She Touched It Again

The door to my office closed with a solid click behind me.

Silence followed.

I loosened my cufflinks and dropped my briefcase onto the desk, exhaling slowly as I rolled my shoulders. Teaching always drained me more than battle ever did. Too many minds. Too many emotions pressed together in one space.

Stacks of papers lay across my desk, reports waiting to be reviewed, assignments to be graded, administrative nonsense that came with the title Professor . I loosened the cuffs of my shirt and sat down, staring at the surface without truly seeing it.

And yet

My thoughts refused to settle.

I leaned back in my chair, eyes lifting to the ceiling as the image returned without permission.

Green eyes.

Wide. Nervous. Alert.

She’d frozen when she saw me.

My mind refused to cooperate.

It kept drifting back.

To the lecture hall.

That girl.

I’d noticed her the moment I stepped inside the class—felt her, really. A disruption in the air. Something out of place. She hadn’t looked like the rest of them. Too guarded. Too quiet. Like someone used to surviving rather than belonging.

And when our eyes had met—

I exhaled slowly through my nose.

Yesterday.

The image rose unbidden.

The Alpha’s residence.

The girl standing there, defiant eyes, trembling hands masked by stubborn pride.

And now she was in my class.

I reached for the attendance tablet on my desk and scrolled through the student registry, my jaw tightening when I found her name.

Aria Ravenwood.

Park Affiliation: Star Crest Pack.

Star Crest.

My fingers paused.

My jaw tightened.

During the lecture, I’d confirmed it—her uniform bore the insignia of Star Crest Pack. Every student here wore the same colors, but the badges never lied. Park loyalty was everything.

And Star Crest Pack?

I knew every family there.

Every wolf.

Every child.

She didn’t belong.

I would’ve remembered her.

Which meant one thing.

She was new.

And that unsettled me far more than it should have.

Yesterday replayed itself again whether I wanted it to or not—the way she had looked at me like she’d walked into something forbidden. The way her body had gone rigid, breath catching, eyes flickering with panic and something else I refused to name.

And that scent—

Vanilla, my wolf muttered lazily.

“Shut up,” I said under my breath.

She hadn’t worn those glasses yesterday.

Without them, her face was sharper. Softer. More vulnerable.

With them… she hid.

A knock interrupted my thoughts.

Before I could answer, the door opened.

“Damn, Kane, you look like you’re about to murder someone.”

James walked in first, smug grin already in place, followed by Caleb, relaxed as ever, and Ethan—eyes glued to his phone, thumbs flying over the screen.

I didn’t respond.

Caleb dropped into the chair across from my desk. “First lectures always suck. Students look at you like you’re the executioner.”

James chuckled. “Especially when you’re you.”

Ethan didn’t even look up. “This game sucks.”

“You suck,” Caleb replied automatically.

James leaned against the wall. “Though I won’t lie—this year’s intake?” He whistled. “Two females in my class caught my eye already.”

Caleb laughed. “College girls are the best. Juicy, smart, and they know when to leave.”

They slapped palms together in a lazy high five.

I finally looked up.

“Ethan,” I said coldly. “Why are you here?”

He shrugged without lifting his head. “Class was boring.”

“Go back.”

Caleb frowned. “Hey, ease up. He’s still young.”

I didn’t dignify that with a response.

“Out,” I said simply.

James blinked. “Damn, bro. Cold.”

Caleb raised his hands. “Alright, Alpha Professor. Let’s eat. There’s that new restaurant—”

“The one full of ladies?” James asked eagerly.

Caleb winked. “That one.”

“I’m in,” James said instantly.

They looked at me.

“No,” I said.

“Suit yourself,” Caleb shrugged. “Don’t work too hard.”

They left, laughter trailing behind them.

The office felt too warm.

I stood abruptly, rolling my shoulders, irritation crawling under my skin. I loosened my tie, breathing deeper than necessary.

Her face intruded again.

The way she’d frozen when I spoke.

The way she’d answered my question—honest, raw, unguarded.

And then there was yesterday.

Her hand.

I clenched my fist.

I wouldn’t deny it.

The memory burned.

I left the office.

The garden was quieter than the rest of campus, tucked away behind stone paths and flowering hedges. Water trickled from a nearby pond, the sound oddly grounding.

That’s when I saw her.

She sat near the water’s edge, knees pulled to her chest, glasses halfway off her face as she flicked small stones into the pond.

Plop.

Plop.

She looked… smaller here. Less defiant. More human.

I walked closer.

“You’re not supposed to do that,” I said calmly. “You know you could get punished.”

She startled.

Turned.

Gasped.

Her foot slipped.

Instinct took over.

I lunged forward, grabbing her waist just as her balance gave out.

We went down.

Hard.

The impact knocked the air from my lungs.

When my vision cleared, I realized two things at once.

I was on the ground.

And she was sitting directly on top of me.

Her breath hitched.

Mine did too.

Time slowed.

Her palms pressed against my chest, eyes wide behind crooked glasses. Heat radiated between us—too close, too wrong, too intense.

“D-did I hurt you?” she asked breathlessly.

I said nothing.

My hands were still locked around her waist, fingers digging in instinctively.

She shifted slightly, trying to stand.

“Don’t,” I said sharply.

She froze.

The tension snapped tight, coiled like a wire pulled too far.

Her hands moved—confused, searching for balance—

And suddenly—

She screamed.

The sound echoed across the garden.

And that’s when I realized—

This was no longer something I could control.