talked.
Peter did most of the chatting. Rory joined in. Nathan picked at his burger like it was cardboard.
He was drowning in the bond.
And worst of all… he wanted to drown.
---
From the far end of the courtyard, perched on the edge of a stone planter with a perfectly manicured leg crossed over the other, Skylar watched with narrowed eyes as Nathan laughed at something the new girl said.
His entire face lit up. A rare, real smile.
The kind he never gave her.
Her jaw clenched, lips pursing around her iced coffee straw as the sun reflected off her oversized designer sunglasses.
“Seriously?” Skylar muttered under her breath.
Beside her, one of her squad girls, Bianca—tiny, tan, and always too eager to please—glanced over and smirked. “You mean her? That’s the new girl you said Nathan keeps talking to?”
Skylar didn’t answer right away. She was too busy sizing up the dark-haired girl sitting at the table with Nathan and Peter.
Rory Rodriguez.
The girl from Texas. The one with the tattoos and the attitude. The one who showed up in ripped jeans and eyeliner and didn’t give a damn what anyone thought. She didn’t hang out with the cheerleaders or care about getting on Skylar’s good side. She wasn’t desperate for approval like everyone else.
And that made her dangerous.
Skylar’s dark eyes flicked down Rory’s figure.
Legs. Tight jeans. A full chest barely hidden beneath that soft black tee. Tattoos curled up her neck, and she had that sexy, undone look—like she rolled out of bed and still managed to look like a badass cover model.
Nathan’s type, apparently.
Skylar hated that she knew that.
“I mean, yeah, she’s kind of pretty,” Bianca said cautiously. “But like, in a rough, trailer park kind of way.”
Skylar didn’t laugh.
She just kept watching.
Watching as Nathan leaned in a little closer to Rory. Watching as Rory flipped her hair off her shoulder and smirked at something Peter said. Watching as her boyfriend—well, off-and-on boyfriend—completely forgot she existed.
Again.
Skylar crushed the empty cup in her hand.
“She’s trying to get his attention,” she said flatly. “And it’s working.”
Bianca looked nervous. “You want me to say something? I could go over there, maybe—”
“No.” Skylar stood slowly, fixing her sunglasses. “She wants attention. Let her have it… for now.”
Bianca tilted her head. “So what, you’re just gonna let her get away with it?”
Skylar glanced down at her reflection in her phone screen, adjusting a strand of her platinum blonde hair.
“No, B. I’m going to teach her what happens when little emo girls play in my world.”
Bianca’s eyes widened. “You mean—?”
Skylar’s smile was small, venomous. “She thinks she’s tough? Let’s see how tough she is when I’m done with her.”
She looked back toward the table one last time.
Nathan was laughing again, eyes on Rory like she was the only person that existed.
And that was all Skylar needed to see.
Game on.
---
The last bell of the day rang like a gunshot, signaling freedom across the courtyard. Students flooded out, spilling toward buses, parking lots, and sidewalks with chatter and laughter.
Nathan hadn’t said much on the ride home, too busy battling the dull ache building in his chest—the same one that started every time Rory got too close. Or smiled at him. Or even said his name.
The mate bond was tightening like a noose.
Even with the stronger dose of Madame Lucy’s vile liquid burning through his system, it wasn’t enough to dull the dreams. His head throbbed, his body ached, and all he wanted to do was collapse face-first into the couch.
Which he did.
Peter closed the door behind them, kicked off his shoes, and barely had time to crack open a soda before Nathan groaned something unintelligible into the couch cushions.
Peter popped the tab, took a sip, and eyed his best friend warily. “Don’t get too comfortable.”
Nathan’s muffled voice responded, “Why?”
Peter paused, squinting. “Because Rory’s coming over in like… twenty minutes.”
Nathan’s head shot up. “What?”
Peter shrugged with mock innocence. “We have that psych exam tomorrow. You remember that class you haven’t shown up to in three weeks?” He took another sip. “Well, I need help studying.”
Nathan groaned, sitting up and dragging a hand down his face. “Dude, really?”
Peter dropped onto the armchair across from him, smirking. “Yes, really. I’m not letting Professor Barlow tank my GPA just because someone keeps distracting me with full-moon howling and body-spray drama.”
“I didn’t ask her to come over,” Nathan muttered.
“No, but I did.” Peter raised an eyebrow. “Unless you wanna tutor me in abnormal psych. And don’t say no, because I already promised her there’d be snacks.”
Nathan leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes.
He felt his heartbeat spike just at the thought of Rory walking through that door. Of her scent—vanilla and lavender—filling the air. Of how every time she got near, his wolf clawed against his insides like a caged beast demanding to be let out.
“You know this is cruel, right?” he grumbled.
Peter grinned. “You’ll live.”
Nathan cracked one eye open, glaring at him. “Barely.”
Peter rolled his eyes, grabbed a bag of chips from the kitchen, and tossed it at him. “Chill out. You’re not gonna shift and imprint on her just because she sits next to you on the couch.”
Nathan caught the chips, scowling. “Wanna bet?”
“Hey,” Peter said, voice suddenly serious. “I told you—I got your back. If it gets bad, I’ll... I don’t know. Throw holy water at you. Hit you with a silver spoon. Something.”
Nathan gave a tired half-laugh. “That’s not how this works.”
“Well, we’re figuring it out. Together.”
There was a knock at the door.
Nathan sat up straighter instinctively, the pulse in his neck jumping.
Peter glanced toward the hallway. “Guess that’s her.”
Nathan stood, wiped his palms on his jeans, and muttered under his breath, “God help me.”
Peter patted his back and walked to the door. “He won’t. But I will.”
The door creaked open—and the scent hit Nathan instantly.
He bit back a growl as Rory stepped into the room, a small smile on her face, holding a worn psych textbook against her chest.
“Hey,” she said softly. “Hope I’m not too early.”
Nathan tried to smile. Tried to speak. But all that came out was a low, rasped, “Hey.”
Peter smirked behind her.
This was going to be one hell of a study session.
- Writer
