Everybody Feared Dante Cole

Rainwater dripped from the ends of Ariana Vale's hair as she stood frozen beside the football field. Around her, chaos exploded. Players shouted, coaches ran across the soaked grass, and medical staff rushed toward Dante Cole's unmoving body while the crowd buzzed nervously in the stands above.

But Ariana couldn't move, because his eyes were still on her.

Even lying flat on the field with blood near his eyebrow, he still looked dangerous. That was the terrifying thing about him. He didn't look like someone who was in pain, instead he looked angry.

"Move back! Move back!"

A medic brushed past Ariana roughly, snapping her out of whatever trance she'd fallen into. She swallowed hard and lifted her camera automatically, fingers trembling slightly as she adjusted the lens. The flash captured Dante being lifted onto the stretcher with a streak of mud across his jaw, rain clinging to his dark lashes, his large hand curling slowly into a fist.

Then his head tilted slightly in her direction again. Ariana's stomach tightened. Even half conscious, he looked at her like he knew every ugly thought she'd ever had. She hated that look. Hated him. Mostly.

"You got your dramatic shot?"

The cold voice near her ear nearly made her jump. Ariana turned sharply to find Mason Reed standing beside her, defensive captain, blond, and annoyingly decent looking. Unlike Dante, Mason smiled like a normal person instead of a serial killer.

"You scared me," she muttered.

"You looked possessed."

"Maybe I am."

Mason laughed softly before glancing toward the ambulance now parked near the field entrance. "Cole's gonna lose his mind when he wakes up."

"Why?"

"Because he hates looking weak."

Ariana snorted quietly. "That must make breathing difficult for him."

Mason laughed again, but the sound died quickly, Dante had seen it from across the field. One second he looked injured, and the next his jaw tightened as his eyes locked onto Mason standing beside her. Possessive anger flashed across his face so clearly it made her heart skip. Then the ambulance doors slammed shut.

"What the hell was that?" Mason murmured.

Ariana forced herself to shrug casually even though her chest suddenly felt uneasy. "Probably football player brain damage." But deep down, she knew that look. Dante Cole hated sharing attention, especially hers.

By midnight, Westbridge University looked almost beautiful. The rain had stopped, streetlights reflected off wet sidewalks, and music thumped faintly from frat houses across campus as exhausted students stumbled through the cold night air.

Ariana sat cross legged on the floor of the newspaper office, editing photos alone. Most students partied after games,but Ariana worked. As a Scholarship students she didn't have that kind of luxury.

She rubbed tiredly at her eyes before uploading the final photo set from the game, and there he was again, Dante Cole, looking like a nightmare people would gladly crawl toward even while unconscious.

A soft scoff escaped her lips. "Arrogant jerk."

"You say sweet things about me when I'm injured."

Ariana's entire body stiffened, she turned slowly spotting Dante standing in the doorway, very much alive, and still wearing his black athletic sweats. A fresh cut stretched across his eyebrow, held together by butterfly bandages, that somehow made him look even more dangerous. The room suddenly felt too small.

"What are you doing here?" she asked carefully.

Dante shut the door behind him, quietly. That was always worse.

"I came to see something."

Ariana crossed her arms. "And what exactly is that?"

His dark eyes dragged slowly over her face. "You panicked tonight."

Her heartbeat skipped once, then hardened immediately. "I panicked because if you died, campus parking would finally become available."

The corner of Dante's mouth twitched, not quite a smile, something darker. He walked closer, and Ariana hated how the air changed whenever he approached her, like her body recognized danger before her mind did.

"You were shaking," he said softly.

"You're hallucinating from the concussion."

"Maybe."

He stopped directly in front of her desk, too close as always. Ariana forced herself not to lean back, because showing fear around men like Dante Cole was like drawing blood in shark infested water, and he loved sharks.

"You should leave," she said evenly.

Instead of answering, Dante picked up one of the printed photographs lying on her desk. It was of him, mid game, drenched in rain, and looking furious. His gaze lifted slowly toward her.

"You always make me look violent."

Ariana met his eyes without blinking. "That's because you are."