Fated to a Human

Chapter 18

The giant kitchen table looked like it belonged in a castle more than a beach house. Peter and Rory sat across from one another, books and notebooks spread out between them like a battlefield of knowledge. Rory’s posture was relaxed, head tilted slightly as she read aloud from their psych textbook, effortlessly recalling terms, dates, and theories.

Peter, on the other hand, looked like he’d aged ten years in the last hour.

"Wait, wait—attachment theory is about... like baby monkeys?" he asked, flipping back a page in a panic.

Rory giggled. “Kinda. It’s about early bonding and emotional development. But yeah, Harlow’s monkey experiments are part of it.”

Peter groaned and dropped his forehead onto the table with a soft thump.

Nathan leaned in the doorway, crunching on chips, arms folded over his chest as he watched them. His gaze drifted to Rory—her effortless intelligence, the way she explained complex ideas like it was nothing. She was smart. Really smart. And when she smiled, it wasn’t just cute—it lit something in his chest that made his wolf stir.

She was everything he hadn’t expected… and everything he couldn’t stop thinking about.

“Maybe it’s time for a break,” Rory said, rubbing Peter’s hair gently.

Peter perked up instantly. “Weed break?”

Rory blinked. “Is that an official academic strategy?”

Peter was already halfway out of his seat. “It is now.”

Nathan rolled his eyes but pushed off the wall, following them toward the guest house. The sun had dipped lower by then, casting a warm orange glow across the lawn as they crossed the property.

Inside Nathan’s room, Rory wandered in like she owned the place. Her eyes scanned his posters, the bookshelf, the black bedding and dark walls.

“Pretty normal for a football jock,” she said, sounding almost impressed.

Before Nathan could offer a witty comeback, she jumped onto the bed, bouncing once before sprawling out on her back with a satisfied sigh.

His jaw tightened. For a second, a flash of those dreams hit him hard—her, naked, in that exact same position. He felt heat crawl up his spine and quickly dropped to the floor at the foot of the bed, leaning against it to cool off.

Rory rolled onto her stomach and crawled closer, her chin resting on top of his head.

Peter kicked the door shut and sat down at Nathan’s desk, already working a joint with practiced ease. “Okay, welcome to Peter’s Therapy Session. We medicate with nature’s finest.”

Once the joint was lit, they passed it around—Peter first, then Rory, then Nathan, who hesitated before taking a slow drag. His nerves were on edge enough as it was.

After a few hits, the mood lightened. The tension in Nathan’s shoulders eased a little as they all laughed about school, dumb teachers, and weird classmates.

Then Peter leaned back and asked, “Okay Rory, most embarrassing moment of your life. Go.”

Rory took the joint, inhaled, held it—then passed it to Nathan just as she said, “Probably the first time I had sex.”

Nathan choked mid-hit, coughing into his arm.

Peter nearly choked too—on laughter. “Girl! You can’t just drop that like a casual bomb!”

Rory laughed, her cheeks pink. “You asked!”

Peter waggled his brows. “Oh, now you have to tell us everything. Spill.”

“I was sixteen,” Rory said, rolling her eyes. “He was this guy I used to hang out with, and we snuck into some farmer’s barn.”

“Oh my God,” Peter leaned forward. “Go on.”

“It was awkward,” she admitted, burying her face in Nathan’s comforter for a second. “He... couldn’t figure things out, and we were on dry hay. Scratchy, itchy, hay. And it was over in like, two seconds.”

Nathan snorted, half-laughing through his nose.

“And the worst part,” she added with a dramatic sigh, “is that no guy since has been much better. It’s like... I attract bad sex.”

Peter dropped his head onto the desk, laughing so hard he wheezed. “You poor, sweet, broken thing.”

Rory threw a pillow at him.

Peter sat back up, eyes twinkling. “This explains so much.”

Rory raised a suspicious brow. “What the f**k is that supposed to mean?”

Peter held up his hands. “I’m just saying... your whole mysterious, sarcastic, baddie, borderline-scary thing? It’s giving repressed s****l rage. You need a real man who can f**k your brains out, who can go all night, someone with a ridiculous amount of stamina and a big dick."

Rory snorted, "Well let me know if you find him."

Peter smirked and looked at Nathan he started to say something.

Nathan suddenly stood up. “Okay! I’m starving. Anyone else hungry?”

Peter blinked. “Way to dodge the convo, dude.”

Rory stretched lazily on the bed, grinning at Nathan. “I could eat.”

Nathan practically bolted for the door. “Great. Let’s get food. Right now.”

Peter chuckled under his breath. “Can’t wait to see him not lose his mind during dinner.”

The smell of buttery popcorn and grilled cheese filled the main house as the trio gathered in the living room. Peter balanced a giant, overly-buttered bucket of popcorn on his lap like it was a sacred treasure, while Rory sat on the couch next to Nathan, her knees tucked up casually, their arms nearly touching.

Nathan tried not to think too hard about the warmth radiating off her.

The movie they'd landed on was a horror flick—one of those low-budget werewolf movies with terrible CGI and actors who screamed too much. Peter had insisted on it for laughs, Rory looked mildly amused from the start.

As the opening scene played—dark woods, full moon, a clueless teenager walking into obvious danger—Peter was already making sarcastic commentary.

“Oh, yes, girl, totally go into the creepy shed alone. That’s always smart,” he muttered, shoving popcorn into his mouth.

Rory giggled. “Why do they always walk toward the noise? I’d be sprinting the other way.”

Nathan smirked but stayed quiet. His bright blue eyes stayed on the screen, watching the awkward, snarling creature appear. The werewolf in the movie was some hybrid beast—gray fur, grotesque fangs, hunched over with claws the size of steak knives.

Nathan almost laughed.

Humans always imagined werewolves as mindless monsters—either snarling, savage beasts, or tortured souls chained in basements. Or, sometimes, shirtless boy band members who fell in love with babies.

Honestly, Twilight was more accurate than this.

He glanced over at Rory. She was focused on the movie, clutching a throw pillow against her stomach. Her arm barely grazed his, but the contact was enough to make his heart thud a little harder.

Then came that scene.

A loud shriek blasted from the speakers as the werewolf launched through a window, dragging someone off-screen in a splatter of fake blood. The sudden burst of noise and gore made Rory jump with a small gasp—and without thinking, her hand latched onto Nathan’s arm.

Nathan froze.

Her fingers curled tightly around his bicep, and her body leaned closer, like instinct had chosen him as her shield. She didn’t even look at him—her eyes were still locked on the screen, wide and focused, but her head slowly came to rest against his shoulder.

Nathan didn’t move.

Didn’t breathe.

His muscles locked like stone under her touch, every nerve in his body hyper-aware of the girl curled beside him. Her scent was soft and it seeped into him, stoking the fire he was already trying to smother.

He inhaled slowly through his nose.

Three drops wasn’t enough.

Peter looked over and saw the position they’d slid into. He raised a brow, but wisely didn’t say a word. Instead, he tilted the popcorn toward them and whispered, “Anyone want more heart attack in a bowl?”

Rory let out a nervous laugh and shook her head. “No thanks. I think I’m good.”

Nathan cleared his throat. “I’m good too.”

She still hadn’t let go of his arm.

He could feel the gentle rise and fall of her breathing, how her body relaxed a little more with each passing minute. The movie kept playing, but Nathan wasn’t watching it anymore. Not really.

He was focused on her. The way she fit so naturally beside him. How right it felt. The way his wolf growled quietly, hungrily, just beneath the surface—desperate to mark her, claim her, pull her into his lap and—

No.

He shifted slightly, just enough to take the pressure off his building tension, but not enough to disturb her.

“Sorry,” Rory said softly after a while pulling away slightly realizing what she did, her voice barely audible. “I didn’t mean to cling to you like that. I just... got startled.”

Nathan shook his head, voice low. “No, it’s okay.”

Their eyes met briefly, and something passed between them—something quiet but heavy, like a silent promise neither of them could explain yet.

Peter coughed loudly from his chair. “Okay, I know this is a horror movie, but I’m starting to feel like the third wheel in a slow-burn romance novel.”

Rory chuckled and fully pulled away from Nathan, grabbing a handful of popcorn and tossing a piece at Peter.

Nathan just smiled, leaning back, trying to ignore the burn still tingling under his skin.

One more dream like the last few, and I’m gonna lose it.