She was trouble.
Wrapped in a cheer uniform and confidence, draped in sunlight and secrets. Scarlet Everen was the kind of problem I'd spent my whole life avoiding.
And now she sat in my classroom, smirking like she knew exactly how close I was to the edge.
I watched her through the pane of glass in the classroom door long after she'd left. Her scent still lingered-violets and embers. Too rich. Too sharp. Not just enchantress. Not just wolf.
I couldn't place her.
And that scared me.
Because I could always place people. I'd built my life around control. Knowing. Containing. Surviving.
And she was blowing every rule I had to hell.
I told myself it was just curiosity. A professor watching a difficult student. But deep down, I knew that was a lie. It wasn't the challenge that drew me in-it was her. The sharp flick of her sarcasm, the way her energy buzzed when she entered a room. It was like trying not to stare at the sun.
⸻
My fingers tightened around the edge of my desk.
The campus was quieter now, most students outside or filtering into extracurriculars. I should've been preparing next week's syllabus. Reviewing essays. Hell, even grading something.
But instead, I sat at my desk replaying our conversation like a goddamn masochist.
"You're hiding something."
"And you don't cloak yourself enough."
She had looked straight into me. Past the charm. Past the armor.
And something inside me had responded.
I hated it.
I hated the way my heart beat faster when she was near. The way my senses locked onto her every time she entered the room. The way my instincts howled when I saw her with someone else.
Especially him.
Brett Blackwood.
Alpha blood. Arrogant. Reckless. Practically vibrating with testosterone. The kind of wolf I used to be-before I learned the cost of letting power rule.
He looked at her like she was prey he intended to devour.
And Scarlet?
She looked back like she might let him.
Or worse-like she was hunting him right back.
⸻
I pushed away from the desk and paced the room. The air was stifling. Too thick with her scent.
I needed a run. Or a fight. Or a blackout.
Instead, I threw open the window and let the wind slam into me.
Outside, the sun dipped lower behind the field bleachers. The cheer squad was still practicing, all rhythm and shine.
And there she was.
Center stage.
Scarlet moved like she owned the world. Her laugh carried on the wind. Her arms raised in perfect sync with the others, but her energy pulsed different-darker. Wild. Magic coiled beneath her skin like fire looking for a fuse.
I leaned forward without meaning to, bracing my hands on the sill.
Then I saw him.
Brett jogged over from the far end of the track, water bottle in hand. His shirt clung to him, damp with effort. His eyes locked onto Scarlet like a magnet, and she smiled-lazy and dangerous.
I felt something ancient rear up inside me.
Possession.
Not logical. Not fair. But primal.
I clenched my jaw and forced myself back from the window.
This wasn't me.
This couldn't be me.
⸻
Later, I sat alone in my office with the lights dimmed and the door locked.
My hands shook.
Not from fear.
From holding back.
From the weight of what I was.
From the memory of her voice saying, "You're not just a werewolf."
She was right.
I wasn't.
But I didn't even know what else I was anymore.
My mother had called it a blessing once. "Gifted," she'd said. A rare bloodline. Meant for something more.
But my father?
He'd made it a curse.
A war I still fought every time I looked in the mirror.
And now Scarlet was dragging it all back up from where I'd buried it.
Not with claws.
With curiosity.
And God help me, I wanted her to look deeper.
⸻
I tried to drown her out the next morning.
Coffee. Grading. Meetings.
But I still smelled her before I saw her.
Lavender and smoke. Wolf and enchantress. Sunlight and something darker.
She walked into my classroom like she was bored of the world already. Like nothing could surprise her-except maybe me.
Our eyes met.
And time stopped.
For a second, I wasn't a professor. She wasn't a student. We were two wolves circling the same fire.
Then she sat.
Crossed one leg over the other.
Smirked.
And I had to remind myself to breathe.
⸻
Halfway through lecture, I misquoted Shelley.
Shelley.
The students didn't notice.
But she did.
Scarlet's brow lifted. A soft smile curled her lips.
She didn't say anything.
She didn't have to.
I burned under her gaze.
My pulse kicked. She had no idea what she was doing. Or maybe she did. Maybe it was deliberate-the way she challenged me with just her stare. Like she wanted to see what I'd do if she kept pushing.
The problem was, I didn't know the answer either.
There were rules. Boundaries. But Scarlet blurred all of them. And somewhere beneath it all, I kept asking myself the same impossible question: Why did she feel so familiar?
⸻
It was Friday. I should've been reviewing papers or prepping for Monday.
Instead, I stood at the window, watching.
Down below, on the grassy commons between the arts building and the student union, a group had gathered-mostly athletes, a few cheerleaders, a handful of others.
And there she was.
Scarlet. Hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Tank top. Sneakers. Laughing like it didn't burn her throat.
She darted across the field in a flag football game, cutting past defenders with unnerving agility, her movements too precise-too graceful for a casual pickup match. She didn't look like someone "playing around." She moved like someone trained to fight.
Beside her, Ana Delano threw the ball with a little too much force. It soared through the air, caught perfectly by Scarlet, who spun and scored.
The others cheered.
But I saw the flicker-just for a second-as Scarlet's fingers sparked when she high-fived Ana. Magic. Hidden in plain sight.
My jaw tightened.
They were toying with the edges of exposure. Flirting with chaos.
And no one noticed.
Except me.
⸻
That night, I ran until my lungs burned. I shifted under the moon, let the pain anchor me. Let the wind strip her scent from my clothes.
It didn't work.
When I collapsed beside the lake, shaking and spent, I still saw her face.
Scarlet Everen.
The girl who wasn't just a student. Wasn't just powerful.
The girl who reminded me of someone else.
Of a story I'd tried to forget.
Of a promise I once made to someone I lost.
Protect her.
Keep her safe.
Even if she doesn't know who she is.
Even if she might one day destroy me.
---
The scent of blood always came first.
Not the sharp, metallic kind that came with scraped knees. No-this was thicker. Wilder. Earthy and alive. It soaked into the air before a shift-before bones cracked, muscles stretched, and instincts screamed louder than thought.
I was ten the first time it happened.
We were living off-grid again, tucked deep into an isolated forest cabin. My mother said the distance made us safer. We never stayed long anywhere, except one place.
Silverthorne Manor.
Before everything changed, it was my home just as much as hers.
⸻
I met her there.
Scarlet Silverthorne.
She had stardust in her eyes and wildfire in her laugh. She wasn't afraid of what I was, even when others kept their distance. She ran barefoot through the gardens, climbed trees with scraped knees, and dared me to chase her through the lake fog at dawn.
We were young-maybe eight, nine. But we were everything to each other.
We weren't just friends. We were something more.
We understood each other in ways no one else ever had. Two rare creatures born from magic, legacy, and war.
I was sworn to protect her. It was a promise my mother made, and I accepted it without hesitation. Scarlet was light, even when the world darkened around us. I would have done anything for her.
Until I failed.
⸻
The night the war erupted, I was at the Manor.
I remember shouting. Flames in the distance. Someone-Isadora, maybe-screaming for Scarlet and Ana to run. I remember the look in Scarlet's eyes, not of fear, but betrayal. Like she knew I couldn't stop what was coming.
I never saw her again after that night.
The next morning, the Manor was empty. Burned. My mother had taken me and fled. Scarlet was gone. Ana too. Silverthorne had fallen into shadow.
And so did I.
⸻
My mother died not long after-when I was thirteen. The weight of grief and guilt settled deep in my chest, twisting into something colder than sorrow. A silence I carried for years.
That's when Harper, my mother's sister, came for me.
I hadn't seen her in years, but she took me in without question. Her pack was remote-out west, hidden-and fiercely loyal. I lived under her care, educated privately alongside other wolves in her community. There was structure. Routine. A new life.
But there were no games by the lake.
No girl with golden hair daring me to remember who I really was.
⸻
A memory tugged at the edge of my thoughts-one I couldn't quite grab. A girl by a lake, sunlight in her hair. A promise whispered in the dark. I closed my eyes and tried to summon it, but it slipped away like smoke between my fingers.
"Scarlet Everen," I murmured to myself. "Why do I feel like I've known you before?"
⸻
The power inside me grew wilder after I lost her. My magic twisted-enchanted and primal, a war between bloodlines. I learned to restrain it, to bind it deep inside. Harper taught me what she could, but she didn't have all the answers. No one did.
There were days I wondered if Scarlet had died.
Other days, I thought I made her up. A dream born from trauma. A fantasy of a girl who once made me believe I could be something more than a weapon.
Then she walked into my classroom.
⸻
Scarlet Everen.
Same eyes.
Same laugh.
Different name.
Different story.
But my soul recognized her before my mind did.
And now the ache is back.
Not just from the magic. Not just from desire.
From the memory of what we were.
Of what I failed to protect.
And maybe... the chance to try again.