Chapter 9

The next fifty minutes passed in a suffocating blur of white noise and pure torture.

Dante paced the front of the lecture hall, his voice a rich, dark velvet as he dissected Renaissance chiaroscuro—the dramatic contrast between light and dark. But I couldn’t focus on a single slide. Every time he raised a hand to point at the screen, my mind dragged me straight back to that dream. I watched the way his crisp white sleeves pulled against his broad forearms, imagining those same calloused hands pinning my wrists above my head, his cold blue eyes burning into mine while Ryder’s wild heat consumed me from behind.

My skin felt like it was on fire. I kept my face lowered over my empty notebook, my knuckles white around my pen, praying my wolf instincts wouldn’t broadcast my spiked heart rate to the front of the room. Every few minutes, I could feel Dante’s heavy, glacial gaze drilling straight into the top of my head, sharp and calculating.

When the lecture hall clock finally struck ten, the scraping of chair legs against linoleum sounded like sweet salvation.

I shoved my notebook into my canvas bag, threw my denim jacket over my arm, and practically bolted for the aisle, desperate to escape into the cool autumn breeze and head straight for my lunch date with Ryder.

“Miss Green.”

The low, commanding voice cut straight through the chatter of departing students like a physical blade. My boots froze instantly, my breath catching in my throat.

“A word before you leave,” Dante added, not even looking up as he neatly stacked his lecture notes on the wooden podium.

A few girls near the door glanced back at me with envy, but my stomach plummeted straight to my boots. I waited in rigid silence until the last student shuffled out and the heavy double doors clicked shut, locking us into the quiet, cavernous lecture hall.

Dante slowly lifted his head. Up close, without thirty rows of seating between us, his presence was completely suffocating. He stepped out from behind the podium, moving with a fluid, predatory grace that made every nerve in my body scream Alpha. He didn’t just command a classroom; he owned the room.

He didn’t stop until he was standing less than two feet away, towering over me, his icy blue eyes narrowing into sharp slits.

“Care to explain, Haven?” he asked softly, his voice dripping with a terrifying, calm authority.

I cleared my throat, forcing my chin up even as my pulse hammered against my ribs. “Explain what, Professor Black? I took notes. I’ll have the essay ready by—”

“Don’t play fucking stupid with me,” Dante cut in smoothly, taking one more deliberate step forward until his shadow completely swallowed me. He tilted his head, his nostrils flaring slightly as he took a sharp breath, inhaling the air surrounding my sweater. A sudden, lethal darkness flickered in his blue eyes, turning them almost black.

His hand shot out, his long fingers casually catching a strand of my hair near my jaw, holding it lightly between his thumb and index finger.

“Why,” Dante whispered, his voice dangerously low, “do you smell like my brother?”

The temperature in the room plummeted, the air between Dante and me stretching tight enough to snap. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t breathe. His fingers were still tangled loosely in my hair, his icy blue eyes dissecting me like a masterpiece he couldn’t wait to tear apart.

And then my traitorous brain pulled the rug out from under me.

Looking up into his pristine, sharp face, my mind flashed violently back to six o’clock this morning—to the memory of those exact long fingers pinning my wrists above my head on this very podium, his heavy body pressing me down while Ryder’s dark growls echoed in my ear. A sharp, uncontrollable flush bloomed across my neck, my pulse hammering against my throat so hard I knew he could hear it.

Dante’s eyes narrowed, a slow, predatory spark of understanding dangerous in his gaze. “You’re thinking about—”

The heavy double doors of the lecture hall slammed open, bouncing off the wall with a thunderous crack.

“Get your fucking hands off my mate, Dante.”

Ryder.

The heavy, intoxicating scent of pine, cedar, and winter frost flooded the room, cutting through the sterile smell of dry-erase markers and chalk. Ryder strode down the terraced aisle in three long, lethal strides, his dark eyes fixed on his brother like a predator marking a threat. His leather jacket was unzipped, his broad shoulders squared, radiating a thick, suffocating aura of absolute violence.

Dante didn’t flinch. Slowly, deliberately, he let my hair slip through his fingers, his hand dropping to his side as he turned to face his younger brother. The contrast between them was terrifying—Dante, the polished, stoic Alpha heir; Ryder, the raw, unhinged Enforcer who tore things down to the frame.

“You’re late for lunch, brother,” Dante said smoothly, his voice cool and unbothered, though the tension vibrating through his broad chest was undeniable. “And you left your mark all over my student.”

Ryder stepped directly between us, his massive frame blocking Dante from my view as he grabbed my wrist, pulling me flush against his side. The contact ignited an instant, soothing spark across my skin. A low, warning growl vibrated in Ryder’s chest, aimed directly at his brother.

“She’s mine,” Ryder growled, his hand sliding down to wrap firmly around my waist, pinning me to his hip. “Look at her like that again, and Alpha heir or not, I’ll put you through the wall.”

Dante let out a soft, dark chuckle, his blue eyes sliding past Ryder’s shoulder to lock onto mine. “Careful, Enforcer. I think the little artist liked the attention.”

My mouth went completely dry. Ryder’s jaw clenched, his muscles going iron-hard, but before he could launch himself over the podium, I grabbed the lapel of his leather jacket and tugged hard.

“Ryder, let’s go,” I whispered, my voice raspy. “I’m hungry.”

Ryder’s dark eyes snapped down to mine, searching my face. The wild, lethal edge in his expression softened just enough for him to cup my jaw, his thumb dragging possessively over my lower lip. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

He didn’t give Dante another glance, keeping his arm locked like a steel band around my waist as he guided me out of Room 204. But as we stepped into the bright afternoon sunlight, my skin was still burning—and my mind was still hopelessly trapped in the darkness of that dream.