Jace
The scratch of chalk against the board should have been the loudest sound in the room. The professor’s voice droned, steady and monotonous, lecturing about ancient territorial treaties between wolf packs and the fragile alliances that bound them. Pages turned. Pens scratched. Someone yawned a few rows down.
But none of that touched me.
Not when my gaze had been caught—snared—by the girl who sat two seats ahead, her back straight, her pen motionless against her paper. Zara.
It wasn’t unusual for me to look at her; I had been doing that more often than I wanted to admit. But lately, staring at her left me with an ache I couldn’t name, an instinct that coiled low in my stomach like a command I couldn’t ignore. It was attraction—yes but no, it was sharper, heavier. Protection. A wild,
