Chapter five

The first hour went surprisingly smoothly. I sat with three girls building a solar system model, hyper-aware of Silas across the room but managing to focus on the children. They were wonderful, curious, sharp, asking questions that made me think. It almost let me forget the disaster waiting to attack me.

Then Silas asked, "Oh, forgot to ask, Mrs. Rodriguez tell you the setup?"

I looked up from where I was helping Lucia glue Saturn's rings. "Setup?"

"Two-hour sessions, Tuesdays and Thursdays. Homework help and enrichment activities."

I nodded. "What if we moved the tutoring sessions to Saturday mornings instead? Research shows children retain information better earlier in the day, and we could extend to three hours, maybe add breakfast—"

"Can't do Saturdays," said Jayla without looking up from her moon phase diagram. She was one of the older girls, maybe thirteen, with box braids and an air of world-weary competence. "I watch my brothers while my mom works."

"I got basketball," added Marcus, a boy who'd been grilling Silas about alien life for the past twenty minutes.

"My dad's only day off," said another kid whose name I hadn't learned yet.

I still kept on my fake smile, even as my stomach sank. "I'm sure we could work around—"

"No." Silas's voice cut across mine, sharp enough to make me flinch. "We couldn't."

I turned to him, surprised by the edge in his tone. "I'm just trying to optimize—"

"Can I talk to you in the hall?" He interrupted, already standing. "Kids, be on your best behavior. We'll be back in a minute."

I followed him out, my cheeks burning, acutely aware of twelve pairs of eyes watching us leave.

In the hallway, I crossed my arms defensively. "If you have feedback, you could give it constructively instead of embarrassing me in front of—"

"Half these kids have parents working two or three jobs," Silas interrupted, his voice low but intense. He wasn't quite looking at me, his gaze fixed somewhere over my shoulder, like direct eye contact would be too much. "Weekends are when they see their families. When they help take care of siblings. When they do the things that keep their households running. Tuesday and Thursday evenings work because that's when it works for them, not for you."

The words hit like a slap. I felt my carefully constructed composure cracking.

"How long have you been doing this?" I asked with a lower voice.

"Seven years." He finally looked at me, and the exhaustion in his eyes was profound. "Since I was eighteen. These kids are ages eight to fourteen. Most of them are smarter than either of us. A lot of them are dealing with shit that would break you. This isn't a resume builder. If you're here to feel good about yourself before grad school, there's a soup kitchen in the Mission that's better for that."

For just a second, I felt genuinely stung. The assumption hurt more than it should have, that I was here for my ego, for my college applications, for anything other than the desperate need to be somewhere real.

"I'm here because I want to be useful. But if I'm not welcome, I can leave."

"You're welcome to help." Silas grabbed the astronomy book from where he'd set it down. "I just want to make sure you know what you're walking into." He turned back to face me fully, and I saw something in his expression that made my chest ache. "Rules: don't talk down to them, don't make promises you can't keep, don't touch anyone without asking. A lot of these kids have had adults who looked exactly like you fail them in really specific ways."

The words landed exactly how he meant them to.

"Adults who looked like me," I repeated quietly. "You mean what, exactly?"

"I mean people who see this place as a charity case instead of a community."

"I was just suggesting....."

"You were suggesting we rearrange their lives to fit your idea of optimal learning conditions. Without asking them. Without understanding why the schedule is what it is." He took a breath, and I could see him trying to rein in his anger, trying to be fair even though he'd already decided who I was.

"These kids don't need optimization. They need consistency. They need adults who show up when they say they will, where they say they will. Do you understand the difference?"

My jaw tightened. My hands clenched into fists at my sides, and I felt my nails digging into my palms hard enough to leave marks. Because he was right. He was absolutely right, and I hated that he was right, and I hated even more that he'd seen through me so easily.

"You're making a lot of assumptions about what I understand," I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to control it.

"Am I wrong?"

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

What could I say? Yes, you're wrong, I'm not some rich girl slumming it in East Oakland for my resume; I'm a werewolf princess running from an arranged mating, and I came here because this is the only place in the Bay Area where my father won't think to look for me?

I'm here because I need to feel human for a few hours a week before my wolf gets broken and reshaped into something that can tolerate being touched by a man who makes my skin crawl?

I'm here because you're my True Mate and I triggered your Dormant awakening thirty minutes ago and now both our lives are fucked?

I couldn't say any of that. So I just stood there, hands clenched, nails cutting crescents into my palms.

"It doesn't matter," I finished quietly. "You've already decided who I am."

"Then prove me wrong," he said finally.

I stared at him for a long moment, at this impossible man.

Who was looking at me like I was the threat.

And maybe I was.

"I will," I said quietly.

Then I walked past him back into the tutoring room.

But what choice did I have?

I couldn't tell him the truth. And I couldn't keep lying to his face.

So I sat back down with Lucia and the other girls, helped them paint Saturn's rings with hands that shook slightly, and pretended I couldn't feel Silas's eyes on me for the rest of the session.

When the session finally ended, when the last parent collected their child and Mrs. Rodriguez disappeared into her office, I grabbed my jacket and headed for the exit before Silas could say anything else that would cut through my defenses.

"Selene."

I stopped at the door, my hand on the frame.

"Thursday," he said, and I could hear the reluctance in his voice. "If you're serious about this. Thursday."

I turned back. He was standing in the middle of the tutoring room.

"Does this mean you'll stop glaring at me like I personally gentrified your neighborhood?"

"I make no promises."

The corner of my mouth twitched. Almost a smile. "Fair enough."

I inhaled deeply. "I'm serious," I said quietly. "I'll be here."

Then I left before I could do something stupid.

Before I could cross the room and touch him again and confirm what I already knew.

East Oakland evening, cool and foggy, streetlights making halos in the mist. The lot was mostly empty now, an ancient Honda, Silas's bicycle chained to the rack, a few scattered vehicles.

He headed for his bike. I walked toward my car, wrapped my arms around myself against the chill and pulled out my phone that buzzed.

My Mother: Your father is talking about invoking the Locator Rite. Please come home before he does something we can't undo.

The Locator Rite. Blood magic that would trace my location no matter where I hid. It required the Alpha's blood and the consent of two other pack members, which meant my father was pulling in favors, building consensus for tracking down his rebellious daughter.

I heard a roar of engine screaming at a pitch that didn't sound right. Then light, blinding and wrong, headlights that carved through the fog at an angle that defied physics.

The truck came around the corner doing at least sixty, out of control, skidding sideways on the wet pavement. I stood frozen, my brain unable to process what I was seeing, unable to make my legs move.

Then something slammed into me from the side.

I hit the ground hard, all the air knocked from my lungs. Arms wrapped around me, one hand cradling the back of my head. The world was noise and light and burning rubber, the heat of an engine passing so close I felt it against my skin.

Then silence.

Heavy breathing. The smell of diesel exhaust. My heart hammering against my ribs.

I was lying on top of Silas, my chest against his, his back against the concrete. His arms were still wrapped around me like he was shielding me from impact. I could feel his heart racing as fast as mine, could feel the rise and fall of his chest with each ragged breath.

"Are you okay?" His voice was rough.

I couldn't speak. Couldn't move. Could only stare down at him with wide eyes, my hair falling around both our faces like a curtain.