Chapter 7

LESSIE

I jolted upright with a strangled gasp, my chest heaving as if I’d just surfaced from drowning.

Sweat plastered my hair to my forehead, and my heart thrashed against my ribs like it wanted to claw its way out.

For a moment I couldn’t tell what was real and what wasn’t the fire, the blast, the screams that still echoed in my ears.

But the smell of cedar and smoke pulled me back into the present.

Dante.

I was in his place again.

The sheets tangled around me were heavy, thick, and far too soft to belong anywhere near my cramped dorm room.

The air smelled like him and I wanted to scream because why was it always him? Why did I always wake up in his world and never in my own?

My gaze darted around the room, drinking in the dark wooden walls polished until they gleamed, the sprawling shelves stacked with leather-bound books, the iron chandelier dripping soft amber light across the ceiling.

And he was there sitting in a deep chair near the bed, a book balanced on his knee, his long fingers curled casually over its spine.

“You again.” My voice snapped like a whip before I could stop myself.

Fury surged hot through my veins, burning away the remnants of fear.

“Why do you always bring me here? How do you know about the fire? Are you monitoring me? What the hell is going on?”

The questions spilled out, one after another, sharper with every syllable.

My throat tightened, my chest hurt, but I couldn’t stop.

He was the constant in the chaos, the one thread tying all this madness together, and that terrified me more than the explosion itself.

But he didn’t even flinch. He didn’t lower his book or snap back the way any normal man might have.

He just turned one page, slow and deliberate, as if my accusations were nothing but background noise.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he lifted his head. His eyes, storm-dark and unreadable, locked onto mine.

“Good morning to you too,” he said quietly. He closed the book, set it on the table beside him, and added, “Breakfast is served downstairs.”

That was it. No defense. No denial. Just that calm, infuriating tone that made me feel like a child throwing tantrums.

I wanted to throw something at him.

“You can’t just ignore me like that,” I snapped, throwing the covers off and scrambling to my feet.

My legs trembled, but I forced them to hold me as I grabbed my bag from the corner of the room and started stuffing clothes into it. I didn’t even care if they were folded, I just needed to leave.

“Lessie.” His voice sharpened, enough to still my hands. I froze with a crumpled shirt half-shoved into my bag.

“Sit down.”

It wasn’t a request.

I spun around, ready to tell him exactly where he could shove that commanding tone but then I caught the look in his eyes.

“You don’t have a dorm to go back to,” he said evenly. “It’s gone. The fire gutted it. You’d find nothing there except ashes and rubble.”

I blinked. The images I’d been trying to bury came rushing back, the smoke curling into the sky, the shouting, the heat licking at my skin.

My knees wobbled, and the strength drained right out of me. My bag slipped from my hands and landed with a dull thud against the wooden floor.

He was right.

I had nowhere else to go.

My throat tightened, my pride shrieking at me not to give him that victory, not to let him see how much those words cut.

But what choice did I have? My dorm was gone. The only shelter I had left was standing right in front of me.

So I swallowed hard, lifted my chin, and nodded once.

I dropped the bag, pretending it was by choice and not because my hands were shaking, and padded silently past him toward the hall.

Breakfast was quiet. Too quiet.

We sat at a long wooden table, sunlight spilling through the tall windows onto plates of eggs, bread, and steaming mugs of tea.

He ate in silence, every movement measured and precise, while I picked at my food like it was poison.

Afterward, I showered, and he showed me a guest room later that evening, spacious, neat, and far too close to his own.

“You’ll stay here until the school finds another arrangement for you,” he said, his voice clipped, businesslike.

He turned to leave, but stopped with one hand on the doorframe. His shoulders stiffened, and when he spoke again, his tone dropped lower.

“The fire wasn’t an accident.”

My heart lurched.

He looked at me over his shoulder, his gaze slicing through the dim light. “Someone planned it. Someone wanted you to die.”

I shook my head instantly, denial spilling out before I could stop it. “No. They said..”

But even as I spoke, I knew it was true. The fight between those two girls, the explosion waiting right at my door…

It wasn't a coincidence. It was a setup. A trap.

The next morning at school was… unbearable.

Dante buried himself in professionalism so thoroughly that I almost convinced myself last night hadn’t happened.

Almost. But the problem was that I felt him. Every time he walked past, every time his voice rumbled across the lecture hall, my wolf stirred restlessly beneath my skin.

In class, he stood tall at the podium, his crisp white shirt rolled at the sleeves, his tone cool and detached as he launched into the day’s lesson.

When class ended, I bolted. Relief flooded me the moment I stepped outside.

At the cafeteria, I spotted Ethan and pounced, desperate for something normal.

“So, what?” I demanded, blocking his path as he tried to slip past. “You’re ignoring me now too?”

He blinked at me, startled, then sighed and set his tray down on a nearby table.

“Lessie, I’m not ignoring you. I’m just… giving you space. Time to process everything.”

“Bullshit.” I narrowed my eyes. “Did Dante tell you to stay away from me?”

Ethan’s silence was all the answer I needed.

My chest burned with fury. I spun on my heel and stormed out of the cafeteria, my wolf growling low inside me.

Who does he think he is? Why is he trying so hard to control my life? Why?

By nightfall, I’d had enough.

I stormed straight to his room, ready to confront him and let him know Ethan was my friend and there's nothing he could do about it.

But the second I pushed open the door, words died in my throat.

He was there, fresh from the shower, a towel slung low around his hips.

Water still dripped from his dark hair, gliding over the ridges of his chest, the lines of his stomach.

My breath caught. Heat rushed to my face so fast I thought I might combust.

“I...I..” I stammered, my tongue suddenly useless.

His gaze sharpened, pinning me in place. “What are you doing in my room, Lessie?”

“Nothing!” I blurted, taking a step back, my pulse hammering wildly.

He arched a brow, unconvinced, then reached for a black shirt draped across a chair and tugged it over his head.

“Get ready,” he said simply. “We’re starting your training tonight.”

Training.

The next hour blurred into movement and breath and the fire of his hands guiding mine.

He taught me how to breathe through the storm clawing inside me, how to ride the rhythm of the shift instead of fighting it.

His voice wrapped around me like a command, steadying me, anchoring me.

And every time his fingers brushed my skin, a spark shot straight through me, leaving my knees weak.

He kept his distance when he could, but I saw it, the flicker in his eyes when they met mine, the restraint etched into every line of his body.

It was a war he fought as fiercely as I did.

Later, exhausted, I collapsed into bed. Sleep claimed me fast but the same nightmare followed.

Flames roared around me. Screams tore through the night. I ran, but the fire chased me, devouring everything in its path.

And then, at the center of the inferno, a mark blazed on my wrist, glowing, pulsing like a heartbeat.

I woke with a gasp, my chest heaving, sweat soaking my sheets.

My wrist burned, light searing through my skin. I lifted it and froze.