TOO CLOSE TOO SOON

Tyra's POV

My heart was still pounding from my own confession when I noticed the change in his eyes.

The bright, boyish happiness on Osric's face had slowly melted into something else, something heavier and much more dangerous. 

His blue eyes had darkened until the amber flecks swallowed almost all of the color, and I could see his wolf pacing right there behind them, so close to the surface that the air between us seemed to hum.

His gaze dropped to my mouth and stayed there.

I forgot how to breathe.

The space between us suddenly felt far too small. His chest was rising and falling a little faster than before, and I could hear the deep, uneven rhythm of his heartbeat, or maybe it was mine. 

His hand twitched at his side like he was fighting the urge to reach for me, and for one terrifying, electric moment, I was absolutely certain he was going to close the distance and kiss me.

What scared me most was that I wasn't sure I would stop him.

My lips parted on their own. Heat pooled low in my belly, slow and heavy, and my body swayed toward him without my permission, like it had been waiting ten years for this exact moment and was tired of asking my brain for approval.

Then Osric squeezed his eyes shut and took a sharp step back.

He dragged a hand roughly through his hair, his jaw clenched so tight I could see the muscle jumping beneath his skin.

"Sorry," he muttered hoarsely, his voice strained like it was taking everything in him to keep it steady. "I'm not helping."

"No," I replied, far too quickly, my voice coming out thin and breathless. "You're not."

He nodded once. The easy smile was gone, replaced by something raw and tight, and he wouldn't quite meet my eyes.

"I'll see you later, Tyra," he said quietly.

Then he turned and walked away so fast he was practically running, his broad shoulders rigid until he disappeared around the corner.

I stood alone in the corridor, pressing a hand flat against my racing heart.

The cold air rushed back into the space he had left behind, and I hated how much I noticed it. Two minutes ago, I had been telling myself that friendship was safe, that it was a line I could hold. 

Now my lips were tingling from a kiss that hadn't even happened, my panties were embarrassingly damp, and my body was aching for a man I had sworn, less than a day ago, to have nothing to do with.

Fuck fate.

“Friends,” I muttered under my breath, letting out a shaky, humorless laugh. “What a joke.”

I stayed there until the silence became unbearable, until the walls started pressing in and I could still smell pine and sun-warmed skin lingering in the air. 

Then I turned toward the garden doors and pushed my way outside.

The air smelled of wet grass and distant rain, and I gulped it down like it could wash him off me.

I followed the old stone path away from the house without really deciding where I was going. My feet seemed to remember the way better than I did.

I passed the disused stables, where the older pack teens used to sneak off to drink and make out when the adults weren't looking. 

I used to hear their laughter drifting out from behind those wooden doors on summer nights while I sat alone on my balcony, pretending to read.

I passed the old stone fountain where young couples met in secret, the one I used to sneak down to after midnight when the grounds were empty. 

I would sit on its edge and trail my fingers through the cold water and daydream about having someone who would sit there with me, someone who understood me and could make the endless emptiness inside me go quiet.

The memory made my chest ache.

Every corner of this place reminded me of the girl I used to be, lonely and invisible and so desperate to belong that it hurt to breathe. 

I had run halfway across the world to escape her, and here she was, waiting for me around every bend in the path.

A group of younger pack members came up the trail toward me, laughing and shoving each other. The moment they saw me, their laughter faded, and the whispering started before they had even passed.

"…that's her…"

"…heard Osric made Valentina apologize…"

"…why would he…"

I kept my eyes straight ahead and my shoulders back, and I didn't slow down until their voices faded behind me.

At least this time, there was something new in the whispers. 

It wasn't respect, not yet, but it was close enough to curiosity that I let myself feel a tiny, bitter flicker of satisfaction.

The path ended near the edge of the property, where the manicured lawns gave way to the forest. 

The trees loomed dark and cool beyond the low stone boundary wall, their branches swaying gently even though I could barely feel any wind.

I hesitated, then sat down on the wall, pulled my knees up and finally let myself breathe.

My mind refused to quiet down.

Osric's face kept flashing behind my eyes, the hunger in his gaze and the way he had stepped back like it physically hurt him. 

Alaric's cold silence at breakfast and the heat of his fingers on my elbow kept following right behind it, along with Valentina's sneer, the old woman in the window and the silver glow in my palm, until all of it tangled together, my chest felt tight again and my temples began to throb.

I rubbed my forehead and reached into my coat pocket for my phone, desperate for something normal, something from my real life.

The screen lit up with three unread messages, and the name at the top made my lips curve before I could stop them. It was Magnus.

The first one had come in hours ago, just after I landed.

Did they eat you alive yet, or do I still have a lead researcher?

The second was a photo of my empty desk in the lab, my favorite chipped mug sitting right where I had left it.

The centrifuge misses you. So do I. Mostly the centrifuge.

The third had come in just ten minutes ago.

I know you, Ty. You're pretending everything is fine. Call me when you need to talk.

A soft, surprised laugh escaped me, and some of the tightness in my chest finally eased.

That was the thing about Magnus. 

He always seemed to know exactly what I needed, exactly when I needed it, without ever asking for anything in return. 

He had become a steady part of my life, the part that didn't come with fated bonds and blood feuds and men whose behaviours confused me to no end.

For a moment, I let myself imagine how simple it would be to call him, to hear his warm, teasing voice and pretend I was back in Beijing, where the biggest drama in my life was a delayed grant review.

I started typing a reply, but as I shifted to pull my phone fully out of my pocket, something small and white came with it.

A folded slip of paper fluttered out and landed in the grass at my feet.

I frowned down at it.

I didn't remember putting anything in that pocket. The coat had come straight out of my suitcase this morning, and the only things I had shoved into it since were my phone and my own shaking hand.

Slowly, I bent and picked it up.

It was a cheap, thin scrap of paper, folded twice into a neat little square. The edges were slightly damp from the grass, and as I turned it over in my fingers, a strange, uneasy prickle crawled across the back of my neck, the same feeling I used to get as a teenager when I opened my locker and knew, before I even looked, that someone had left something cruel inside.

It's probably nothing, I told myself firmly. It was probably a receipt or a note one of the omegas had slipped in by mistake while unpacking my things.

I unfolded it.

The handwriting was jagged and unfamiliar, the letters pressed so hard into the paper that they had nearly torn through it.

You shouldn't have come back.