Chapter 7: good girl

The cafeteria wasn't what Faye had imagined.

It wasn't coordinated and organized like the nature of the academy implied.

It was the complete opposite.

She pressed her lips together, following her sister's lead to a table where two others were already seated.

"This is Lisa," Mira introduced, gesturing at one of the girls. "And this is Elara."

"Hii," Elara waved while Lisa grumbled a response.

Faye smiled, but her attention wasn't on them. Her eyes darted around the room, searching for one familiar pair of grey eyes.

She found him at the back of the cafeteria, his eyes already fixed on her. That familiar heat she had grown to associate with him crawled up her spine.

"I'll be back in a minute," she muttered, already making her way to his table.

Mira opened her mouth but Faye was gone before she could get a word out. She frowned, watching her sister's retreating back.

"Hi," Faye muttered, stopping right in front of Luca.

He leaned back in his seat, watching her with those unsettling eyes. Her wolf stirred—summoned by his presence.

"I wanted to return this," she stretched out the jacket she had pulled out from her backpack, struggling to contain the blush threatening to crawl up her neck.

For a moment, Luca didn't say anything. Then finally, his hand lifted.

But it wasn't to collect the jacket. He reached past it, and grabbed her tie, yanking her down.

She fell on his lap.

A gasp escaped her lips as the heat finally settled on her cheeks, burning through her skin.

"What are you doing?" she hissed under her breath, moving to the seat beside him.

Her eye darted around desperately, making sure no one had seen him.

No one seemed to have noticed. The cafeteria carried on around them, oblivious, but her heart hadn't caught up with the relief yet.

She turned back to him, ready to demand an explanation—and stopped.

There was something in his eyes she hadn't seen before. Not the usual cool detachment, not even the flicker of possession she'd caught glimpses of in the locker room.

This was sharper.

Darker.

His jaw was set in a hard, controlled line, like he was holding something back by force.

"Luca?"

He didn't answer. His nostrils flared, once, and his gaze dropped—not to her face, not to the jacket still clutched in her hands, but lower, to the collar of her shirt, the curve of her neck.

"Why," he started, his voice low and clipped, "do you smell like him?"

It wasn't a question.

Faye blinked. "Like who?"

"Lockwood."

The name came out like something bitten off. Faye felt her stomach drop.

"I don't—" she started, then stopped, because she did. Of course she did. She'd been standing close enough to Rowan an hour ago that his scent had probably settled into her clothes, her skin, without her even realizing it.

"We're partners," she confessed carefully. "For an assignment. It doesn't mean anything."

"It means he's had his hands on you." Luca's eyes finally lifted to hers, and the fury there was unmistakable now, banked but simmering just beneath the surface, like something leashed and straining. "Or close enough to it."

"He hasn't touched me." She defended. That, at least, was true. Mostly.

Luca studied her for a long moment, like he was deciding whether to believe her. Whatever he found in her face seemed to settle something in him, the tension in his shoulders easing by a fraction—though the hardness in his eyes didn't fully disappear.

"Keep the jacket," he said finally.

Faye blinked.

"What?"

"The jacket." He nodded at it, still bundled in her hands, untouched since she'd tried to return it. "Keep it."

"I don't need—"

"I said keep it." His voice dropped, quieter now, rougher at the edges. "Wear it when you're not with me. Especially when you're anywhere near him."

Heat crawled up her neck, and this time it had nothing to do with embarrassment. "You want me to wear your jacket so I smell like you."

It wasn't a question either. She already knew the answer.

Something flickered across his face—caught, for half a second, in the act of wanting something he clearly hadn't planned on admitting to.

"I want people to know who you're not available to."

"I'm not available to anyone," she reminded, though her voice betrayed her, thinner than she meant it to be. "I'm your stepsister."

"Then it shouldn't be a problem." His eyes hadn't left hers. The air between them had gone thick, charged, the noise of the cafeteria fading into something distant and unimportant. "Wear it anyway."

She should have argued. She should have handed him the jacket, walked back to her sister's table, and let this be the end of it.

Instead, she found herself pulling the jacket back against her chest, some traitorous part of her already savoring the idea of his scent settling back over her skin.

"Fine," she whispered.

The corner of his mouth curved, faint and satisfied, the fury in his eyes finally banking down into something quieter—though no less possessive.

"Good girl," he murmured, low enough that only she could hear it.

Her breath caught somewhere in her throat, and she was suddenly, acutely aware of how close his lips were to her ear, how easy it would be to close the last inch of space between them.

She stood up too fast, nearly knocking over the chair.

"I have to go," she managed. "Mira's waiting."

Luca didn't stop her. He simply watched her go, that same satisfied, simmering look following her all the way back across the cafeteria—like he already knew exactly how she'd smell tomorrow.

Across the room, Mira watched the interaction with a small frown on her face, and an odd weight in her chest.