Chapter 3

WRENLEY

His name is Jerry.

That’s all I managed to get out of Tess at the party before she dragged me to the snack table. But ever since Friday, Jerry’s face is the only thing I let myself think about. I use him as a mental shield, a distraction to keep my brain far away from the terrifying, magnetic pull I felt the second Aurel Castell looked at me.

Because I know exactly what that pull was.

I was raised in a pack. I know the symptoms of a second-chance mate bond. But completing a new bond means tying myself to another wolf, giving up my freedom all over again—and I would rather let the Fade take me than let that happen.

Unfortunately, the Fade is currently winning.

It’s a Tuesday afternoon, and my skin feels like it’s wrapped in barbed wire. The fever is burning so hot under my skin that I’m shivering in a heavy hoodie. I am walking through the basement of the athletic complex, looking for a quiet place to suffer through the pain, when I see him.

Aurel is sitting alone at a long table under the harsh fluorescent lights, a massive Constitutional Law textbook open in front of him. I should turn around. I should walk away. But as I take a step back, a vicious cramp seizes my chest. I stumble, my hand hitting the concrete wall to steady myself.

Mate, the dying wolf inside me whimpers, a pathetic, desperate sound. Go to him.

I grit my teeth, fighting my own biology. But the pain is blinding. I need relief. Just for a minute.

I walk over and drop into the hard plastic chair directly across from him. The reaction is instantaneous. The second I am within three feet of Aurel, the agonizing, feverish heat in my blood evaporates. The barbed wire around my ribs loosens. My lungs expand, taking in a full, deep breath for the first time in days. The wolf inside me practically purrs, wrapping herself in the warmth of his proximity.

It is intoxicating. And it is absolutely terrifying. Aurel glances up, startled. "Red? What are you doing down here?"

I glare at him, trying to ignore the fact that just inhaling his scent is making my head spin. "Don't call me that."

"It's a catchy name," he smiles, though it doesn't quite reach his eyes today. He looks exhausted. I happen to know why. Earlier today, with my enhanced hearing, I caught him and Coach Diaz arguing in the hallway about his failing grade.

"I hear you're failing Con Law," I say flatly.

His eyes go wide, and his right hand twitches on the table before he forces it still. People don't shake like that over a bad grade. They shake over what happens after the bad grade.

"I came down here to make you a deal," I say, leaning forward and putting my hands flat on the table. The closer I get, the better I feel. I hate it. "I'll tutor you for free. As much as you need, until the grade is fixed and you keep your spot."

Aurel leans back. He’s interested, but he’s trying not to look like it. "What's the catch?"

"You help me with something." The words feel like sandpaper in my throat. I hate asking for help, but I need a reason to be near him. I need an excuse to soak up this physical relief without him knowing why I'm actually here. "Unfortunately, it requires talking to you."

"Okay. Shouldn't be too hard. What is it?"

I swallow hard. "There's someone I want. A guy. I don't know how this works—the talking, the flirting, whatever you humans—people—do before you decide you like someone. But you do. You're good at it. Everyone says it’s basically your entire personality. So you teach me how to get his attention, I teach you Con Law, and we both get what we want."

For a long moment, Aurel doesn't say anything. I watch a muscle jump in his jaw. The air between us suddenly feels incredibly thick, heavy with an electric charge I can’t explain.

"Who's the guy?" he asks. His voice is noticeably lower than it was a minute ago.

"Does it matter?"

"It might. If it's somebody I know, I can tell you if you're wasting your time."

I describe him. The height, the broad shoulders, the way he was hanging around the marine biology wing.

"Jerry?" Aurel blurts out, cutting me off.

I stop. "You know him?"

"Sure. Um, Jerry is a great guy. I can totally help you."

He says the words, but his body language tells a completely different story. His shoulders have gone rigid. A low, almost imperceptible growl vibrates in the back of his throat that my own wolf instantly lifts her head in response. Does he know what he is? I wonder frantically. Does he know he’s a wolf?

But Aurel just shakes his head, rubbing the back of his neck like he’s trying to shake off a headache.

"You don't sound like you want to," I point out, watching him carefully.

"I want to pass Con Law," he says, pulling his textbook closer, though he refuses to look me in the eye.

"Deal. You teach me how to win the guy, I teach you the commerce clause. When do we start?"

"Now," he says. "Or else I'm going to fail before we finish negotiating." For the next two hours, we study. And to my absolute shock, Aurel Castell is not a stupid meathead. When I force him to explain the legal cases back to me in his own words instead of reading them from the page, his mind is sharp. He gets there fast. He just couldn't make the dry academic text stick.

And for two hours, I sit across from him, basking in the complete absence of my pain. It is the best I have felt in a year.

It is almost ten at night when my phone buzzes on the table. I glance at the screen, and my heart stops dead in my chest. It's an email, forwarded from my shady property manager. I read the subject line twice before the words fully penetrate my brain.

NOTICE OF UNIT ENTRY; LOCKS TO BE CHANGED AT 6:00 AM.

"Hey." Aurel snaps his fingers in front of my face. "You went somewhere. What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I say, but my voice is shaking.

I lock the phone and stand up so fast my chair scrapes loudly against the concrete. I gather my things—my notebook, my pen, my heavy hoodie—my hands moving fast.

If they change the locks at 6 AM, I am on the street. If I am on the street, I have nowhere to hide when the fever comes back. The cold will accelerate the Fade. I will lose control. I will shift in an alleyway, someone will see me, and Cassian’s pack will find me. I am dead. I am actually dead.

"Wrenley."

It's the first time he has used my actual name. The sound of it coming from his mouth sends a jolt straight to my heart, stopping me in my tracks for half a second.

"I'm fine," I force out, not looking at him. "I'll see you Thursday. Read the chapter."

I turn and practically sprint out of the basement, leaving him staring after me. I have until six in the morning to figure out how to survive. With three trash bags' worth of a life I built out of nothing, a dying wolf in my chest, and absolutely no one on this entire continent I can call.

I have never, in any world, been this terrified of a ticking clock.