Claude's POV.
The door barely clicks shut behind me before Anastasia's hands are on me.
It's been less than ten minutes since we slipped into the hidden room near the library, the one students pretend they don't know about, and she's already kissing me like she's been starved for days.
Her lips trail down my jaw, her fingers locking in my shirt, pulling me closer, demanding.
Normally, I'd respond instantly.
Normally, I'd lift her onto the desk and make her forget her own name.
But tonight...
Tonight my blood is boiling for a different reason.
"Claude," she breathes against my neck, lips warm, needy. "You're tense."
I don't answer. I can't. My mind is miles away, still back on the field, replaying the moment I wish I could erase.
Elara.
Standing there in that ridiculous scrap of a skirt.
Looking small. Unprepared. Entirely too visible.
And the damn Veyron triplets, especially Cassian, looking at her like she was something carved for their hands alone.
I grind my teeth.
Cassian's gaze wasn't casual. It wasn't friendly or curious.
It was hungry.
I felt it before I saw it, that shift in the air, the flare of his aura, the way his eyes dipped slowly down my sister's legs and up again, lazy, possessive, like he already knew how she tasted.
A growl builds in my throat at the memory.
Anastasia kisses me harder, sliding her arms around my neck. "Claude... talk to me."
But I can't talk. Because if I open my mouth, I'll say the truth:
Cassian Veyron looked at my sister like she was marked.
And no one, absolutely no one, should look at her like that.
Least of all him.
Anastasia presses against me, chest to chest, heat rolling off her in waves. She's breathing faster now, little uneven puffs, her skin flushed.
I finally look down, and she's already unbuttoning the top of her blouse with trembling fingers.
"Anastasia," I say sharply, catching her wrists.
She freezes.
Her eyes lift to mine, dark, unfocused. There's a glitter in them tonight, a feverish spark that wasn't there earlier. Her pulse flutters where I'm holding her.
Something is wrong.
Something is... off.
And I know exactly what it is.
I smelled it the moment she touched me.
But I'm not ready to deal with that too.
"Not tonight," I mutter.
She stiffens, hurt flashing across her face. "You're pushing me away?"
"It's not that."
"Then what?" She steps closer again, almost desperate. "You can't stand here with your jaw clenched and pretend you don't want me."
"It's not about wanting," I say quietly. "You're... not thinking straight."
Her breath shudders. "What if I don't want to think straight?"
I shut my eyes.
Moon above.
She presses her forehead to my chest, fingers curling around the fabric of my shirt. "Claude... please. I've been trying to get your attention since we got here. You're barely even touching me."
"Because something's wrong."
"Wrong?" She laughs breathlessly, but it's not amused, it's shaky. "There's nothing wrong. I just... I just need you."
Her voice cracks slightly.
My eyes widen.
Yeah.
There it is.
The slip.
I gently lift her face. Her pupils are blown wide, cheeks flushed like she's been running, lips red from kissing me too long. She's trembling, but not from fear.
"Anastasia."
My voice softens. "You're burning up."
She swallows. "I'm fine."
"You're not."
She flinches, barely, but enough.
Then she says something that knocks the air out of my chest:
"Claude... don't leave me like this."
I curse under my breath.
Moon help me.
She's not thinking like herself. She's not speaking like herself. Her hands are slipping under my shirt with shaky determination, her breath hitching like she's fighting her own body and losing.
I grab her wrists again, not hard, just firm.
"Stop," I say, sharper than I intend. "You're in heat."
She goes still.
Her eyes flutter, as if the words pull a string inside her.
Heat.
She doesn't deny it. She doesn't even breathe.
Then, in a whisper that sends fire straight through my bones, she says:
"You think I don't know that?"
My entire body tenses.
She steps closer, lips brushing my jaw. "You're the only one I want right now. The only one who can help me. So stop pretending you don't feel anything."
I do feel something, everything, in fact, but I'm not thinking about me.
I'm thinking about Elara.
Standing there.
All eyes on her.
Cassian's eyes on her.
Anastasia kisses my throat, dragging me back to the present with a soft moan.
"Claude... please."
I almost break.
But she looks up at me, and something in me clicks sharply into place.
She's shaking. Not seducing. Not teasing.
This is need.
Instinct.
Uncontrolled.
And she's trying to fight it alone.
I release a slow breath, cupping her cheek gently this time, thumb brushing the warm skin beneath her eye.
"You should've told me," I murmur.
Her voice breaks into a whisper. "I thought you'd push me away."
Gods.
I pull her in and kiss her, slowly, deeply, grounding her. She melts instantly, fingers fisting my shirt like she's drowning and I'm the only thing keeping her afloat.
Her heat spikes again, sharp, intoxicating. And the part of me that's been wound tight since the field finally snaps.
I turn her, lifting her onto the desk in one smooth motion. She gasps, head falling back as I press her down, kissing her harder, deeper.
Her breath comes in quick, frantic waves as she wraps her legs around me. "Claude..."
"Shh." My voice drops, low and rough. "Let me take care of you."
She arches, trembling.
"And don't," I add, leaning close to her ear, "say another word about finding someone else."
She shivers violently at that. "I wasn't going to."
"Good."
Because the thought alone; her with someone else, makes my blood flare hot.
My mouth trails down her neck as she clings to me, heat pulsing off her in desperate waves.
I slide my hands under her thighs, pulling her closer. Her breath catches, a soft, helpless sound, and I lose the last of my restraint.
"Claude..." she whispers, voice breaking, "don't stop."
"I wasn't planning to."
Her fingers dig into my shoulders, and the rest dissolves in heat, her gasps, my breath, the sound of the desk shifting beneath us as I pull her against me, giving her exactly what she needs.
When it's over, she's curled against my chest, breathing steady again. The feverish edge has faded, replaced with exhaustion and warmth.
But I'm wide awake.
My thoughts go right back where they started.
Elara.
The field.
Cassian's eyes.
His smile.
That sharp, knowing gleam.
The way he watched her like he recognized something he had no right to see.
My jaw locks.
Anastasia stirs slightly. "Claude?"
"Go back to sleep," I whisper, brushing her hair back. "You're okay."
She relaxes again.
But I can't.
Because one truth keeps repeating in my mind:
Cassian Veyron looked at my sister like she belonged to him.
And I will burn this entire academy down before I let that happen.
