BRYCE
By the time I made it to my first class, English Literature at nine AM, I was exhausted and on edge. I'd managed maybe an hour of sleep after Mira's call, spending the rest of the time trying to convince Fenris to calm down. It hadn't worked if anything, Fenris was more agitated now, constantly alert, like it was waiting for something or someone.
The lecture hall was one of the older buildings on campus, all dark wood and high ceilings. I took a seat near the back, as far from other students as possible, and pulled out my laptop.
The class filled up slowly, I recognized a few faces from last year, though none of them acknowledged me. It was good, the less attention, the better.
Professor Keating arrived exactly on time, a middle-aged Beta woman with sharp eyes and a no-nonsense attitude. I had her for Introduction to Literature last year and had enjoyed her teaching style. It was direct, challenging, and no patience for bullshit.
"Welcome to American Literature: Romanticism to Modernism," she began, her voice carrying easily through the hall. "I trust you've all done the reading I assigned over the summer?"
A collective groan rippled through the class. I had done all of the reading. It was one of the few things that had kept me sane while working two jobs over break.
Professor Keating launched into her lecture, and I lost myself in taking notes. This was familiar, comfortable and this was what I was good at.
I'd been focused on my screen for maybe twenty minutes when I felt it, a prickling awareness at the back of my neck. The sensation of being watched and Fenris stirred, suddenly alert.
I looked up slowly, scanning the lecture hall, most students were either taking notes or clearly zoning out. Nothing unusual but then my eyes landed on the doorway, and my heart stopped.
She was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed, dark eyes fixed directly on me. Sloane Pierce wasn't supposed to be here. This was a sophomore-level class, and she was a senior but there she was, watching me with an intensity that made my skin prickle with awareness.
She was dressed casually today, a black jeans, a fitted burgundy sweater that somehow made her look both sophisticated and dangerous. Her dark hair was pulled back in a ponytail, revealing the elegant line of her neck.
She was gorgeous and she was staring at me like I was prey. I quickly looked back down at my laptop, my pulse racing. Maybe if I ignored her, she'd leave.
"Mr. Carter."
I jerked my head up to find Professor Keating looking at me expectantly.
"Sorry, what?"
A few students snickered. Professor Keating's expression was patient but firm. "I asked what you thought about Hawthorne's use of symbolism in 'The Scarlet Letter.'"
Right, we were discussing summer reading. I forced myself to focus, to ignore the Alpha still watching me from the doorway. "Hawthorne uses the scarlet letter as both a literal punishment and a symbol of identity transformation," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "Hester claims it, redefines it on her own terms rather than accepting society's definition."
"Excellent." Professor Keating nodded approvingly. "The reclamation of stigma as power. Can anyone expand on that?"
Other students jumped in, and I relaxed slightly, thinking I was off the hook but I could still feel her eyes on me.
The class dragged on for another forty minutes, and I tried to focus, tried to take notes, but my attention kept drifting to the doorway where Sloane stood, patient and predatory.
What was she doing here? What did she want?
Finally, mercifully, Professor Keating dismissed us. I packed up my laptop as slowly as possible, hoping Sloane would get bored and leave.
No such luck because she remained unmoved.
By the time I made my way to the door, most of the other students had already filed out. Sloane was still there, now standing directly in my path.
"Excuse me," I said, trying to move around her.
She shifted, blocking me. "Bryce Carter, we need to talk."
"No, we don't." I tried the other side, and she blocked that too.
"I'm not going to hurt you," she said, and she had the audacity to sound amused. "I just want to chat."
"I have nothing to say to you." I told her.
"That's fine, I'll do the talking." She gestured down the hallway. "Walk with me."
"No." I said flatly
Her eyes flashed, it was either irritation or challenge, I couldn't tell. "You can either walk with me voluntarily, or I can have this conversation right here where everyone can hear, your choice."
Damn it.
I looked around, the hallway was filling up with students heading to their next classes. The last thing I needed was a public scene with Sloane Pierce.
"Fine," I bit out. "Five minutes, that's it."
"Perfect." Her smile was sharp, and triumphant. She started walking, and I followed reluctantly, keeping a careful distance between us. Fenris was going insane, torn between wanting to get closer to her scent and wanting to run far, far away.
She led me outside, to a quieter part of campus near the old library. Once we were relatively alone, she turned to face me, leaning casually against a stone wall.
"So," she said. "Bryce Carter. Sophomore, scholarship student, and Literature major. Lives in Bradford Hall, room 317. Works two part-time jobs, one at the campus bookstore, and one at a coffee shop downtown. Has an older sister who visits frequently. No parents listed in your file, though I'm working on finding out more about that."
My blood ran cold. "You researched me."
"Of course I did." She said it like it was the most natural thing in the world. "You rejected me, nobody rejects me that makes you interesting."
"I'm not interesting, I'm just someone who doesn't want to be part of your games."
"Too late." She pushed off the wall, taking a step closer and I forced myself not to back away. "You became part of my game the moment you said no."
"Why?" The word came out harsher than I intended. "Why do you care? You can have anyone you want. Why waste your time on someone who's not interested?"
"Because everyone else is boring," she said simply. "They all say yes, they all fall over themselves trying to please me but you're the first person in years who's actually challenged me."
"I didn't challenge you, I just didn't want to kiss you."
"Same thing." She was closer now, close enough that I could smell her, that intoxicating scent that made my wolf whimper. "You intrigue me, Bryce Carter and when something intrigues me, I don't let it go."
"I'm not a thing." My voice was shaking now, from anger or fear or something else entirely. "I'm a person and I'm telling you, I'm not interested in whatever this is."
"Liar."
The word hit me like a slap.
"Your mouth says no," she continued, her dark eyes locked on mine. "But your body says something very different. Your pupils are dilated, your pulse is racing, I can see it in your neck and your scent..." She inhaled slowly, deliberately. "Your scent is telling me exactly how much you want this."
She was right. God damn it, she was right.
My body was betraying me, responding to her proximity, her scent, and her voice. Fenris was practically begging me to submit, to let her closer, to—
"It doesn't matter," I said firmly, taking a step back. "I don't care what my body says, I know what you are. You're a player, a bully, and someone who treats people like disposable toys. I'm not going to be your next conquest."
Something flickered in her eyes. Was it surprise, maybe or respect?
"You think you know me," she said slowly.
"I know enough. Everyone knows about you, Sloane, your reputation precedes you."
"My reputation." She laughed, but there was no humor in it. "And what exactly does my reputation say?"
"That you're arrogant, that you use people and throw them away, and that you have no regard for anyone's feelings but your own." The words poured out of me now, fueled by frustration and fear. "That you're dangerous, and anyone who gets involved with you ends up hurt."
She stared at me for a long moment, and her expression became unreadable.
"You're not wrong," she finally said. "About most of that, anyway. I am arrogant, I do use people and I absolutely don't care about most people's feelings."
"Then why are we having this conversation?"
"Because you're different." She took another step forward, and this time I did back up, my back hitting the wall behind me. "You see me clearly. You're not blinded by my looks or my power or my reputation. You see what I am, and you still stood up to me."
She was so close now, too close that I could see the silver flecks in her dark eyes, and could count her eyelashes if I wanted to.
"That," she whispered, "is incredibly sexy."
My breath caught, and Fenris was howling, demanding I close the distance between us, demanding I let her claim us.
"No," I forced out.
"No?" She tilted her head, studying me. "Your mouth keeps saying that. I wonder how long it'll take before the rest of you agree."
"Forever," I said. "It'll take forever because I'm not interested."
"We'll see." She stepped back, giving me space to breathe. "I'm a patient woman, Bryce, and I always get what I want in the end."
"Not this time."
"We'll see," she said again, and then she smiled, a real smile, not her usual smirk. It transformed her face, made her look younger, almost vulnerable. It terrified me more than her predatory expressions ever could.
"See you around, beautiful," she said, echoing her text from this morning and then she walked away, leaving me shaking against the wall, Fenris howling in distress, and my body still humming from her proximity.
I was so fucked.