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1430 Words
The biting fall night air hit my face the second I got out of the hall, but the heat on my cheeks and the ache in my chest burned way worse.
The tears I'd been holding back finally broke free as I rushed down the empty corridor. My feet carried me on instinct to the one place I felt safe: the basement archive room. I pushed open the heavy door, sank into a chair behind the big desk, pulled my knees to my chest, and let the sobs tear out of me.
"So this is where our best photojournalist hides when the wolves come out."
A low, velvet-smooth voice cut through the darkness. I jolted, wiping my face frantically. I didn't even need to look up to know who it was.
Even after only a week here, there was no way not to know that voice. He was the Chairman of the Student Senate, the name printed at the top of every welcome banner during orientation week, the one who'd stood on that stage and given a speech so composed it made half the auditorium fall a little in love with him on the spot.
Every girl in my dorm had a story about him, some class he'd guest-lectured, some charity gala his family's name had been engraved on, some rumor about which company his father owned.
He was the campus's crown prince — most respected, most brilliant, the one professors spoke about with something close to pride. You didn't have to have met Darren Oclanov to know exactly who he was. Everyone did.
He leaned against the doorframe, looking unfairly perfect in an ivory knit shirt that hugged his broad shoulders. His emerald eyes softened as he stepped closer and set a steaming cup of hot chocolate in front of me. He didn't take the chair across from me, just crouched down so we were eye level.
"You don't have to tell me," he said quietly. "But I'm not leaving until you drink at least half of that."
I let out a wet, pathetic laugh and wrapped both hands around the cup. "It's nothing. Just a bad day."
"Vance again?" His voice stayed even, no judgment in it, just quiet certainty, like he already knew the answer before I gave it.
When I didn't say anything, his jaw tightened for the briefest second before it smoothed back into that easy calm. "You know you can report him. Officially. I'd back you up."
"It wouldn't change anything," I said. "Guys like him don't get touched here."
"Maybe not by other people." He reached over. "But you don't have to deal with it alone every time. That's all I'm saying."
I nodded, throat too tight to answer.
"Go eat something," he said eventually, standing and offering me a hand up. "You look like you're about to fall over." He paused at the door, glancing back with the ghost of a smile.
"You don't owe anyone an explanation for surviving today. Not even me."
He was gone before I could answer, his footsteps fading down the corridor. I sat there a while longer, turning his words over, letting the warmth of the chocolate loosen something tight behind my ribs.
Forty minutes later, I finally forced myself up and headed for the nearly empty cafeteria, tray in hand, soup and toast balanced carefully.
I'd barely set the tray down when that scent slammed into me like a storm front, rich, cold, masculine, and dangerously addictive. My pulse spiked. My thighs clenched involuntarily.
I hated this — hated how something low in my chest recognized him before my mind even caught up, how some invisible thread neither of us had asked for seemed to stitch my nerves straight to his, gasoline waiting on a match.
Kaelen Vance was cruelty wrapped in muscle. He'd humiliated me, mocked me, gone out of his way to make my life miserable since the day I arrived.
I despised him with everything in me. But whatever bond ran between an omega and an alpha didn't care what my mind wanted. It only cared about him, and it never asked my permission before lighting me up like this.
I clenched my jaw, furious at him and disgusted with myself in equal measure, for a body that kept betraying me every single time he walked into a room.
Before I could turn, a hard shoulder rammed into mine with deliberate force.
The tray jerked. Hot soup spilled across my front, soaking the white knit sweater that had once belonged to my mother. The burn was immediate, but it was nothing compared to the heat that flooded me when Kaelen's voice rumbled right behind my ear.
"Oops. Didn't see you there, Miller. Thought it was just an empty table."
I spun around, breathing hard. He towered over me in his Wolves jersey, the captain's C stitched proudly over his heart, number 09 stretched across his chest.
Without thinking, I grabbed the half-full bowl and hurled the rest of the soup straight at him. It splattered across his jersey, darkening the fabric over his abs.
"You b***h," he snarled, but his voice had gone rough, lower.
His hand shot out and locked around my upper arm, fingers burning through my sleeve, the grip was possessive, almost bruising, yet his thumb unconsciously stroked once over my skin, as if he couldn't help himself.
"Fair trade, Vance," I hissed, stepping closer instead of pulling away. Our bodies were nearly flush now.
"You ruined the only thing I had left from her. So I ruined your precious jersey. How does it feel?"
His nostrils flared. He could smell me. I knew he could. My anger, my hurt... and the traitorous slick of unwanted arousal that always seemed to betray me around him.
I wanted to disappear on the spot, knowing exactly what that scent was telling him, knowing there was nothing I could do to hide it.
I hated him for making me feel this, and I hated my own body even more for not caring that I hated him. His scent deepened, thickening the air between us until it felt like I was drowning in pine and frost and raw alpha.
Kaelen's other hand came up, hovering like he wanted to slap me, but his fingers curled into a fist instead. His gaze dropped to my mouth, then lower, to where the wet sweater clung to my breasts. His pupils dilated.
"Slap me," I challenged, voice shaking. "Go on. Show everyone what a big, strong alpha you are, hitting a girl who's half your size."
His laugh was dark and ragged. "You'd like that, wouldn't you? My hands on you." He stepped forward, forcing me back until my hips hit the table edge.
"You've got some f*****g nerve, Miller. After everything, you still smell like you want me to pin you down right here."
Heat flooded my face. "I hate you."
"Yeah?" His mouth hovered inches from mine, breath hot against my lips. "Then why is your heart racing like a scared little rabbit, omega? Why are your pupils blown wide?" His hand slid from my arm to my waist, gripping hard enough to make me gasp.
The touch was angry, but his fingers flexed like he was fighting the urge to pull me closer.
I shoved at his chest, but my palms lingered against the hard muscle, feeling the rapid thud of his heart. "Get off me, Vance."
"Make me." His voice dropped to a growl that vibrated straight between my legs.
He tilted the large iced coffee he was holding, pouring it slowly over my head. The cold shock made me suck in a sharp breath. Kaelen's eyes followed every drop that ran down my neck and between my breasts like he wanted to chase it with his tongue.
"You don't belong here," he said coldly.
I should have slapped him. Instead, my fingers curled into his ruined jersey, twisting the wet fabric.
"Neither do you," I whispered fiercely. "Not when you're this hard just from hurting me."
"Keep pushing me, Maya," he breathed, voice pure sin and warning. "One day I won't stop at ruining your clothes. I'll ruin you."
Then he released me abruptly, stepping back with that arrogant smirk firmly back in place, even as his chest heaved and his fists stayed clenched at his sides.
"Get the f**k out of my cafeteria before I drag you out myself."
I stood there dripping, trembling with rage and a need I refused to name, while his teammates stared in stunned silence.
- Writer
