Page 20 of Dead Girls Don’t Forget

I pulled away and found my stride. “I don’t run in the woods.”

He studied me. “Lots of open trails around here. Good for clearing your head.”

“I wouldn’t know.”

He was quiet for a few strides. “I know it was you. Small. Fast.” A pause. “Not scared of me at all.”

My cat purred.

I kept my gaze forward. “You’re imagining things.”

“Am I.”

I said nothing and kept running.

We finished the stations as the morning thinned out. The group reassembled near the starting line. I stepped slightly ahead as we walked back. He kept pace without effort. He waited until we were close enough to the group, then spoke quietly, just for me.

“I don’t know what it is about you, Harper. Or what got my wolf so interested. But I’m going to find out.”

I didn’t answer. I kept walking, adjusting the zip of my jacket, and joined the edge of the group without looking back.

I was in trouble.

On Monday morning, after practice, I slipped into Environmental Science with damp hair and coffee in hand. I had left it loose today, straight black hair falling to my waist.

The Environmental Science lecture hall was large, tiered rows curving up from the podium. I took my usual seat halfway up on the left. Good angle on the board, easy exit, no one close enough to force conversation. I dropped into the chair, pulled out my phone, and scrolled while I drank my coffee.

The door opened again. Jackson stepped inside and paused. His gaze swept the room once, then locked on me. Something tightened between us.

He started up the stairs and took the seat directly behind me. Close enough that his scent hit immediately. Pine, warmth, wolf.

My cat purred.

Across the hall wolves whispered.

“What is he doing here?”

“Did he switch courses?”

I pressed my pen harder than necessary and wrote the date at the top of my notebook. The professor arrived and the lecture began. I tried to focus. But his presence pressed against me anyway, constant and impossible to ignore. Every shift in his seat, every quiet movement behind me, registered whether I wanted it to or not.

I told myself it was nothing. A general-ed class. A bad coincidence.

Behavioral Analysis was a different story.

I had barely settled into my usual spot when the door opened. My cat’s sudden alertness told me who it was before I looked.

Jackson scanned the room, then headed straight for my row. Every seat near me was taken. He stopped beside the guy on my left.

“I need that seat.”

The guy hesitated half a second, then gathered his things and moved without argument. Jackson sat down like the space had always belonged to him.

I stared at the side of his face, annoyed, impressed, and mostly annoyed that I was impressed.

He turned slightly, catching it. A faint, knowing look crossed his expression.

“What are the chances? You’re in this one too.”