By the third week of the semester, Vanessa had a new routine: classes, fries, Skylar's relentless commentary, and pursuing Ethan Blackwood like it was her second major. She never cornered him outright—she was smarter than that—but she orbited him, narrowing the distance one breath at a time.
Her wolf prowled constantly now, restless, impatient. Walls are meant to fall. Bite until they crack.
Tuesday morning, Behavioral Psych was packed. Vanessa slipped into her usual seat near the middle—close enough to see, far enough not to stand out. Skylar sprawled beside her, already doodling hearts and knives in her notebook.
"Guess who's about to enter," Skylar muttered.
Vanessa didn't need to guess. Her wolf had already felt him.
Ethan walked in with his usual precision: not late, not rushed, sliding into the back row where the light hit his profile like he'd been carved out of it. He carried only a notebook and a mechanical pencil, like even ink was too messy for him. He didn't look at her. He didn't need to. The bond had already tugged them into awareness.
Professor Adler strode to the front, wild gray hair and chalk-stained hands. "Group project time," he announced with relish. "Pairs. Randomized. Don't complain. Life doesn't give you choice partners either."
Groans rolled across the hall. Vanessa felt her stomach dip. Randomized meant—
"Blackwood. Crawford," Adler said, peering at his list. "You're paired. Paper on attachment theory, due in two weeks."
The room buzzed instantly, whispers snapping like sparks. Vanessa's cheeks burned. Skylar shot her a look that said the universe ships you harder than I do.
Ethan's head tilted just slightly, like he'd heard the verdict and filed it under inevitable disasters.
Vanessa forced her pulse to settle. She turned in her seat, meeting his gaze across the rows. "Guess we're partners," she called softly.
His pencil stilled over the page. Gray eyes locked onto hers for a long, tense beat. Then he said flatly, "We'll coordinate over email."
Whispers spiked again. Vanessa's wolf growled. Coward.
"No," Vanessa said. Her voice carried just enough for nearby students to hear. "Face-to-face. Partners work better that way."
Adler grinned at the exchange, oblivious to the weight of it. "That's the spirit. Collaboration." He scribbled something on the board and launched into a lecture about Harlow's monkeys.
Vanessa turned back, victorious in the smallest of ways. Ethan's jaw clenched, but he didn't contradict her.
After class, she made her way up the steps deliberately, ignoring the eyes that followed. Ethan slid his notebook into his bag with neat efficiency. When she stopped at his desk, he didn't look up.
"Attachment theory," she said, keeping her tone casual. "Coffee shop? Library? Or do you prefer interrogation rooms?"
His gaze flicked up at that, sharp. "Library. Public. Neutral."
"Neutral," she echoed with a small smile. "Sure."
They walked side by side across campus, the space between them humming with unspoken things. Students glanced, whispered, but gave them a wide berth without knowing why. Wolves always knew tension when it walked past.
The library was half-full, sunlight slanting through tall windows. Vanessa chose a table by the corner, dropped her bag, and pulled out her laptop. Ethan sat opposite, notebook open, pen poised like a weapon.
For ten minutes, they worked in silence. Vanessa typed notes on Bowlby and Ainsworth; Ethan jotted bullet points with mechanical precision. The only sound was the scratch of his pen and the faint buzz of the lamp.
Then, without warning, the bond surged.
Vanessa's hand brushed his as she reached for her water bottle. Skin against skin—barely, a whisper of contact. But it was enough.
The world tilted. Heat roared through her veins, so sharp she gasped. Her wolf howled, triumphant. Mate. Ours.
Ethan flinched, like he'd been burned. His hand jerked back, pen clattering against the desk. His breath hitched, eyes widening before he crushed the reaction under iron control.
"Don't," he snapped, too loud. Heads turned. He lowered his voice, jaw tight. "Don't touch me."
Vanessa's chest ached from the rejection, but she steadied her voice. "I didn't mean to." She leaned forward, gaze locking on his. "But you felt it. Don't lie."
His wolf pressed hard against his skin, claws dragging for release. Yes. Felt her. Need her.
Ethan shoved it down. "It means nothing."
Vanessa shook her head. "It means everything. That's why you're shaking."
His hands curled into fists on the table. "I'm not."
"You are." Her voice was soft but relentless. "And you're terrified of what it means."
For a moment, his mask cracked. She saw it—the flash of raw fear, the shadow of something old and ugly that still bled. Then it was gone, replaced by ice.
He snapped his notebook shut. "Session's over."
Vanessa's wolf snarled, furious at the retreat. Break his walls. Tear them down.
She reached across the table, not touching him this time, but close enough that the bond thrummed between them like a live wire. "You can shut me out all you want, Ethan. But every time you run, you leave cracks behind. And I'll find them."
His eyes burned, gray storming with emotion he refused to name.
Then he stood, shouldered his bag, and walked out, spine stiff.
Vanessa sat back, chest tight, wolf pacing inside her. She'd touched him. Just once, accidental, but enough to prove what she already knew.
His walls were breaking.
And when they broke, she would be there to catch him.
The next day, Vanessa found him before he could avoid her. The bond made it easy; even across a crowded quad, she felt where he was—like gravity was tugging her in his direction.
Ethan leaned against a tree on the far side, notebook balanced on one knee, pencil moving in those precise, sharp lines she had come to recognize. His posture screamed indifference, but the tension in his shoulders betrayed him.
Vanessa crossed the grass. She didn't announce herself, didn't give him a chance to leave. She sat down opposite, tugging her sweater tight against the autumn chill.
"You disappeared yesterday," she said.
"I left." His eyes didn't leave the page.
"That's disappearing."
"That's survival."
Her wolf growled. Excuses. Lies. Break him.
"Survival isn't living," Vanessa countered.
That made him pause. His pencil stilled. For a long moment, he didn't look up. Then, finally, his gray eyes lifted.
Something flickered there—something sharp and broken and too old for a boy barely into his twenties. "You don't know what living costs," he said softly, the words dragging like chain links.
Vanessa's breath caught. "Then tell me."
He flinched. She saw it, just a flicker of memory flashing across his face. His wolf surged forward, pressing at his skin. Tell her. She is ours. She won't run.
"No." He snapped the word, shoved the wolf down, slammed the notebook shut like it could bury the past. He shoved to his feet. "Stay out of it."
Vanessa stood too, heart hammering. "I can't. Every time you push me away, the bond pulls harder. It doesn't matter how much you fight it."
"It matters to me." He turned, started walking fast across the quad.
Vanessa followed. Students turned to watch; whispers rippled behind them. But she didn't care. Her wolf urged her on. Hunt. Don't let him flee.
"Ethan!" She grabbed his wrist before he could reach the path.
The bond detonated. Heat roared through her veins, searing from fingertips to spine. His wolf howled, triumphant. Touch. Ours. At last.
Ethan froze like he'd been struck by lightning. His breath hitched. His body trembled under her grip, every muscle caught between lunging forward and ripping away.
"See?" Vanessa whispered. Her hand tightened, desperate. "This isn't nothing. This is real. Stop lying to yourself."
His eyes squeezed shut. And for one raw, shattering moment, she saw it. His walls cracked wide enough for her to glimpse the boy underneath—the boy who had flinched at hands instead of reaching for them, who had learned that love cut deeper than claws, who had decided bonds were cages long before he had the chance to know different.
"Let me in," she begged, her voice breaking despite her pride. "I don't want to fix you. I want to fight with you. For you. Always."
His wolf pressed hard, desperate. Yes. Mate. Home. Let her heal us.
Ethan's body shuddered. His free hand lifted halfway, trembling in the air between them like it wanted her cheek, her hair, her pulse. His lips parted, breath ragged.
For a heartbeat, Vanessa thought he would give in. The bond burned bright and fierce between them, their wolves howling in unison. Her chest ached with wanting.
Then the walls slammed back down.
He ripped his wrist free like her touch burned. His eyes snapped open, colder than ice but shining wet at the edges.
"Don't," he rasped. "Don't do this to me. Don't make me want what I can't have."
Her throat closed. "You can have it. You just have to stop running."
He staggered back a step, shaking his head like he could shake off the bond itself. "You don't understand. If I let you in, I'll break you. And I won't survive watching that."
Vanessa's heart split. Her wolf snarled. Lies. Excuses. He is ours.
"I'm stronger than you think," she said fiercely, voice trembling with conviction. "You won't break me, Ethan. You'll heal me. And I'll heal you. That's what this is."
He looked at her like she was sunlight and fire, like he wanted nothing more than to step into her arms and burn. His wolf howled inside him, claws raking his ribs. Yes. Yes. Take her. Bite. Bond.
But his fear won. His walls rose again.
With a choked sound, Ethan turned and walked away, fast, head down, fists clenched so hard his knuckles went white.
Vanessa stood in the quad, breathless, trembling. Dozens of eyes watched. Whispers swelled. But she didn't care. She stared after him, chest heaving, her wolf pacing, restless and furious.
He weakens. We hunt. We will not give up.
Vanessa pressed her fist to her chest, steadying her breath. "I'm not afraid of breaking," she whispered, more to herself than anyone. "I'm afraid of giving up. And I never will."
Her wolf growled approval, teeth bared in a smile. We will hunt until he surrenders. He is ours.
And in the distance, Ethan's figure disappeared into the crowd.
But for the first time, his stride faltered. His walls had cracked—and he knew it.