His hand stays there—steady, warm through the glove—like he knows exactly what he's doing to my pulse.
Mrs. Webb's chalk screeches faintly across the board, and several pens could be heard screeching on paper. I tried to move my fingers away from Jordan's grip , but my nerves are already burning from something sharper.
"You're late," I whisper without turning. My voice feels borrowed, thinner than usual.
He leans close enough for his breath to disturb the loose strands of my hair "I like keeping things dramatic."
I smirk "More like disrespectful "
He gives a low laugh "Well, whatever helps you sleep well at night, my pearl."
I sit straighter, more tensed. "How bout you reserve the petnames for more private places " I whisper, turning my neck this way and that , afraid someone might overhear us.
Fuck. I was always wondering what would eventually happen to us if our forbidden affair was discovered. The inevitability of it was making me not sleep well at nights most times.
Jordan shifted even closer, bringing with him the goosebumps that clung to my neck like a jilted lover "How bout you let me love you the only way I know how. " His tongue slide along my neck in a low growl.
I stiffen, removing my hand from his grasp "The only way you know how will definitely get us killed. "
"I am more than willing to die for you, my dark Magian ". His lips curve into a kiss on my neck.
I pull away, turning to face him with a coldness I did not really feel "You can be a martyr for someone else, Jordan Files. Why don't you tell me of the man who can help me learn how to control these powers. "
His gaze is ice cold , so ice cold something snaps in my distracted heart. When he speaks, his voice is low but unflinchingly dry and curt "Yes. Thanks for the reminder. Afterall, you will be gone in three months. Thats when the scholarship program will be completed. And you can go back to your human world without having to worry about a loathsome werewolf ".
"I never called you loathsome " I am trying to keep my voice low amidst the flutter of pens and the rustle of paper and Mrs. Webb's ghoulish voice singing on about reflective resonance.
"You might as well begin now " Jordan hisses , at the same time banging his hands loudly on the desk in pent up aggression. Fangs flash and in an instant he's almost morphing.
All heads , including Mrs. Webb's, turns towards us.
A cold silence floods the room.
Mrs. Webb's chalk stills midair.
Jordan's hands tremble where they rest on the desk — claws half-formed, veins darkening like ink crawling beneath the skin.
"Mr. Files," Mrs. Webb says sharply, "unless you wish to demonstrate feral transition to the entire class, I suggest you compose yourself."
A few students snicker, but the air is brittle.
Jordan drags a breath through his teeth, forcing the fangs back, his jaw tightening like it hurts to stay human.
My heart thuds so violently it almost drowns out the sound of Mrs. Webb setting her chalk down.
She turns her eyes to me. "Miss Carter," she says, voice dangerously calm, "whatever conversation you two were having, I strongly advise you finish it outside my class."
I nod once. My throat is dry.
Jordan doesn't move.
"Now," she adds, stepping back to the board, "where were we? Ah yes — mirror anomalies. "
"My mother mentioned a man named Bobbit Robbespierre" Jordan says quietly while I pretend to write, even if my eyes are not seeing anything. Even if the tears that hang there are beginning to fall.
"Bobbit what?" My voice sounds smooth. Too smooth for the tension I'm feeling right now.
"Robbespierre" He snorts and then I watch sightlessly as his hands meet mine on the desk and flip the pen aside "Shit. Night, you are crying."
Something wet drifts from my eyes to the open book in front of me. Yes. I am crying. The tears stand in torrents, I clench my teeth as if to keep them back.
Jordan flips my gloved hands this way and that. His silky voice deepens into unfeigned worry "What's the problem? Night, are you torching yourself beneath the gloves ? Are you burning up?" He pulls me tighter, one hand flipping to my neck to check my temperature.
"It's not the powers, idiot" I shoot out quietly, knowing fully well that I was doomed. And doomed. And doomed in all degrees.
God. I loved him. Wolf Lore be damned.
"Then what is it" His worried hands drift to my face. I do not pull away. I am deaf to the consistent droning of Mrs. Webb's ghoulish voice, the chatter of ink spiraling on paper. I am deaf to the thought of being caught this vulnerable.. Exposed... A frail human girl diving into the embraces of a werewolf.
My throat burns slightly.
"You know what it is" I smile right through my tears.
"Honestly, Night, your mind is a blank right now" Innocence gives him a stark cuter look "I can't mind-read you when I'm tensed ".
His eyes, those frost eyes of his, are painfully earnest. And I realize I am done pretending that I can walk away from this. From him.
"Jordan…" My whisper feels fragile, like the sound might break if I push it harder. "I can't do it."
He blinks. "Can't do what?"
I swallow the lump in my throat. "Bear it. The thought of giving you up."
For a heartbeat, the whole room freezes. His hand lingers on the edge of the desk before sliding — slow, careful — underneath. Fingers brush mine beneath the polished wood. Heat meets heat, leather meets skin. The forbidden tremor of something reckless binds us.
He exhales shakily, voice low enough to melt into the hum of the class. "You have no idea what you just did to me, Night."
His fingers tighten around mine, rough and tender at once. "I tried convincing myself to stop. To let you go before it kills one of us. But gods—" He breaks off, smiling bitterly. "You're poison I'm begging for more of."
The words hit something raw inside me. I want to tell him that he's wrong, that this isn't poison, that maybe it's salvation — but I don't. I just hold his hand tighter.
Mrs. Webb's voice hums somewhere far away: "When emotion runs unchecked, the reflection begins to fracture."
I almost laugh. Because we are both already fractured.
He leans closer, whispering "Robbespierre. He's the one who can help. A Vampyre-Wolf hybrid, he was exiled from his clan. For venturing into the darker side of magic . They say he's the last known Telectrokinesist. The ability to combine telekinesis and electrokinesis is a very rare almost extinct Magic art."
I tilt my head slightly, our joined hands hidden in shadow. "And what do you say?"
He studies me like he's memorizing my face. "I say we go find him. Before this—" his thumb brushes the edge of my glove "—burns the world down."
"When?"
"Tomorrow night."
I nod once.
His grip tightens one last time, a quiet vow in the dark.
Mrs. Webb turns suddenly, eyes sweeping the class. I yank my hand free just in time, straightening my notes. Jordan looks away, jaw clenched, pretending to read.
But I can still feel it — his warmth, his pulse, his promise — etched into the soft leather of my glove.
Tomorrow night.