"Two days of detention," I muttered, kicking a crushed soda can across the courtyard.
"A minor penalty for redecorating Mr. Harrison's classroom," Scotty replied, easily keeping pace with my aggressive strides.
"Walk away from me, Mercer."
"We're heading to the same place, Thorne."
He was right. He was always right, and it infuriated me. For three years, I had tried everything to sever the invisible cord tying us together. I begged the guidance counselor to change my electives. I requested different lab partners. I even joined the debate team just to avoid his free period.
The universe simply laughed. We ended up in the same homeroom, the same advanced biology track, and the same gym block. The teachers treated us like a matched set. Our parents acted like our constant proximity was destiny.
"I'm going to the locker room," I told him, stopping at the fork in the concrete path. "Alone."
"See you on the mats," he smirked, turning toward the boys' gym.
Ten minutes later, Coach Miller blew his whistle. The shrill sound bounced off the cinderblock walls of the training center.
"Thorne. Mercer. Center ring," the coach barked.
I groaned, tightening my ponytail. "Why do I always have to spar with the giant?"
"Because I'm the only one who won't snap your collarbone, Cami," Scotty said. He stepped onto the blue foam, his towering frame casting a shadow over my side of the mat.
"Do not call me Cami."
I lunged. I swung my right hook, aiming directly for his jaw. He didn't bother blocking. He merely shifted his weight to the left, letting my momentum carry me forward.
My shoulder slammed into his chest. A ridiculous, scorching heat flared across my skin the second we made contact. My heart hammered against my ribs like a trapped bird.
Allergic reaction, I told myself, stepping back quickly. I am physically allergic to his ego.
"Your footwork is sloppy," he murmured, his voice a low rumble.
"Shut up and fight."
I kicked out, aiming for his knee. He caught my ankle mid-air. With a swift tug, he pulled my leg forward, sweeping my other foot out from under me.
I fell hard. But right before my spine hit the floor, his hand shot out. He grabbed the fabric at the back of my shirt, taking the brunt of my weight. He always did that. He crushed my pride in front of the entire class, yet somehow, I never walked away with a single bruise.
"Get up, Thorne," he ordered, dropping his hold on my shirt.
"I despise you," I snapped, scrambling to my feet.
"Keep your guard higher next time. You leave your left side wide open."
By fourth period, my exhaustion peaked. Study hall sat in the back of the library, supervised by Mr. Davis, a man who gave out detentions for loud breathing.
Scotty sat across the wooden table from me. He tapped his pencil against the edge. Tap. Tap. Tap.
"Stop it," I whispered, glaring over the top of my history textbook.
"Stop what?" Tap. Tap.
"You are doing that on purpose to ruin my life."
"I'm thinking about calculus."
"Think quieter."
My eyelids felt like lead weights. The adrenaline crash from flipping a desk earlier that morning finally hit my system. I rested my chin on my palm. Just for a second. I told myself I wouldn't close my eyes.
When I woke up, the library clock showed forty minutes had passed. Panic spiked in my chest. Mr. Davis prowled the aisles, hunting for sleepers.
I bolted upright, but the teacher couldn't see me. Scotty had moved his chair to the center of the table. He had propped open a massive, oversized world atlas, creating a perfect wall between Mr. Davis's line of sight and my face.
"You drool when you sleep," Scotty whispered, flipping a page in his notebook without looking at me.
I wiped my mouth. Bone dry. "Liar."
"You're welcome for the cover."
"I didn't ask for your help."
"Good, because you owe me for the biology project." He slid a thick stack of stapled papers across the table.
I stared at the completed assignment. "We were supposed to do this together on Thursday."
"You would have slowed me down." He leaned back, crossing his arms. "You mislabeled the entire cellular structure on page three. I fixed it."
"I am not stupid, Scotty."
"Never said you were. Just said you suck at biology."
Before I could throw the stapled packet at his head, a giggling sound drifted over. Three girls from the cheer squad stopped at our table. The leader, a blonde named Chloe, leaned over Scotty’s chair, invading his personal space.
"Hey, Scotty," Chloe purred, batting her eyelashes. "We're throwing a bonfire pack-party this weekend. You should come."
Scotty glanced at her, his expression unreadable. "Maybe."
"I can save you a seat by the fire," she offered, twirling a strand of hair around her finger. She reached out, resting her hand on his shoulder.
A sharp knot pulled tight in my gut. The heat under my skin flared again, but this time it wasn't an allergy. It was pure, unadulterated irritation. Why did they always flock to him? He was arrogant, insufferable, and impossible to deal with.
"He hates bonfires," I blurted out.
Chloe blinked, noticing me for the first time. "Excuse me?"
"Smoke gets in his eyes. He cries like a baby," I lied, keeping my expression entirely flat.
Scotty let out a sharp bark of laughter. He didn't correct me.
Chloe frowned, her cheeks flushing an angry red. She pulled her hand off his shoulder. "Whatever. See you around, Scotty."
She marched off with her friends in tow.
"Jealous, Thorne?" Scotty asked, a smug grin spreading across his face.
"I was saving her from your terrible personality."
"Right." He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on the table. The teasing vanished from his eyes, replaced by an intense, heavy stare that made my throat go dry. "You just can't stand anyone else having my attention."
"I want absolutely none of your attention."
"Then why are you staring at my lips?"
I snapped my gaze up to his eyes. "I wasn't."
"You're a terrible liar." The bell rang overhead, shattering the tension. Scotty stood up, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. "Old gym. Ten minutes. Don't be late."
He walked away before I could argue.
I shoved my books into my bag. My hands shook slightly. I gripped the strap of my backpack, grinding my teeth together. He knew something about my wolf. He knew why I hadn't shifted.
The old gym sat at the far edge of the campus, abandoned since the new athletic center opened three years ago. Rust coated the metal doors. Overgrown weeds choked the concrete steps.
I pushed the heavy door open. The rusted hinges groaned loudly.
Inside, the air smelled like dust and old floorboards. Shadows stretched across the empty basketball court, cast by the late afternoon sun filtering through dirty upper windows.
Scotty stood in the center circle, waiting.
"You actually came," he called out, his voice echoing in the cavernous space.
"Tell me what you know," I demanded, marching straight toward him.
"Impatient."
"Tell me why my wolf won't shift, Scotty. Now."
He closed the distance between us in three long strides. He stopped mere inches from me. I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. The playful arrogance was completely gone, leaving something sharp and dangerous in its place.
"Your wolf isn't dormant, Camille," he said quietly, his eyes darkening to pitch black. "She's hiding."
"From what?"
He reached out, his fingers brushing against my collarbone. A jolt of electricity sparked where his skin met mine.
"From me," he answered.
