Werewolf

“Because…” I looked anywhere but his face. I bit my bottom lip—a habit whenever anxiety tightened its grip.
 
“Stop that.”
 
“Hmm?” I glanced up and realized he was watching my lips. I raised an eyebrow. He didn’t answer. His jaw clenched with a small, audible sound.
 
“Hmm…” He crossed his arms and lifted one eyebrow. “I’m asking you.”
 
His voice pressed against me like weight. I swallowed and felt heat rush to my cheeks. I was about to speak when I noticed people glancing our way. Panic rose hot and sudden. Before he could say anything else, I turned and ran. I heard him call my name, but I didn’t look back.
 
Better this way. I shouldn’t engage with Nathan Jones Davis. I couldn’t read him. What if I was just prey for those dark, magnetic eyes that made me weak at the knees?
 
I was about to round the hall corner when I nearly collided with someone. I stopped just in time. My eyes wid

“Come on!” Nathan suddenly opened his car door and hurried to my side, yanking mine open before I could even react. I jumped in surprise as he took my hand and pulled me along. He looked unusually thrilled—almost radiant.
 
“Nathan, wait!” I stumbled after him while he laughed at my flustered state.
 
“So, what should we ride first?”
 
Yes, you heard that right—we were at a carnival. In front of us stretched a wild blur of rides, flashing lights, food stalls, and games.
 
In short, I was in hell.
 
“What are we doing here?!” Panic cracked in my voice as I scanned the place. The noise, the crowd, the dizzying lights—it was too much. I could feel the color draining from my face. Even from here, the sight of those towering rides made my stomach twist.
 
The sun was setting, streaking the sky in gold and pink as the evening breeze brushed against my skin. I tucked a loose strand of hair behi

“Tell him I’m not here.” I turned my back on her and pushed her out of my unit. She stumbled but quickly regained her composure, then abruptly pinched my arm. I winced in pain as she pointed at me, eyes sharp with rebuke.
 
“You can’t turn away from him, dear. You need to face him. He’s been waiting outside for an hour. Shame on you!” She pinched my ears next. I silently prayed to the gods for escape, wondering if this was punishment for the commotion earlier.
 
“Go change into something… stylish. Fix your face. You look—”
 
“Ugly? Yeah, I know,” I grunted, rubbing my ears. Finally, she let go.
 
“I meant washed-out.” She walked past me and opened my closet. I sighed. Even if I argued, she wouldn’t listen.
 
“This fits you.” She tossed a piece of cloth onto my face. I struggled to remove it, nearly passing out. I rarely wore anything like this, and school was definitely not the place.
 
“Oh, no. Please—” She shushed me and pushed me into the bathroom.
 
“Change, dear! I won’t leave if you try to sneak out!” her voice threatened from outside.
 
I protested silently, knowing I had no choice. The outfit wasn’t awful, just unfamiliar. I dreaded the attention it might bring. Shaking off my worries, I changed, fixed my hair, and opened the door.
 
Mrs. Johnson’s jaw nearly dropped. She looked me over, then gave two thumbs up.
 
“The dress suits you.”
 
I glanced down. My curves had always made me uncomfortable in revealing clothes, but this fit surprisingly well.
 
“You don’t need makeup. Your natural elegance is enough, sweetheart.” She tapped my head and guided me outside. Her compliment made my cheeks burn.
 
On the stairs, I noticed a crowd at the bottom. Confused, I remembered someone waiting for me. Regret hit—this dress would reveal too much. I considered fleeing, but a pinch on my earlobe forced me down the steps.
 
“Coming through! Girlfriend’s here!”
 
The crowd parted, all eyes on us. Whispers and complaints floated around, mostly from older women. I froze, trying to ignore it. From the window, I saw Nathan leaning on his car, hands in pockets, staring off into the distance, oblivious to the curious onlookers.
 
“Is it true he’s your boyfriend, Nash?”
 
People called me Nash or Nat. I didn’t answer, walking past, ignoring their murmurs. Mrs. Johnson shoved the busybodies aside. Let them think what they wanted.
 
When I opened the door, daylight hit my eyes, forcing me to close it, blinded by the brightness. I was about to step onto the porch when, all of a sudden, I lost my balance, unable to see clearly where I was walking. Before I could fall, a hand gripped my shoulders, steadying me.
 
“Hey.” His deep baritone sent shivers down my spine. Our eyes met, and I gulped.
 
“Hi… what are you doing here?” I blurted. Immediately, I regretted it. A sly grin appeared on his face. His gaze dropped to my dress. I wanted to vanish.
 
“Is it bad to offer you a ride to school?”
 
I squinted at him, overwhelmed. On impulse, I poked his cheek. His brows furrowed, lips frowning. Humiliated, I let go.
 
“Sorry, you must’ve mistaken me for someone else. I’m Natasha, your Ethics classmate. If you need directions to the—”
 
He chuckled and grabbed my wrist.
 
“Silly, I’m looking for you. Come on, let’s go.”
 
Before I could protest, he pulled me close, the scent of his cologne engulfing me. I almost leaned into him, but he spoke:
 
“You can go in now.”
 
I glanced at the car, cheeks burning. I swallowed hard and stepped inside. He started the engine, and we drove off.
 
He tried making conversation, asking about my day and sleep. I mumbled answers, uncomfortable, unsure why my nerves refused to settle. Everything felt surreal.
 
When he stopped the car, resting his elbow on the seat, he looked at me.
 
“So, how—”
 
“Thank you.” I cut him off and exited. A few students stared. My heart raced, stomach twisting in fear of being noticed.
 
“Natasha!”
 
God, he even shouted my name. I looked down at the path to the school entrance, ignoring him. I could feel the intense gaze of the other students; a few were whispering and wondering why Nathan Jones Davis was calling my name. I quickened my pace, lost in thought, but froze when he suddenly grabbed my arms and turned me to face him. I swallowed hard as our eyes met.
 
“Why are you running?” His brows knitted in confusion. Students paused to watch.
 
I froze, unsure what to say. His look pierced me. Before he could speak, I freed my arms and turned away.
 
We shouldn’t be talking.
 
The bell rang after class, signaling lunch. I grabbed my bag and wove through the crowd, searching for a place to eat. Seeing Nathan and Natalie on the top floor earlier made me avoid the place. I needed solitude, even if it meant the janitor’s closet with its foul smell.
 
Lost in thought, I bumped into someone. My phone nearly fell, but I caught it. My heart raced. Looking up, I froze. His eyes… there was something in them, a depth I couldn’t understand, suffocating in intensity.
 
“Hey.”
 
I blinked, forcing a smile. He noticed my unease, concern etching his face.
 
“Is something wrong? Why are you avoiding me?”
 
He was right. I had been avoiding him without reason. My thoughts churned—he made me nervous, yet curious. I couldn’t explain it, not even to myself.
 
Or maybe it’s because… he’s the type of man who’s out of reach, and people seeing me close to him… I don’t want that kind of scandal.

“Because…” I looked anywhere but his face. I bit my bottom lip—a habit whenever anxiety tightened its grip.
 
“Stop that.”
 
“Hmm?” I glanced up and realized he was watching my lips. I raised an eyebrow. He didn’t answer. His jaw clenched with a small, audible sound.
 
“Hmm…” He crossed his arms and lifted one eyebrow. “I’m asking you.”
 
His voice pressed against me like weight. I swallowed and felt heat rush to my cheeks. I was about to speak when I noticed people glancing our way. Panic rose hot and sudden. Before he could say anything else, I turned and ran. I heard him call my name, but I didn’t look back.
 
Better this way. I shouldn’t engage with Nathan Jones Davis. I couldn’t read him. What if I was just prey for those dark, magnetic eyes that made me weak at the knees?
 
I was about to round the hall corner when I nearly collided with someone. I stopped just in time. My eyes widened in shock—Nathan. How had he followed me?
 
“I’m serious, Natasha. Why don’t you want to talk to

Date, or Is It?