8. Never yours

Nalini

I felt the tug again—irresistible, primal—and my gaze locked with Myron’s.

It was as if something ancient and unbreakable had wound invisible threads between us. His body moved, stiff and reluctant, but undeniably pulled, and mine followed with the same helpless urgency.

Through the empty school halls, past the echo of my quickening footsteps, until he pushed open the locker room door. The air was heavy, too still. Then he stopped. His back went rigid, and a shudder ran through him before he turned.

His eyes found mine, blazing with dawning horror.

“You?” His voice cracked, thick with disbelief, a mixture of shock and fury.

My chest tightened. The air rushed out of me in ragged gasps.

The pull.

The spark.

The undeniable truth. Myron—he—was my mate.

That same electric fire I had felt with Timothy surged again, but stronger, burning through every nerve like molten lightning. My stomach clenched, my skin flushed, and I could barely breathe.

Myron’s lips curled into something between a snarl and a smirk. He stalked toward me, eyes shadowed with something dark, dangerous. Suddenly, he slammed me back against the cold wall. My heart jolted in my chest.

“You can’t be my mate,” he growled, voice husky with a strange blend of rage and… desire.

A shiver rippled down my spine. His eyes pinned me, icy and burning all at once.

“I’ll never accept you. Never!” His fist struck the wall beside my head with a crack that made me flinch.

I barely had time to gasp before his hands cupped my face roughly, and then—his mouth was on mine.

The kiss wasn’t tender. It was fire and storm, consuming and ruthless. His lips crashed into mine with such force that my knees nearly gave out. My trembling hands pressed against his chest, feeling the wild, frantic rhythm of his heartbeat, as if he hated and needed me in the same breath.

He deepened the kiss, tongue tracing the seam of my lips until I yielded with a shuddering moan he swallowed greedily. My hands, weak but desperate, clutched at his shirt, sliding up to the back of his neck. I dragged him closer, aching to feel every inch of his strength.

His scent surrounded me—spice and musk, sharp cinnamon and salt—an intoxicating drug that pulled me under. The taste of him was reckless, addictive, and I hated how much I wanted more. My body arched, surrendering against his as though the bond itself demanded it.

This wasn’t like Timothy.

Timothy’s kiss had been sweet, grounding. This… this was raw hunger, a claiming. This was danger wrapped in pleasure, a searing fire that consumed everything. I was a live wire, and he—he was the lightning bolt tearing me open.

Then, suddenly, it changed.

His hands froze, his lips stilled. The storm in him broke into something darker—terror, rage. He ripped himself away, staggering back as though burned.

“Never!!” His roar shook the walls. His chest heaved, his hands fisting in his hair. “I will not be mated to a pathetic, low-rank puppy like you!”

His words sliced through me sharper than claws. I flinched as though struck.

With one last murderous look, he stormed out, the echo of his rage lingering in the suffocating silence he left behind.

And then… the weight hit me. Dahlia’s sorrow bled into me, heavy, crushing, until I slid down the wall, broken sobs tearing from my throat. The bond had barely begun, and already I knew. He would reject me. Tomorrow, it would all be over.

Tears blurred my vision until I realized—someone was there.

I looked up.

Timothy.

His presence was quiet, steady. His eyes, though, carried an ache I hadn’t noticed before. He had seen everything. He had watched me crumble under Myron’s touch, under his rejection.

My lips trembled as I whispered, voice cracking,

“Are you going to reject me too?”

The silence stretched, suffocating. My heart stuttered in my chest.