Chapter 3
1118 Words
Jacek
She smells like rain.
Not the kind that softens the air—cold rain that pelts the pavement and stings when it hits your skin.
The second she stepped into the classroom, the static changed. Too controlled. Too quiet. Like she'd trained herself to disappear just to stay alive.
Most people bleed emotion into the air. Hers stayed locked down—contained, sealed tight.
Until I touched her.
It wasn't intentional. But when my fingers brushed hers, the silence around her cracked open.
Fear. Recognition. Pain.
It all hit at once—raw and electric, humming under my skin like a live wire.
Mariah Finch.
I remembered her name from the class roster I hacked into before the semester started.
It's a habit of mine. Matching names to scents, cadences, patterns.
People are easier to read when you already know who they are.
But she's not what I expected.
The omega with the dance scholarship everyone whispers about. On paper, she's supposed to be confident. Composed. The kind of person who commands a stage without trying.
But the girl who sat beside me couldn't even breathe without measuring it first—like even exhaling too loud might draw unwanted attention.
Of course, I noticed it anyway.
Not because she wanted to be seen—that's the last thing she wanted—but because there's a kind of silence that draws you in.
Hers wasn't empty. It was heavy. Dense enough to bend the air around her.
Then our hands touched, and everything shifted.
It wasn't curiosity. It was instinct—deeper than thought.
My pulse stuttered once, then synced with hers, and something inside me recognized her before I had the language for it.
For a heartbeat, the world narrowed.
Just her scent. Her breath. The faint tremor in her hands.
It should've passed.
But it didn't.
Even after she pulled away, the thread stayed—thin, invisible, unyielding.
I don't believe in bonds. Not since Cassian's mother tore my own out of my life.
But whatever that was—it sure as hell felt like one.
Real bonds are rare. Most modern alphas and betas pair with their omegas out of convenience, not fate.
This wasn't want.
It dug deeper. Primal. A need that settled in my chest before I could name it.
Like she'd been carved from the same silence I've spent my life hiding in.
And that means Cassian will feel it too when he meets her.
The thought lands heavy.
Cassian doesn't want an omega. His first instinct will be to push her away—to reject her before he even understands why.
My wolf growls at the idea—low, dangerous, teeth bared in the back of my mind. The bond isn't even solid, but the thought of anyone, especially one of her mates, causing her pain rips through me like lightning.
Cassian's my alpha. My brother in more ways than one.
But if he screws this up—if he pushes her away before we even get the chance to claim her—I'll never forgive him.
Not for that.
The thought should scare me. It doesn't.
It settles instead—quiet, resolute.
A vow.
By the time I make it across campus, the air outside is heavy with pheromone blockers and coffee—an odd combination that somehow defines campus life.
Our suite sits on the top floor of the Vale Society House.
Cassian likes the view.
I tolerate it for the quiet. The separation from the rest of the pack.
The door unlocks beneath my thumbprint. Silence greets me.
Everything is exactly where it's supposed to be.
The blinds half-drawn. The kitchen counters clear. Shoes aligned by the wall.
Cassian's jacket is gone. Which means he's either training or chasing another underclassman who hasn't figured out his type yet.
Knowing him, probably both.
I drop my bag in its usual spot by the couch and take a slow breath. His scent still clings to the room—dominance, vanilla, ink.
Even when he's gone, it lingers.
Always does.
But beneath it, faint and fading, there's something else.
Her.
I lift my hand to my nose, inhaling what's left of her scent.
Fuck.
Nothing has ever smelled so sweet—or so dangerous.
I rake a hand through my hair and pace, trying to burn it out of my system. The bond. The memory. The way her heartbeat jumped the second I touched her.
I've met plenty of omegas. Cassian cycles through them like songs on shuffle, especially during his rut.
I've always stayed clear—kept my wolf on a leash.
This is different.
It's not my body that wants her. It's my mind—my order, my quiet—all pulled toward her chaos.
I cross the room and lift the piano lid. The keys gleam like bone in the low light.
Music has always been the only thing that makes sense.
I press one key. Then another.
Eclipse. The piece I started last week. It was supposed to be detached, technical. A study in restraint.
Now it sounds like her.
The melody strains, shifting under my palms, chasing something I can't name. My pulse stumbles, matching hers again in memory.
Her scent winds through it. The gentle warmth of her touch. Those olive-green eyes.
I shouldn't be thinking about her.
But the music doesn't care.
It just keeps pulling.
The loss of control grates on me. Every stray note feels like a crack in the wall I've spent years building.
My rhythm falters.
I slam my palm down on the keys—once, hard.
The sound crashes through the room, sharp and discordant.
Then silence.
I stare at my reflection in the black lacquer until the static in my chest dulls.
My wolf stirs under my skin. Wanting. Waiting.
He wants her.
I want her.
The admission burns.
I've never wanted anything this much. Not control. Not peace. Not even music.
And I know how this story goes.
She'll run into Cassian. She'll have to. The world's small here, and she's light in a place full of shadows.
He'll see her before long.
I just hope he doesn't ruin it.
Because he will feel it too—the pull, the inevitability—and Cassian never reacts gently to things that scare him.
I lower the piano lid carefully. The sound clicks into darkness.
Tomorrow, I'll see her again. Pretend I'm unaffected. Keep my distance.
That's the plan, at least.
My fingers still twitch—aching for the keys. For her pulse under my skin.
Control is a fragile thing. It's what I thrive on.
But because of her, I can already feel it slipping away.
- Writer
