Moonbound

The first day of the fall semester smelled like sharpened pencils and rain-soaked pavement. Elena Mireaux tucked a curl behind her ear and slid into her seat in the lecture hall, her psychology textbooks stacked neatly beside her. Business Administration 302—an elective she’d chosen on a whim, something to round out her degree. She hadn’t expected him. A prickle of awareness skated up her spine before she even turned around. Heat. Weight. A presence that made the air thicken. Slowly, she glanced over her shoulder. And there he was. Dark eyes, sharp jaw, shoulders that looked like they could carry the weight of the world. He sat sprawled in his seat, all coiled tension and quiet intensity, his fingers drumming absently on his thigh. A shifter. She knew it the second her magic prickled in response—her empathic senses flaring like a struck match. His nostrils flared. He smells me too. Their eyes locked. For a heartbeat, neither of them moved. Then his gaze dropped to her lips, just for a second, before he leaned back in his chair, jaw tightening like he was biting back a growl. Elena turned back around, her pulse thundering. Bad idea. Very bad idea. Witches didn’t mix with wolves. Not like this. But the moon was waxing, and fate had never been kind enough to listen to warnings. Three Weeks Later They still hadn’t spoken. Every Tuesday and Thursday, Elena sat two rows ahead of him, hyper-aware of his presence like a brand against her skin. Every class, she caught him watching her—when he thought she wasn’t looking. Every lecture, she pretended not to notice the way his scent curled around her, earthy and wild, making her magic hum in response. Then, one rainy afternoon, he broke the silence. She was packing up her bag when his shadow fell over her desk. “You feel it too.” His voice was rough, low—not a question, but a statement. Elena stilled. Slowly, she looked up. Up close, he was even more overwhelming. Broad shoulders, a scar cutting through one eyebrow, and eyes so dark she could drown in them. She swallowed. “Feel what?” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “Don’t play games, witch.” Her breath caught. He knows. She should’ve denied it. Should’ve walked away. But something in his gaze—raw, honest, unflinching—made her answer. “Yes,” she admitted. “I feel it.” He exhaled sharply, like he’d been holding his breath. “What is it?” She hesitated. “I don’t know.” A beat of silence. Then, to her surprise, he held out a hand. “Lucian.” She stared at it for a second before slipping her fingers into his. The second they touched, warmth shot up her arm, her magic surging in recognition. “Elena,” she whispered. His grip tightened, just for a second. Then he let go. “You walk alone after class?” She arched a brow. “Why? You offering to escort me?” His lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close. “Yeah.” And just like that, the wall between them cracked open. The First Step They started meeting after lectures. Twice a week, they’d sit on a bench near the humanities building, talking about nothing and everything. He wasn’t warm, wasn’t sweet—but he was real. Blunt in a way that should’ve been abrasive but instead felt refreshing. “You’re staring,” he muttered one day, not looking up from the protein bar he was unwrapping. Elena smirked. “You’re brooding.” “Not brooding. Thinking.” “About?” He finally met her eyes. “You.” Her stomach flipped. She liked him. More than she should. More than was safe. So when the junior class Halloween party rolled around, she didn’t even hesitate before asking him. “You should come with me.” Lucian stilled. “To a party?” “Yeah. Off-campus. Lots of loud music, cheap beer, and people pretending they’re not failing midterms.” He eyed her. “You don’t seem like the party type.” “I’m not. But my roommate’s dragging me, and I’d rather not go alone.” She paused. “Unless you’re scared of a little noise, shifter.” His eyes flashed gold—just for a second. Then he leaned in, close enough that his breath brushed her ear. “You keep teasing me, witch. One day, I’ll bite back.” Her heart stuttered. I hope you do.