The heat between us

The first thing I noticed about Jaxon that day wasn’t his broad shoulders or the way his hair fell in perfect, dark waves over his forehead.

It was the way the air seemed to change when he walked into the room.

It was subtle—so subtle I almost convinced myself I imagined it—but I swore the temperature rose a degree or two, the oxygen growing thick and heavy, like a storm was building somewhere close by.

I had been sitting alone at my usual table in the corner of the library, pretending to focus on an essay for history. The truth was, I couldn’t stop thinking about him. About the way his eyes had burned into mine when he’d visited me in the hospital. About the way his voice had dipped low and rough when he said my name.

Even now, days later, my skin still tingled where his fingers had brushed my cheek.

And then he was there.

I didn’t even hear him approach—just glanced up and saw him standing at the edge of my table, one hand braced on the wood, his eyes fixed on mine with quiet intensity.

“Hey,” he murmured.

The word was simple, but it carried weight, a gravity that pulled at me in ways I didn’t understand.

“Hey,” I managed back, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes swept over me, lingering just a fraction too long at the curve of my neck before meeting my gaze again.

“You should be resting,” he said, his voice low and edged with something sharp, something possessive.

“I’m fine,” I replied, though my cheeks heated under his scrutiny.

But I wasn’t fine. Not really.

Not with him looking at me like that.

Later that afternoon, I found myself alone in one of the empty classrooms after the final bell.

I had come in here to breathe, to get away from the stares and whispers, from the faint smell of burned hair and bleach in the bathroom where someone—Savannah’s friends, no doubt—had dumped a bucket of mop water right in my path earlier.

It was quiet here, the sunlight streaming through the blinds in golden slats, dust motes swirling lazily in the beams.

I leaned against the edge of the teacher’s desk, closing my eyes, letting myself finally feel the exhaustion in my bones.

The door creaked open behind me.

And somehow, before I even turned, I already knew it was him.

The air shifted again—warmer and heavier—and my pulse quickened in response.

I opened my eyes to find him standing there, his dark jacket unzipped, his chest rising and falling as if he’d been searching for me.

“Avery,” he said, his voice a husky rumble.

It wasn’t a question.

I swallowed hard, my fingers gripping the edge of the desk behind me as he stepped closer.

“You keep letting them get to you,” he murmured, his gaze sweeping over me, his eyes dark with something I couldn’t name.

I lifted my chin. “I can handle it.”

He chuckled softly, but there was no humor in it. He closed the space between us in three slow steps, until I could feel the heat radiating from his body, until his scent—clean, sharp, earthy—wrapped around me like smoke.

“You don’t have to,” he said, his breath ghosting over my cheek.

My heart thudded wildly in my chest.

His hand came up, fingers brushing the side of my neck, slow and deliberate, sending a shiver racing through me.

“You’re stronger than you think,” he murmured, his thumb stroking lightly just below my jaw.

And then his other hand slid to my hip, fingers pressing lightly, pulling me infinitesimally closer.

I gasped, my hands flying to his chest to steady myself, and his lips curved into the faintest smile as he felt the way my pulse hammered beneath his touch.

He leaned in then, his lips brushing the shell of my ear as he whispered, “But you don’t always have to fight alone, Avery. Not when I’m here.”

The words made my knees go weak.

I felt his breath warm against my neck, felt his fingers tighten slightly at my hip, and felt his body pressing closer until I could feel the heat of him through every layer of my clothes.

And then he pulled back just enough to meet my eyes.

The look there—dark, hungry, raw—stole my breath.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he murmured, his voice rough.

I couldn’t speak. I couldn’t move. I could only stand there, letting the current between us coil tighter and tighter until I thought it might snap.

When he finally stepped back, the air felt colder in his absence.

He left without another word, and I slumped against the desk, my legs trembling, my breath uneven.

What was happening to me?

What was happening to us?

That night, I sat on my bed staring at my phone, debating whether or not to text Lucas.

In the end, I did.

I don’t know what to do anymore, I wrote.

It took less than a minute for the reply to come through.

You don’t have to figure it out all at once. Just… trust yourself. And if you need me, you know where to find me.

I smiled faintly through the tears that pricked at my eyes.

At least someone still cared enough to say it.

At school the next day, I caught whispers of Savannah again.

Apparently she’d been released on bail.

And already, her presence lingered like a poison—quiet threats, sharp looks from her minions, little notes left on my locker with words like You’ll regret it.

It never ended.

Ethan surprised me that night.

I was sitting at the kitchen table, my textbooks spread out in front of me, though my eyes kept drifting to the window where the moon hung high and bright.

He stood awkwardly in the doorway for a long moment before finally stepping closer.

“I…” he began, then stopped, raking a hand through his hair.

I glanced up at him, waiting.

“I was wrong,” he said finally, his voice low.

I blinked, startled.

“I didn’t… I didn’t see how bad it was for you,” he continued. “I thought… I don’t know what I thought. That you could handle it. That you didn’t need me.”

His gaze met mine then, and there was something in it I’d never seen before—regret.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

It wasn’t everything. But it was something.

Jaxon

The moon was high when I finally left the packhouse meeting and walked into the woods alone.

The elders had spent hours debating territory lines, alliances, and the future of the pack. All while my mind had been somewhere else.

On her.

On the way she’d gasped when I’d touched her, the way she’d melted against me, her scent driving me to the edge of control.

It scared me sometimes—how much I wanted her.

But I couldn’t stay away.

Even now, my wolf paced just beneath my skin, restless, demanding, aching to claim what was his.

I thought back to earlier that day, to the moment when I’d caught her watching me in the hallway, her cheeks flushing when our eyes met.

The way her breath hitched when I leaned a little too close, when my fingers brushed hers as I passed her in the doorway.

Every encounter was a test. Every moment was another crack in my resolve.

And she didn’t even know what I was.

Didn’t know that every instinct I had screamed to mark her, to make her mine in every way that mattered.

But she would.

One day, she would.

As I stood in the clearing beneath the moon, I let myself shift just enough to feel my claws dig into the earth, to hear my bones creak as power hummed through me.

It would kill me to let her go.

But if I didn’t control myself, it could kill her to keep her.

For now, all I could do was watch.

And wait.

And want