The library

Lily Pendleton

He texted me at midnight.

Library. Back corner. Don't bring your notepad.

I stared at the screen for a full minute. My heart was already racing.

I should've said no. I should've turned off my phone and gone to sleep. But my fingers typed back before my brain could stop them: I'll be there.

The library was dead silent. Dusty. Smelled like old paper and secrets. I slipped through the back door, my sneakers squeaking on the marble floor.

He was in the corner, hidden behind a towering shelf of ancient texts. He wasn't reading. He was just waiting.

When he saw me, his eyes went dark. "Close the door."

I did.

The click of the latch echoed. And then he was on me.

His hands grabbed my waist, pulling me into him. His lips crashed against mine—hungry, desperate, nothing like the soft kisses from the rink. This was raw. This was want.

I gasped into his mouth, and he swallowed the sound.

"You came," he breathed against my lips. "I thought you wouldn't."

I shook my head. I couldn't speak. Couldn't think.

He walked me backward until my spine hit the bookshelf. Books rattled above us. He pressed his body into mine—chest to chest, hips to hips, heat radiating off him like a furnace.

"I've been thinking about you all day," he said, his voice low and rough. "Couldn't focus. Couldn't eat. Couldn't fucking breathe."

I reached up and grabbed his hoodie, pulling him closer.

He groaned. His mouth found my neck.

I tilted my head back, giving him access. His lips dragged down my throat—slow, deliberate, teeth grazing my pulse point. I shivered so hard I thought my legs would give out.

"You smell like nothing," he whispered against my skin. "But you taste like everything."

His hand slid under my sweater. His palm was hot against my stomach, rough and calloused from hockey. He didn't go higher. He just held me there, like he was memorizing the shape of me.

"Tell me you want this," he said. "I need to hear you say it."

I swallowed. My voice was rusty, barely a whisper. "I want this."

He made a sound—deep, animal, almost pained. His forehead dropped to mine.

"Fuck, Lily. You're going to ruin me."

He kissed me again, harder this time. His hand climbed higher under my sweater, fingers brushing the edge of my bra. I whimpered.

"Is this okay?" he asked, pulling back just enough to look at me.

I nodded.

"I need words," he said. "I need to know you're with me."

"Yes," I whispered. "It's okay. I'm with you."

His eyes flared. And then his mouth was on my chest, kissing the skin above my bra, his free hand gripping my hip so tight I knew I'd have bruises.

I didn't care. I wanted the bruises. I wanted him.

"Kael," I gasped.

He pulled back, breathing hard. "I want to take you right here. Against these shelves. I want to hear you scream my name."

My face burned. But my body screamed yes.

He saw it in my eyes. He let out a shaky laugh. "Not tonight. You're not ready."

I wanted to argue. But he kissed my forehead—soft, tender—and stepped back.

"I'm trying to be good," he said. "It's hard. You make it really fucking hard."

I wrote on his palm with my finger: I don't want you to be good.

He read it. His jaw tightened. His hands fisted at his sides.

"You're going to kill me," he said.

I smiled—small, shy, but real.

He groaned and pulled me into one more kiss. Deep. Long. When he broke away, he was trembling.

"Tomorrow night," he said. "Same place. I'm not promising I'll stop then."

I wrote on his palm: I'm not asking you to.

He stared at me, something raw and broken flickering in his eyes. Then he cupped my face, kissed me one last time—gentle, almost reverent—and whispered: "You're mine, Lily. Even if you don't know it yet."

Then he was gone.

I leaned against the bookshelf, my legs shaking, my lips swollen, my skin burning where he'd touched me.

I had spoken. I had wanted. And I had never felt more alive.

---

I walked back to my dorm in a daze. My phone buzzed.

Kael: I'm not sleeping tonight. Just thinking about you.

I typed back: Me too.

Kael: You're dangerous.

Kael: And I fucking love it.

I smiled. Then I typed: Goodnight, Kael.

Kael: Dream of me.

I didn't reply. But I did.

---

Morning came too fast.

I walked into the cafeteria, still floating on last night's high. But the moment I saw Damon, my stomach dropped.

He was sitting at the Alpha table, his face stone-cold. Beside him sat Vivian, smirking like a cat who'd swallowed a canary.

My blood went cold.

What did she do?

Damon saw me. He didn't smile. He just pointed to the seat across from him.

I sat.

"Lily," he said, his voice too calm. "Vivian told me something interesting."

I froze. My hands started shaking.

"She said you've been spending time with Kael. Late nights. The rink. The library."

I couldn't breathe.

"Is that true?"

Vivian was watching me, her smile sharp as knives.

I wanted to lie. But I couldn't. I wrote on my notepad: Yes.

Damon's eyes went dark. "How long?"

Since I got here.

He slammed his hand on the table. The entire cafeteria went quiet.

"I told you," he said, his voice barely controlled. "I told you he was off-limits. I told you family was off-limits."

I wrote: I know.

"Then why?" His voice cracked. "Why would you do this?"

I looked at him—my brother, my protector, the only person who ever loved me. I couldn't lie to him.

I wrote: Because I like him. Because he makes me feel seen. Because for the first time in three years, I don't want to disappear.

Damon stared at the words. His face crumpled.

"Oh, Lily," he whispered. "You don't know what you're doing. He's not good for you."

"Maybe not," said a voice behind me.

I turned.

Kael stood there. He wasn't smirking. He wasn't cocky. He looked scared.

"I'm not good for her," he said to Damon. "I know that. But I can't stop. And neither can she."

Damon stood up. The two Alphas faced each other—best friends, brothers, now enemies.

"Step away from my sister," Damon growled.

Kael didn't move. "No."

The air crackled. Wolves in the cafeteria started shifting uncomfortably.

I stood up and stepped between them.

"Stop," I whispered.

They both looked at me.

I grabbed Kael's hand. Then I grabbed Damon's.

"I'm not a trophy," I said, my voice barely a whisper shaking but steady. "I'm not a rule. I'm your sister. And I'm... I'm choosing him."

Damon looked at me, hurt and anger warring in his eyes.

Kael squeezed my hand.

But before anyone could respond, Vivian's phone buzzed. She looked at it, and her face went white.

"Father is coming," she said. "He's on his way here. And he's bringing the pack council."

Damon's eyes met mine.

And I knew—whatever was about to happen, it was going to destroy us all.