Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69734 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 232(@300wpm)
I keep space between us, walking to the window to draw the shade against the afternoon sun. There’s a predatory edge to his movements. Despite his size, he has the grace and agility of a large cat, rather than a wolf.
He starts shuffling through the charcoal drawings on my desk.
I stay near the window, angled toward him like any cornered animal, ready to bare my teeth if necessary.
After he sorts through all of them, he turns to me and lifts his brows. “You must’ve lost it, Ms. James. I turned it in yesterday.”
Fuck that. I’m not about to let this kid bully me. He may have a legitimate reason to hate me, but that doesn’t mean I’m going to let him push me around in my own classroom.
I draw myself up. “I don’t lose my students’ artwork. That’s a zero for you, Asher. I’m sure Coach Jamison will be disappointed when you can’t play in this weekend’s game.”
“Well, he can redo it today, can’t he?” Remi, one of the cheerleaders who hangs on his every word, interjects.
I press my lips together. “If it’s done by the end of the class, I will grade it.” I glance over at Asher’s two buddies at the back table–Sebastian and Markley. “That goes for you two, as well. On my desk by the end of class, or you won’t have a passing grade for this weekend’s game.”
Asher strolls back to the table where he reigns and sprawls in a chair. His large body fills the space, spilling in all directions. He looks at me and smirks, as if he’s just won the confrontation. A dimple on each cheek winks at me, sending a chill down my spine.
Because no matter how devastatingly handsome he is when he smiles, I know with total certainty he’s dangerous. He was born into a violent family. There’s violence in his eyes. In his gait. In the feral way he eyes me now.
Once upon a time, I thought I freed him from that cycle of violence, but it seems all I did was cement a sense of betrayal. A hatred so deep, I fear it will consume him.
If I’m not careful, he may exact his revenge on me in the same way his father did.
Asher
Hate lust.
That’s the only accurate description for what I feel for Wolf Ridge High’s new art teacher.
I make a purposeful mockery of the drawing she requested by the end of the class, dragging the piece of charcoal around in scribbles on the page. What is she going to do? We’ll say it’s my definition of art. Markley and Seb follow my lead and do the same.
They know why I hate Carlotta James, the hottest and most talented teacher Wolf Ridge High has ever had. The pack princess who has every male wolf in the school–students and staff alike–running to open her doors or carry her art supplies.
I’m not immune to her fairytale heroine perfection, with her black hair and pale skin and those big cornflower blue eyes that I once believed were full of kindness. But she’s the reason my mom and I have no status in the pack, despite me being a huge alpha wolf. She destroyed my family–something I will not ever forget.
I stroll up to her desk after the bell rings and make a show out of arranging my drawing in the center of it, facing her. I’m crowding her space.
I’d like to say it’s just to intimidate her–which I know is working–but there’s more to it. There’s the fact that I’m desperate to get her scent up in my nostrils again, even knowing the firebomb that will explode in my belly as a result.
The approaching full moon has me extra sensitized, and the hit I took when I came up to her desk earlier wasn’t enough.
Because I’ve never smelled anything so enticing in my life. Honey and jasmine and that unique signature that is only hers. I picked up on it the moment she walked into the art studio two weeks ago as our long-term substitute.
It entered through my pores, affected my physiology, and made me realize the horrifying truth.
The worst possible outcome.
Fate decided to fuck me in the ass by pairing me with the one female I cannot stand.
“Write your name on it, Asher.” She doesn’t look at me as she pushes the drawing my way. She doesn’t know. Female wolves don’t recognize the scent of their mates as easily as males.
I tap the drawing with my middle finger. “You’ll remember who it belongs to,” I tell her.
It’s a warning. I’m daring her to fail me.
She won’t.
Because amongst the notes of fear I pick out of her scent, I caught something else–guilt.
Good.
Lotta should be sorry for what she did to me.
And I intend to make her suffer every day for it.
Chapter Two