chapter 6

Chapter 6: If I’m Chaos, Let Me Go.

Duaine’s Standpoint

The sun mocked me with how bright it was.

Each step in the university hall hit my head like a hammer. No sleep, no coffee, and kids zoomed about like bugs.

But then, I saw her.

At the end of the hall. Her hair shone, fell in soft waves down her back. She was laughing, really laughing with some young guy I didn't care to know.

My jaw tensed.

She touched his arm, laughing. He whispered, her face turned red.

I stopped walking.

Cairo’s voice woke up in me.

“I thought you were dead,” I spoke low.

She’s laughing with another guy. That’s why I’m here.

My teeth ground together. “She can laugh with whoever she wants. She’s a student. A child. Not my business.”

She’s your mate. Your business. Your territory.

“She’s not territory.”

Then why is your blood boiling?

I stayed quiet. I didn't need to talk.

She saw me then, our eyes met. Her smile slipped. She turned away, bit her lip, fixed her bag.

Smart girl.

But the brat didn’t look guilty, she looked amused.

You should’ve claimed her, Cairo growled. Now she thinks you're weak.

“I'm not weak,” I growled back.

Then prove it. Make her squirm.

I walked away.

But I already knew I wasn’t going to let it go.

---

I entered the lecture hall, as the hall buzzed with chatter.

Seventy students. All in their early twenties. All chattering like overgrown pups.

Except her.

She was talking to him again.

Same damn boy. Sitting right beside her, leaning into her personal space like he had any right. Her notebook lay forgotten, pen twirling between her fingers. She was giggling at whatever idiotic thing he said.

She’s ignoring you. Cairo growled. Look at her. She doesn’t care.

I slammed my book on the desk.

Silence hit the room.

“Phones off. Eyes front. If you’re here to flirt, leave now.”

My voice came out sharp, steel-edged. Most students flinched.

She didn’t.

I began the lecture, speaking about Pack Law and the psychological effects of Alpha-Beta dynamics in hybrid territories, but my mind was somewhere else. On her. On the way her fingers tapped the desk. On how she whispered when she thought I wasn’t looking.

And that boy.

Why did he sit so damn close?

Rip his throat out.

“I’m not a savage,” I muttered under my breath.

“Sir?” a student in the front row looked up, confused.

I ignored him.

My eyes flicked toward her again.

She was smiling.

That was it.

I straightened, dropped my notes, and looked straight at her. “Miss Green.”

The room turned, all heads swiveling in her direction.

She blinked, caught off-guard. “Yes, Professor?”

“What are the three rules under the 2001 Peace Treaty for Mixed Blood Spots?”

She blinked. “Um…”

“I guess your chat with Mr. What's-his-name was more key than listening?”

Her face went red. “No, sir. I just didn’t—”

“You didn’t what?” I moved in, eyes on her

“You didn’t what?” I moved in, eyes on her. “Thought you wouldn’t be asked? Didn’t think you needed to pay attention like everyone else?”

“I-” she hesitated.

The boy next to her opened his mouth to defend her.

“Mr. I don’t know your name and I don’t care to know.” I cut him off, “unless you’re fused at the hip, I suggest you stay out of this.”

His mouth snapped shut.

I returned my eyes to her.

“Detention. This evening. My office. Six sharp. Bring a copy of the Peace Treaty. Memorized. Word for word. Understood?”

Her lips parted, shocked.

“Yes, Professor,” she finally muttered, eyes downcast.

Good, Cairo purred. Put her in her place. She needs to know who owns her attention.

I moved back to the desk, gathered my papers slowly. 

Yet, I wasn't calm.

Not at all.

I hated how great it felt to make her feel small.

I hated how I wished for her to feel bad about the boy next to her.

I hated how her red face and down look made my heart beat loud and fast.

And the worst part?

I hated that even with all this, I still wanted her.

****

The clock hit six.

Sharp.

I sat at my dark wood desk, pen in hand, but not writing. I was looking at the door. Waiting.

Cairo paced inside me, claws scratching at the edge of my mind.

She’s late.

“She has four minutes.”

She’s testing us. Again.

“She wouldn't dare.”

But I was wrong.

Three minutes passed.

Then four.

At 6:05 sharp, the door opened slowly.

She came in. Her green eyes met mine, a mix of fight and sorry in them. Her book held tight, bag over one shoulder.

She’s a sight.

“She’s late.”

“Sorry, Professor,” she said, walking in without waiting for permission. “I got held up. Someone spilled soup all over the hallway and I had to-”

“Stop talking.” I stood. “I said 6 and not 6:05.”

She raised a brow. “It’s just five minutes.”

“And if a warrior arrives five minutes late to battle?”

Her lips twisted. “They’d probably be dead. Got it. You really know how to ruin a perfectly valid excuse.”

I walked slowly around the desk, stopping just a few feet from her. “Sit.”

She sat.

Arms folded. Chin lifted.

Unapologetic.

She’s challenging us. Make her bend.

“Recite it,” I ordered.

“The Peace Treaty?”

I nodded.

She cleared her throat and began, her voice steady but bored. “Clause One: All hybrid Pack territories shall retain independent authority under mutual surveillance by-”

“Slower,” I said.

Her eyes flicked up. “I’m not a damn audiobook.”

“Then speak like a student who wants to graduate.”

She grumbled, but did as told. I walked slow behind her, her voice hanging in the air like the scent of wild flowers.

She’s angry. Good. Let her be. Let her feel this.

She finished by Clause Three and slammed her notebook shut. “Satisfied, Professor?”

I stepped closer. Too close. She tensed.

“I didn’t call you here because of the Treaty.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I called you here because you were distracted. And distracting.”

Her brows furrowed. “Distracting who?”

I leaned in, hands on the desk behind her. “Me.”

Silence.

Her breath caught.

“You were flirty in my class.”

“I wasn’t flirty,” she snapped, turning. “I was talking.”

“You laughed. You touched his arm.”

Her eyes widened. “Are you seriously stalking my conversations now?”

Say it. Say she’s yours.

“I saw it,” I muttered. “And I didn’t like it.”

“Why do you care?” she fired back, standing quick. “You don’t like me. You humiliated me in front of the whole class today.”

“I disciplined you. There’s a difference.”

“No,” she said, stepping closer, fire in her eyes now. “You were jealous. That’s what this is, isn’t it?”

“I am your professor-”

“And my mate,” she hissed, voice low. “Stop pretending it didn’t happen.”

I stared at her, jaw clenched.

Don’t deny it. Claim her. Touch her.

“You don’t know what you’re saying.”

“I’m not stupid.”

“You’re young,” I bit out.

She flinched.

“And you smell like rebellion and recklessness. That’s not something I want tied to my name. I have a Pack to lead. A legacy to protect. You… you’re chaos, Kayla.”

Her voice cracked. “Then reject me.”

I froze.

Her eyes were wet. She hated crying, I could tell. She was holding it back with everything she had.

“If I’m chaos,” she whispered, “if I ruin everything you’ve worked for, then reject me and let me go.”

No. Don’t. I’ll kill you.

“I-” I opened my mouth, but nothing came out.

She waited.

Silence hung between us, tight, sharp.

She nodded slow, her face set hard. “That’s what I thought.”

She turned to leave.

“Kayla.”

She paused at the door but didn’t look back.

“Detention. Same time. Tomorrow.”

She scoffed. “For what?”

“For breathing too loudly.”

She left. The door slammed behind her.

I ran a hand down my face.

You’re spiraling.

“She’s going to be the end of me,” I whispered.

Then let her.