II

Jake Tanner was human, and it was written in every sharp, calculated movement he made. At 5’10”, he was lean, all wiry muscle and rigid posture, his dark blond hair always cut too short, too Kayden didn't come back. Instead, it was Kane.

The evil brother.

He'd vanished like he always did, off to explore “the human world,” as he liked to call it. I'd expected him to return sooner, but days turned into weeks, and the longer he stayed gone, the more I dreaded the day he'd show up again. When he finally did, he never came to the house.

That day came during school.

I was walking down the hall when I heard them first—the giggles, the whispers. It wasn't hard to spot the source. Amber, Kane's ex-girlfriend, leaned against her locker with her little group, all of them laughing too loudly. As soon as I passed, she straightened up, her gaze locking on me like she was ready to make me the first joke of the morning. She was beautiful in all the ways I could never be. Thick thighs, slim waist, luscious golden blonde hair that tumbled out of her scalp, silky and healthy, framing her face in almost unnatural curls. Her lips were full, her skin clear and glowing, and her bright green eyes had that confident sparkle, like she knew she was better than everyone else.

“Have you heard? Kane's back,” she said loudly.

I kept walking, clutching the straps of my backpack, eyes connected to the unevenly tied laces of my sneakers.

“He's so different now,” Amber continued, her tone thick with suggestion. “Huge. Strong. I mean, he was already amazing, but now…” She trailed off with a dramatic sigh, her eyes flicking to me.

“I saw him yesterday, and wow. Those arms? His shoulders? He's all man now.”

Her friends burst into laughter, but Amber wasn't done. In two long strides, she wrapped her hand around my arm and yanked me to her face.

“You haven't seen him, have you?” she asked. I said nothing, too exhausted to be involved in verbal confrontation so early. My hands curled into fists at my sides, my cheeks burning. I hated being touched. She knew it. Everyone in the pack knew how much I hated being held, being disturbed, but that never stopped them from doing so anyway.

Amber smirked, clearly enjoying every second of it.

“You should've seen him,” she said. “That jawline? And his eyes…” She tilted her head, her lips curving into a cruel smile. “I bet you missed the way he looked at you like trash.”

I gritted my teeth, my eyes locking onto the spot where her hand connected with my wrist, my anger bubbling. “Let. me. Go.”

Amber's grip tightened for a second before she shoved me back, the force sending me stumbling, my feet scrambling to find balance. “What's wrong? Too weak to stand up for yourself?” she mocked.

Her friends laughed again, but I forced myself to keep walking, each step heavier than the last. I didn't need to turn around to know Amber was still watching me, still smiling.

And I hated that her words stayed with me. Kane was back, and he wasn't the boy who'd left. He was worse.

A few minutes later, I gathered my books from my locker, when screams echoed down the hallway. Everybody began running, but not away from the screams—towards them. A few people brushed past me in a hurried frenzy, almost knocking my backpack off my shoulders. Whatever was happening, everybody was eager to watch it go down.

Against my better judgment, I readjusted my backpack straps, swung my locker shut and followed the waves of students, my books clutched hard against my chest.

I slowly rounded the corner of the hallway and stood on my tiptoes to gaze over the growing crowd of bobbing heads. They were all whispering, gawking at something that I couldn't quite see yet. I ducked under a few arms, trying to ignore the potent scent of hormonal teenagers who hadn't learned the importance of deodorant, and steadily pushed my way to the front.

My heart thudded in my chest in anticipation.

Even though the urge to turn and mind my business was increasingly strong with every step, I kept ducking and nudging forward.

And that's when I saw him.

Pummeling another boy's face in.

Dripping in sweat and blood, Kane Atlas didn't seem to notice the audience growing around him and the scene he was making. His white shirt was torn, likely by the other guy's failed attempt to stop him, and was hanging limply across his body. Dark blood ran from his torn lip and busted nose, down across his chiseled chest, staining his ruined shirt.

My breath hitched in my throat and my heart banged aggressively against my ribcage.

I hadn't seen him since Lucy claimed he was back in the pack.

In fact, I prayed not. But at this moment, I was overwhelmingly aware of his presence. I could smell him, hear every drag of raggedy breath that went down his lungs.

Initially, my reaction to seeing the boy who had made my life a living hell should be to turn and flee from the scene. Instead, I watched it unfold. Watched the way he violently ruined another boy's face like he was squashing melons with his fist, puffy and red, repeatedly reeling back and punching the other boy's face. The fury - the aggression - in his strikes was borderline animalistic. I'd never seen anything like it.

Teachers were circling frantically, yelling, wanting the boys to stop but too afraid to physically stop Kane's fists. He had always been one of the strongest in the entire pack. Their pleas to stop were barely heard over the jeering crowd, “Kane! Kane! Kane!”

Cheerful and excited, as if this was a show put on just for our entertainment.

But I knew him.

This wasn't just a show.

Amid all the chaos, screams, and sickly strong body odor, it was his eyes that held my attention. The primal urges behind his irises. Trained on his opponent, his grey eyes held a certain focus, an intelligent desire for pain and suffering.

If you weren't looking carefully, you'd think Kane had simply lost control. But Kane was in full control of every wound he inflicted, every contraction and release of his lean, muscular body. He knew exactly what he was doing. He was ferociously and mercilessly attacking the boy in front of him.

His eyes lusted for pain and he was going to draw it out of this boy in the form of violence and blood. Looking into the depths of his eyes, I felt pure fear, as well as another unknown emotion deep in my chest.

And then the boy dropped from his hands, near lifeless, into a broken heap at his feet. He didn't stop there. He sent kicks into the boy's ribs. Each kick dragged groans and cries from the boy, till he couldn't cry anymore and his fingers twitched against the floor.

Then, like time itself had slowed, Kane turned, and our eyes locked.

A chill ran down my spine, freezing me in place. His chest rose and fell, his lips slightly parted, and the way he looked at me made it impossible to breathe. Part of me wanted to run, to bolt and never look back, but something else kept me rooted, staring right back at him.

I watched as he wiped a towel over his bloody face, my stomach twisting. I hated the thoughts that crept into my mind, thoughts about how even bruised and broken, he was still… beautiful. His perfect nose, now swollen and bent. His lips, full and split, smeared with blood.

He shouldn't have looked like this. Not after everything. Not after what he'd done.

But his eyes… there was something in them, something I couldn't read. Then his lips moved, and the word he spoke hit me like a blow to the chest.

“Mate.”'

I stumbled back, bumping into bodies that blocked my escape.

“You're my mate,” he said again,

“No.” The word ripped from me, my head shaking as tears burned my eyes. My books slipped from my trembling hands, crashing to the floor.

I didn't wait. I couldn't. My legs moved on their own, and I was running, tearing down the hallway like my life depended on it.