The hallways had mostly emptied by late afternoon. Golden light spilled through the tall windows, stretching shadows across the tiled floors like soft ghosts. The hush after the last bell was almost sacred—like the building itself exhaled once the students scattered. I stood at my locker, twisting the combination open with one hand, the other tugging at the hem of my cheer skirt, trying to settle the hum still racing beneath my skin.
The fabric clung to my thighs—black and crimson, with just the right amount of rebellion built into the hemline. My hair was still tied in a high ponytail, bouncing every time I shifted my weight. Practice started in twenty minutes. Most of the squad had already trickled outside, their laughter echoing faintly from the back field.
I just needed my water bottle—and maybe a minute to pull myself together.
The day had been... a lot.
Brett's wolf breaking the surface. That moment in the cafeteria when the energy crackled so thick in the air I thought the windows would shatter. My power stirring beneath my skin like something waking from a long sleep.
And Alec's eyes.
God. Alec.
The way his stare followed me all through class like he was trying to burn the truth out of me with just a look. Like he knew too much. Or not enough.
And then—
"Miss Everen."
My name dropped into the silence like a spark into dry leaves.
I froze.
My entire body reacted before my mind caught up. Every nerve pulled tight. My heart stuttered. That voice was made of smoke and gravel and barely-restrained heat—and it hit me like a match to gasoline.
I turned slowly.
Alec Anders stood in the doorway of his classroom, one shoulder resting against the frame like he'd been waiting. Casual. Relaxed. Dangerous. His black shirt clung to him just enough to highlight the lines of his frame—too neat for someone pretending not to care.
But I knew better. The tension in his jaw. The way his fingers twitched at his side, betraying the effort it took just to stay still.
The late sunlight kissed the edges of his dark hair, catching on strands that fell across his forehead in soft, careless waves. But there was nothing soft about the way he looked at me.
Those eyes—stormy green, too sharp to be human—locked onto mine like a command.
"Professor," I said smoothly, letting my lips curl into something that wasn't quite a smile. I closed my locker with a gentle click and leaned against it. "Can I help you?"
His gaze dropped—briefly, unmistakably—to the uniform.
His jaw clenched.
"A word," he said. "In private."
I tilted my head, savoring the tension between us. "Hmm. Practice is starting soon. I wouldn't want to keep the squad waiting."
His voice dropped, each syllable sharp enough to cut steel. "Now."
The way he said it—my name, that tone—it wasn't a request.
It was an order.
It thrilled me.
I sauntered toward him, letting my hips sway just enough to test him. I could feel his eyes follow every step like gravity itself bent toward me.
"If this is about my behavior in class," I said sweetly, "I thought we were past that. You seemed... entertained."
His nostrils flared. "Inside, Scarlet."
I stepped past him, brushing close enough that I felt the tension roll off him in waves.
——————
The classroom was darker than the hallway, the blinds drawn, the soft hum of silence wrapping around us. It smelled like paper, ink, old wood, and something unmistakably him. Pine and smoke. Magic and danger.
I walked slowly to his desk, resting my palms on the surface as I turned to face him.
He shut the door behind us.
The click echoed like a gunshot.
"You're reckless," he said.
I smiled. "You're obsessed."
He crossed the room in two strides. Close now. Too close. But not touching.
"You're hiding something," he said, his voice low and rough. "I've felt it since the second you walked into my classroom."
I tilted my chin. The heat between us was magnetic. Electric.
"And you?" I whispered. "You've been cloaking yourself so tightly I almost missed it. Almost."
His eyes darkened.
And then—for just a breath—they shifted.
Not green.
Crimson.
Just a flash.
But I saw it.
He blinked, but it was too late. My breath caught, not from fear, but confirmation.
He was losing control.
I stepped closer, my voice softer now. "I'm not the only one playing pretend, Professor."
"You don't know what I am," he growled.
"No," I admitted. "But I know you're not just a werewolf."
He stilled.
The air between us pulsed, charged with power and something more dangerous than magic—truth.
"I've known hybrids," I said, studying the sharp line of his jaw. "I've read bloodline records older than either of us should be. But you... You're something different. Something rare."
His aura shimmered. I could feel it like static against my skin.
"Like me," I added.
He leaned in, his voice a whisper against my lips. "You're trouble."
I smiled, heart pounding. "Only if you want me be."
He exhaled, slow and ragged, as if he were holding back more than words.
His hand rose—trembling—and hovered inches from my cheek. I felt the warmth of it. The ache in it.
But he didn't touch.
He never did.
His restraint was torture.
"Scarlet," he murmured, voice fractured.
My name—broken in his mouth.
I felt it all in that moment.
The war inside him.
The way he wanted me.
And feared me.
Or maybe feared what he'd do if he gave in.
But then—he blinked.
And just like that, it was gone.
The charge between us collapsed, as if someone had snapped a tether. Alec stepped back—one sharp movement, like he'd been burned. The warmth of him disappeared. His posture turned cold, arms crossing over his chest like a shield.
"We're done here," he said.
The words slammed through the room like a door shutting. No apology. No explanation. Just the return of control, rigid and precise.
I stood perfectly still, blood thrumming in my ears.
He wouldn't meet my eyes now.
Slowly, I reached for my bag and slung it over my shoulder. The room felt smaller. Thinner. Like it had inhaled something it couldn't hold.
I turned and walked to the door. But just before I opened it, I paused.
Glancing back, I said, "Oh—and don't worry. I'll keep our little chat very professional."
His eyes met mine, burning.
I didn't smile.
I shut the door softly behind me.
⸻————
The cheer field was soaked in honeyed sunlight. Whistles cut through the breeze as the squad spread across the open grass, warming up in clusters. Pompoms shimmered in the fading light like glitter caught in a cyclone. It smelled like freshly cut grass, sweat, and the kind of pressure I usually welcomed.
I joined the others, rolling out my shoulders and shaking off what just happened. Alec's presence still clung to me like static, like his energy had left fingerprints along my spine.
I shoved it down.
Ana sat perched on the edge of the bleachers with her spell book open and a protein smoothie in hand, her brow lifted as soon as she saw me. Her eyes were fixed on me like a hawk tracking a wounded rabbit.
She knew something had happened.
I waved her off with a wink and a dramatic stretch, plastering on my usual smirk.
I was captain. I didn't have time to unravel.
"Alright, ladies," I called, my voice snapping like a whip. "Lines. Let's move."
The squad jumped into position without question. I led them through a tight warm-up sequence, barking out commands, counting beats. It helped. The routine helped. It made sense in a way nothing else did right now.
The rhythm. The breath. The burn.
Control.
But halfway through transitions, I felt it.
Again.
That heat.
That pull.
Brett.
I didn't need to look. I felt him before I saw him—the steady, molten weight of his presence like sunlight pressed against skin. Still wild. Still simmering.
I turned my head just enough.
He was standing just outside the chain-link fence, arms crossed over his chest. His shirt was damp, clinging to his torso like it had surrendered hours ago. A faint sheen of sweat glistened along his collarbone. His hair was slightly tousled, like he'd just finished a run or maybe something rougher. His jaw flexed as he grinned at me from across the field.
"Checking on the squad?" I called, jogging toward him with a bounce in my step.
"I prefer watching the captain," he said.
"Careful," I warned, stopping just on the inside of the fence. "You're not the only predator around here."
His grin deepened. "I like competition."
I twirled a pom between my fingers, studying him with a raised brow. He was watching me too closely now. Like he was trying to figure out what I was made of.
"Any chance you'll let me take you out tonight? After practice?" he asked, tone casual but eyes—intense.
I blinked, caught off guard by the directness. "And where would you take me, Blackwood?"
"There's a bakery in town," he said. "Churros that'll ruin every other dessert for you."
I arched a brow. "You mean Dulce Cielo?"
He nodded. "Didn't realize it was your abuela's place until Zack mentioned it. Thought I'd try to impress you."
I let out a laugh before I could stop it. "You're definitely not losing any points."
He leaned closer, fingers curling around the top of the fence. "Then it's a date?"
"Maybe."
I turned before he could say more and jogged back to the team, keeping my steps steady even though my pulse had started to skip.
But the moment I reached the front of the squad, I felt it again.
Not Brett this time.
Colder. More controlled.
I looked up.
Alec stood beyond the far fence, half-shrouded by the bleachers, arms crossed, eyes unreadable.
But his energy?
Burning.
⸻————
After practice, we crammed into Brett's truck and Zeb's Jeep, music blasting through open windows. My hair whipped in the breeze, my skin still flushed from movement and something else I didn't want to name. Sunset painted Thornhollow in molten pinks and oranges, every edge glowing.
The scent of cinnamon hit us before we'd even parked outside Dulce Cielo. It wrapped around me like a second skin—warmth, home, and childhood. Comfort laced in sugar and spice.
Abuela stood behind the counter, her apron dusted in flour, silver braid falling neatly down her back. Her eyes sparkled when she spotted me.
"Scarlet," she said in Spanish, then her gaze shifted to Brett. "You bring boys now?"
I blushed. "He bribed me with churros."
Brett grinned. "Mucho gusto, señora."
She narrowed her eyes—measuring him in the way only grandmothers can—but smiled and gestured toward the front. "You have good taste. Just make sure he does too."
Zack flirted with the girl behind the counter. She rolled her eyes but gave him extra whipped cream anyway. Zeb challenged two of the cheerleaders to shotgun café con leche. They actually did.
The whole shop buzzed with laughter and warmth. The old lights glowed golden above us, and the windows steamed slightly against the cool evening outside. For a few precious minutes, it didn't feel like a trap waiting to spring.
It just felt... okay.
Ana slid into the booth across from me, sipping a pink horchata with a tiny smirk. Her eyes were knowing—amused but laced with something sharper.
"You gonna tell me what happened?" she asked under her breath.
I shook my head. "Later."
Brett dropped into the seat beside me, thigh brushing mine, his arm thrown casually along the back of the booth.
"So," he said, voice low, "tell me something real."
I turned to him. He looked so easy. So open. It disarmed me more than anything else had all day.
"I like when things taste sweeter than they should," I said.
His brows rose. "Metaphor or flirtation?"
I smirked. "Both."
He laughed, warm and genuine, and for the first time in days—I did too.
I didn't think about Alec.
I didn't think about what I might be, or what I'd seen behind his eyes.
But I could still feel it—somewhere just beyond the glass.
That heat.
That pressure.
That fire I'd barely escaped.
Controlled.
But waiting.
And I knew—
It would find me again.