ANGEL'S POV
The last two weeks had been chaos. Absolute, unrelenting chaos. Academic chaos. Emotional chaos. King chaos.
Every time Lisa called to hang out, I invented another excuse: "I'm studying." "Group work." "Exams are killing me." "Notes to rewrite." Some were pathetic. Some were absurd. But none of them could mask the truth: I couldn't risk being in the same house as King when my pulse betrayed me at every glance, every accidental brush of his hand.
I buried myself in textbooks, timetables, formulas, anything to drown out thoughts of him, the heat his presence brought, the way his voice twisted my stomach in knots I wasn't allowed to acknowledge.
Exams ended. The boot camp loomed like a storm on the horizon: adventure, bonding, and all the what-ifs I wasn't ready to confront. Lisa was ecstatic. Kelly teased mercilessly. And me? I hesitated, lying to myself about the long drive, the rough roads, my trembling heart. Terrified of losing control. Terrified of wanting something I shouldn't.
The morning of the camp was disastrous. I overslept, scrambled for my keys, spilled coffee on my only clean T-shirt. By the time I managed a semblance of composure, the buses were gone.
Lisa's texts came like gunshots:
LISA: Angel?? Where r u?? They left!
ME: I'll drive myself.
LISA: ARE YOU CRAZY??? The road is a mess! Dad's old Toyota got stuck last year!
ME: I'll be fine.
Spoiler: I was not fine.
The roads were treacherous, gouged by tire ruts, scattered with sharp stones. Cattle wandered like kings of the earth. Goats appeared from nowhere. A donkey planted itself in the middle of the track, staring with lazy judgment. I honked. It blinked. I honked again. The universe itself seemed determined to punish me for my recklessness.
By the time the camp came into view, the sun tipped behind the hills, painting the sky in molten gold and violet. My nerves were raw. I parked, exhaled shakily, and stepped out. The air smelled of roasting meat and wood smoke. Students clustered around campfires, laughter mixing with music and shuffling tents.
Kelly spotted me first, squealing. "There she is! Miss Almost-Died-On-The-Road!"
Lisa followed, face tight with worry. "Angel! Why didn't you tell me you were late? I told King you were coming on the bus!"
My stomach plummeted. You told who?
Lisa glanced away, sheepish. "Uh… my brother. He asked because he didn't see your name on the attendance list and—"
Kelly elbowed her sharply. "Oops."
I froze. My pulse thundered. He's going to murder me.
Before I could protest further, Lisa's phone buzzed violently. She read, pale and wide-eyed:
"Angel… stay where you are. Do not let her out of your sight."
Kelly fanned herself dramatically. "I love when he goes full Army-General-Mafia-CEO. I swear my ovaries—"
I hissed, smacking her arm. Too late. Footsteps thundered behind me. Not hesitant. Not slow. Each step a promise.
My breath caught.
KING'S POV
Distance was supposed to cool desire, give reason a chance. She thought she could hide. She thought avoiding me could contain what simmered between us. She was wrong. Dead wrong.
The moment Lisa told me Angel hadn't been on the bus, something snapped inside me, sharp enough to rattle my teeth. I didn't think. I didn't reason. I didn't weigh the consequences. I grabbed my keys and left.
The dirt roads blurred beneath my tires as fury and fear surged together—not anger at her, but a protective need so sharp it burned in my chest. She was reckless, stubborn, brilliant and entirely mine, in a way no one else could claim.
I saw her before she saw me. Hair mussed from the drive, cheeks flushed by effort and evening breeze. Firelight kissed her skin golden. Small. Fragile. Beautiful. A painting that wanted a shadow to step out of darkness.
I shouldn't have needed her like this. I shouldn't have wanted her. I didn't care.
ANGEL'S POV
The camp buzzed, music and firelight filling the night, but none of it touched me. Not when he arrived.
King walked in like a storm, boots striking the ground like drumbeats of warning. Conversations died. Students whispered his name. He acknowledged no one. Every step toward me made my knees threaten mutiny.
"I—I missed the bus," I stammered. Tiny voice in the charged air.
"I'm aware," he said, icy, scanning me for scrapes, exhaustion, strain. He noticed a small bruise forming on my arm. His jaw tightened.
"You drove here alone."
"I had to."
"No," he countered sharply. "You could have been hurt."
"I wasn't."
"That's not the point."
He stepped closer, lowering his voice so only I could hear. "If anything had happened to you…" His jaw flexed. "I would have burned this entire place down."
A ghost of a touch brushed my hand. Fire. Branding. Hunger.
"We're not done," he murmured.
Then his eyes caught the forming bruise.
"Angel… who touched you?" His voice, low, dangerous, cut the night air like a knife.
"I—I hit it on—"
"Who. Touched. You?" His eyes wild, body taut, a second from unleashing.
The campfire crackled. Students whispered. The night seemed to hold its breath.
He stepped in front of me, shielding me, radiating fury and need in equal measure.
I wanted to melt, run, scream,maybe all three.
But most of all, I wanted him. Despite the danger, despite the rules, despite everything.