The Last Moonshine

Episode6

The classroom smelled like dry paper, artificial plant, and something else. Something warm and wild that made my pulse flutter. Usually, the familiar scent of old textbooks grounded me. Today, it felt like a cage.

I stared down at my open notebook, the ink-drawn margins blurred into black lines. The lesson had ended twenty minutes ago. The other students had shuffled out, their laughter echoing down the hallway, but I couldn't bring myself to stand up.

Because he was still standing at the front desk.

Mr. Donatello.

He was leaning over a stack of papers, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong, corded forearms dusted with dark hair. Even in a relaxed posture, he radiated a coiled, athletic power that didn't fit a substitute history teacher.

And then there was the smell.

It was faint, but every time he moved, a trail of pine, rain, and warm cedar drifted through the aisles. My nose twitched involuntarily. It made my pulse flutter—not with fear, but with a strange, frantic hum beneath my skin.

What is wrong with you, Brienne? I scolded myself, pressing my palm against my collarbone. Beneath my shirt, the silver crescent locket felt unnaturally warm against my skin.

I sucked in a soft breath, trying to collect my thoughts, but the subtle sound was enough.

Mr. Donatello lifted his head.

His eyes locked directly onto mine. They were a striking, stormy grey, so sharp they felt like a physical touch. For a second, the breath caught squarely in my throat. The air in the room suddenly felt thin, charged with a static friction that made the tiny hairs on my arms stand up.

He didn't look like a teacher looking at a student. He looked like... a predator who had just spotted something in the high grass.

"Still here, Miss Cole?" his deep baritone rumbled across the quiet room.

I flinched, my cheeks flushing hot. I quickly shoved my notebook into my backpack. "I—yeah. Just gathering my things."

He set his pen down and stepped around the desk. His movements were fluid, impossibly quiet for a man his size. As he walked toward my table, my heart slammed against my ribs like a trapped bird.

I should have felt nervous. I should have felt uncomfortable. But as he stopped a few feet away, leaning casually against the edge of my table, all I felt was an overwhelming, terrifying curiosity.

Who was he?

He had only been in Millbrook for a few weeks, yet he moved through our small town like he owned every shadow in it. I'd seen him in the hallways, always composed, always watching. But whenever his gaze landed on me, that cool facade cracked just enough to reveal something fierce and intense underneath.

"You were distracted during the lecture today," he said smoothly, his grey eyes searching my face.

"I was just... thinking," I mumbled, pulling my backpack strap over my shoulder.

"About the assignment?"

"About why you're here," the words slipped out before I could stop them.

My eyes widened in horror at my own mouth. I snapped my lips shut, heat burning all the way to the tips of my ears.

Instead of getting annoyed, a slow, dangerous smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. It transformed his sharp features, making him look devastatingly handsome.

"Are you asking about my credentials, Brienne?" he asked softly. Hearing him say my first name sent a shiver straight down my spine.

"No," I whispered, holding his gaze despite every instinct telling me to look away. "It's just... Millbrook is a small town. Nothing happens here. People don't just move here to substitute teach."

Vincent tilted his head, his eyes darkening. He took a single step closer. The scent of pine and rain flooded my senses, so overwhelming it made my knees feel weak.

"Maybe I came looking for something," he said, his voice dropping to a low, hypnotic murmur.

"Did you find it?"

The air between us pulled tight, like an elastic band stretched to its absolute limit. I could hear the rapid thud of my own heartbeat, but beneath it, I could swear I heard another rhythm—faster, heavier, echoing his.

Vincent's eyes dropped to my lips for a fraction of a second before flashing back to mine. A strange, metallic warmth flared in my chest, fanning out toward my fingertips. It felt like an invitation. An electric current connecting us through the dark wood of the desk between us.

"I think," Vincent said quietly, his gaze piercing right through me, "I'm closer than I've ever been."

My breath hitched. My hand flew to the locket at my neck, my fingers tightening around the cold metal. Something inside me screamed that I was standing on the edge of a cliff, and this man was the wind pushing me toward the fall.

I couldn't handle it. The intensity, the heat, the sheer weight of his presence was too much.

"I... I have to go," I blurted out.

I grabbed my bag, practically knocked my chair back, and hurried toward the exit.

"Brienne," he called out.

I stopped at the threshold, my hand resting on the cold metal door handle. I didn't turn around—I didn't dare to.

"Be careful going home," Vincent said, his tone shifting from smooth flirtation to something heavy and protective. "The woods around Millbrook aren't as quiet as they seem."

I swallowed hard, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my throat. I didn't answer. I threw the door open and bolted down the hallway, the lingering scent of cedar and pine following me all the way out into the crisp evening air.