Chapter 2

I woke to strange feeling of warmth.

Not the gentle warmth of sunlight through curtains or the cozy embrace of my comforter. This was different, solid, heated, and very much alive.

An arm was wrapped around my waist, holding me captive against a wall of muscle. I was still half-asleep, my mind foggy as I tried to shift position the way I normally did, tossing and turning throughout the night. But the arm tightened, keeping me firmly in place.

Boonie, I thought drowsily. My stuffed bear must've gotten tangled up with me again.

Except... I reached back to adjust him, and my fingers met skin. Warm, smooth skin stretched over what felt abs.

Since when did Boonie have abs?

My hand froze mid-motion, then against every instinct screaming at me to stop, my fingers traced lower and I felt hard muscles. 

Oh God.

"I didn't know you liked touching me this much, mate."

The voice and far too close to my ear. It sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with how disgustingly attractive it sounded.

My eyes flew open.

Bright blue eyes were staring back at me with amusement, a cocky smile planted on his lips. 

Reality crashed into me like a freight train.

I was in bed with Caesar, I screamed and launched myself off the bed, stumbling backward until my spine hit the door.

My heart hammered against my ribs as I stared at him in horror.

How had I ended up in bed with him? In his arms?

"Relax." Caesar's laughter was rich and warm, completely at odds with the dangerous man I'd stitched up last night. He stretched languidly, like a cat in a sunbeam, seemingly unconcerned that he'd just given me a heart attack. "There's no one here. Just us."

"My—my roommates will be here soon." I hated how badly I was stuttering, how my voice shook. "You have to leave. Now."

"Leave?" He propped himself up on one elbow, that infuriating grin never leaving his face. "And why would I do that?"

Was he serious right now?

"Because you can't be here!" I gestured wildly at him, at the room, at the entire impossible situation. "If someone finds you— I stopped when the image of the strangers fave flashed through my mind.

Caesar heaved a slight sigh and climbed off the bed. Then he walked to where I stood and tucked a stray hair behind my ear.

"Did you not tell your friends about us, sweet mate?" His hand came up to cup my chin, tilting my face toward his.

"Wait. What?"

“Are you that ashamed of us?” He pouted at me.

Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

I grabbed his arm and yanked him down to my level, pressing my palm against his forehead. No fever. His skin was warm but not burning. I ran my fingers through his hair, checking for bumps, blood, any sign of head trauma I might've missed last night.

"What are you doing?" he asked, but he was smiling, clearly enjoying my hands on him.

"Checking if you hit your head," I muttered, tilting his face side to side. "Because you're talking absolute nonsense."

"Nonsense?" He caught my wrist gently. "Mate, I'm perfectly—"

The sound of the front door slamming open echoed through the house, followed by familiar voices and the jangle of keys hitting the counter.

Fuck. The girls were here.

No. No, no, no.

"Hide," I hissed at Caesar, panic flooding my system. "You have to hide. Now."

"Why?" He had the audacity to look confused. "Why should I hide from them?"

"Because the girls can't see you!" I grabbed his arm and tried to physically drag him toward the bathroom. He didn't budge. It was like trying to move a mountain.

"Jenna?" Rachel's voice drifted up from downstairs, getting closer.

"Fuck," I whispered desperately.

"Good girls don't swear, mate." Caesar actually had the nerve to pinch my cheek, like I was a misbehaving child.

Something in me snapped. I planted both hands on his chest and shoved with all my strength, he stumbled into the bathroom like a child as he chuckled softly.

Is this really Caesar Greywood?

"Get your ass in there and don't make a sound," I ordered in the most threatening whisper I could manage.

He looked at me with wide, pleading eyes that reminded me disturbingly of a kicked puppy. "Come back to me, mate. Promise?"

"Jenna?!" Rachel's voice was right outside my door now.

"I promise! Just—stay!" I slammed the bathroom door and whirled around just as someone knocked.

I took a breath, smoothed down my rumpled shirt, and opened the door with what I hoped was a convincing yawn.

"Yeah?" I blinked sleepily at Rachel and Enid, who stood in the hallway looking like they'd just rolled in from an all-night party. Which, knowing them, they probably had.

"What's wrong?" Enid yanked out her earrings with the impatience of someone whose feet hurt. "We've been calling you for like five minutes."

"Sorry, I was sleeping." I forced another yawn, trying to look natural. "Didn't hear you."

Enid's nose wrinkled. She sniffed the air once, then again, her expression shifting to concern. "Is that... blood?"

My heart stopped.

Caesar's wound. The bandages. The blood that had soaked through his shirt and probably seeped into my sheets. The metallic scent must be clinging to everything.

"I'm on my period," I blurted out, the lie tumbling from my lips before I could think of anything better. "Sorry. It's... really bad this month."

Please buy it. Please just buy it.

Enid's face immediately shifted to sympathetic understanding. "Oh. That's... yeah, okay. Just maybe light a candle or something? The smell is pretty strong."

"Will do." I nodded vigorously. "Definitely."

"The movers are coming today, right?" Rachel asked, already distracted, examining her chipped nail polish. "For your grandmother's place?"

The move. God, I'd completely forgotten. Today was the day I was supposed to start packing up my life here and relocate to Grandma's duplex across town.

How was I supposed to move with Caesar Greywood hiding in my bathroom?

"Yes," I managed. "They should be here around noon."

"Ugh, we're going to miss you so much." Rachel threw her arms around me in a crushing hug that smelled like cheap vodka and cigarette smoke. "Who's going to cook for us now? Or clean? Or help with our homework?"

Not my problem anymore, I thought with satisfaction.

"Let's not bother her, Rach. She just woke up." Enid pulled her sister away and steered her toward their shared room. "We need to crash anyway."

I watched them disappear down the hallway, then closed my door as quietly as possible and turned the lock. The soft clickseemed deafening in the sudden silence.

I sagged against the door for exactly three seconds before remembering Caesar.

I rushed to the bathroom and threw open the door.

He was sitting on the edge of the bathtub—the same bathtub where I'd found him dying last night—examining his bandages with a frown.

"Mate?" He looked up at me with those impossibly blue eyes. "I think I messed up the stitches."

I stared at the fresh blood seeping through the white gauze and wanted to scream.

"Sweet baby Jesus," I muttered instead, pinching the bridge of my nose.

This was going to be a very long day.

Rachel and Enid left within an hour, mumbling something about meeting Sky at his frat house, not even offering to help me pack. Not that I'd expected them to.

Which left me alone with Caesar. Again.

I'd managed to sneak into Enid's room while she was in the shower, stealing a handful of Sky's clothes that he'd left behind during his many overnight stays.

After forcing Caesar into the shower—which involved far more arguing than should've been necessary for a grown man—I'd redone his stitches with hands that shook less than they had the night before. Muscle memory was kicking in, the medical training overriding my panic.

Now he stood in my room, wearing Sky's black t-shirt with "I HATE PEOPLE" emblazoned across the chest in white letters, paired with ripped black jeans that hung perfectly on his hips.

I'd seen Sky in this exact outfit dozens of times. It had looked fine on him—typical frat boy aesthetic, nothing special.

On Caesar, it looked like sin.

His dark hair tumbled just past his shoulders, still damp from the shower. The black fabric stretched across his broad chest and shoulders, the words across his shirt somehow matching the intensity in his blue eyes. Even in borrowed, ridiculous clothes, he looked like he'd stepped out of some dark romance novel.

It wasn't fair.

"Is this good, mate?" He turned in a slow circle, showing off the outfit like a model on a runway.

"Yeah." I cleared my throat, forcing my eyes away from how well those jeans fit. "You look fine."

His smile was blinding. "Will you give me a pat for being a good boy, mate?"

There was that word again. Mate. He kept using it, over and over, like it meant something significant. Like it was my name.

"Don't call me that." I crossed my arms over my chest. "My name is Jenna. And I'm not your mate. I'm not your anything."

He moved so fast I didn't have time to react. One second he was across the room, the next his arms were around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I could feel every hard plane of his body, the heat radiating off him, the steady thrum of his heartbeat.

"You're wrong." His voice was low, intimate, his breath ghosting across my ear. "You are my mate. You're everything."

I shoved against his chest, stumbling backward when he actually let me go. "No. I'm not. We don't even know each other, Caesar. You're—"

I stopped myself just in time. You're the most dangerous man on campus. You terrify everyone you meet. I've spent three years avoiding you.

But looking at him now—at the confusion and hurt flickering across his handsome face—he didn't seem dangerous. He seemed... lost.

"Caesar." The name felt strange on my tongue. I'd never said it directly to him before. "I need to ask you something, and I need you to answer honestly."

"Okay." He was watching me carefully now, like he sensed something was wrong.

I moved closer, slowly, and reached up to place my hands over his where they rested against my cheeks. It was a technique I'd learned in my psychology class—mirroring touch to create a safe space for difficult conversations.

"What is your name?"

The question hung in the air between us.

Caesar's brow furrowed. His lips parted, then closed. He tried to speak, but nothing came out except a confused, broken sound.

"What is..." He tried again, the words dying in his throat. "My name? I..."

His blue eyes met mine, wide and lost and completely, devastatingly empty.

"I don't remember."

My world tilted sideways.

"No." I pulled my hands away like I'd been burned. "No, no, no. This can't be happening."

He had lost his memory.

Caesar Greywood had amnesia.