Chapter 6 Touch Me Again

I didn't mean to end up alone with him.

Hell, I would've rather bathed in wolfsbane than shared the same oxygen as Dante Thorne after our fight in combat class yesterday. But the universe was cruel and the Academy's "Alpha History Project" was even crueler.

"Randomized partners," Professor Marrow had declared that morning, smug as ever, "to build alliances beyond your rank."

And just like that, the name beside mine on the list read: Thorne, Dante.

I stared at it, hoping if I glared hard enough, the paper would catch fire but Instead, I got heat of another kind.

Because twenty minutes later, I was in the restricted section of the library, tucked between the crumbling archives of Alpha bloodlines and war history-with him.

Dante leaned against the table, silent and arms crossed, exuding menace and boredom in equal parts. His black hoodie was rolled to his elbows, revealing tanned, veined forearms I hated noticing. He hadn't said a word since we walked in. Typical.

I kept my focus on the open book in front of me, something about Alpha laws post-war. I couldn't read a damn line.

The silence stretched, tense and Loaded. Until it broke.

"You're still limping," Dante said casually.

I stiffened. "I'm fine."

"You landed wrong after the throw."

"I landed fine." I flipped the page hard. "Don't pretend to care now."

"I'm not pretending."

His voice was lower now and quieter.

I looked up.

His eyes were already on me.

That infuriatingly perfect face unreadable and uncontrolled. Except... his gaze kept dropping to my lips before returning to my eyes, like it didn't want to be caught.

I stood up too fast.

"Let's just get this project done."

I turned too quickly, misjudging the low shelf behind me and my hip smacked the edge of it. I stumbled lost my footing, reached out to catch myself and then fell right into him.

My hands hit his chest. His hands caught my waist.

For a breathless moment, we froze.

My chest rose and fell against his. His scent was like wildfire-cedar, smoke, and something darker that made my stomach twist.

His grip tightened for a split second.

Not aggressive, not angry, just firm and my body betrayed me.

Heat coiled low in my stomach. My fingers curled against his chest before I could stop them.

I should've moved.

I wanted to move, but I didn't because in that moment it was too close, too charged. The crackle of our rejected bond, the part of it he hadn't severed completely. And maybe the part of him that hadn't wanted to.

His voice came, rough and quiet. "You always throw yourself at me like this?"

I jerked back like I'd been burned, shame and confusion rising fast. "Screw you."

He smirked, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You'd like that."

My hand itched to slap him and my heart thundered.

Because for a split second, I had liked it.

I turned away, cheeks blazing, throat tight. "This project's due Friday; don't speak to me unless it's about the war."

I grabbed the book and walked off before I could humiliate myself further.

I didn't see the way his expression changed behind me.

Didn't hear the way he whispered my name under his breath.

Didn't realize his hands were still curled like he could still feel me in them.

That night, I couldn't sleep.

Every time I closed my eyes, I felt his hands on my waist. The heat of his chest. The look in his eyes.

And worse-my body remembered it, too.

God, I hated him but my wolf didn't. And that scared me more than anything because rejection or not...

My soul still knew his touch.