Chapter 4

The book she held clattered to the floor, forgotten as she stumbled backward, her eyes wide with a mixture of fear and confusion. Mark instinctively reached out to steady her, but before his hand could make contact, she spun on her heel and fled. Her boots pounded against the polished floor, the sound echoing through the silent library as she disappeared around a corner.

What the...? Mark stood there, stunned, his hand still outstretched. What just happened? Did she feel the same thing as he did, or was she just scared of a stranger approaching her? His mind was racing with questions.

He couldn’t not follow. His feet were moving before he’d even fully registered that she’d fled.

Control yourself, a thought, faint and reproachful, echoed somewhere in the back of his mind. But it was a whisper compared to the thrumming need that propelled him forward, urging him onward, faster, as he caught glimpses of her through the rows of towering bookshelves.

“Wait!” The word tore from his throat—a desperate plea he hadn’t meant to voice. But she only ran faster, her slender figure a whirlwind of panic, dodging bewildered students as she bolted toward the library entrance. He glimpsed the glint of sun on her chestnut hair, and his pulse quickened. Take her.

She burst through the door and into the open air, her figure swallowed by the bustling college campus. Mark followed, his pace quickening as he weaved through the throngs of students. He had no idea what was happening, why she was running, why he felt this overwhelming urge to follow her.

“Wait, please!” He calls out to her again. “I just want to talk!”

She didn’t even glance back, her pace increasing as she rounded a corner, disappearing from sight. Mark pushed himself harder, his legs burning, his lungs screaming for air. He turned the corner, catching a glimpse of her long hair as she sprinted down a hallway, her backpack bouncing against her back.

He was dimly aware of students jostling, of exclamations— Hey watch it, Asshole, Is he chasing her? —but those were words spoken in a foreign language, barely penetrating the fog of his single-minded pursuit. It was only her.

The flicker of that navy-blue shirt, the graceful sweep of those legs he couldn’t get out of his mind, the intoxicating scent— a promise of something he couldn’t quite name but desperately needed— guiding him through the labyrinth of the campus, off the familiar pathways and onto busy city streets, deeper, faster, into unknown territory.

The cacophony of car horns and the shouts of street vendors faded into background noise as his focus remained solely on her. He was vaguely aware of time passing—shadows lengthening, his own breaths burning in his chest— aware of his muscles screaming, yet he kept pushing forward.

He found himself in a quiet residential neighborhood, lined with quaint houses and manicured lawns. He saw her figure in the distance, still running ahead. As he got closer, he could see that she was gasping for air and slowing down.

The street lamps, just beginning to flicker to life against the darkening sky, illuminated the delicate line of her shoulders, her chestnut hair now plastered with sweat to the graceful line of her neck— a sight that shouldn’t have been erotic, yet it sent a jolt of something through him.

“Hey, wait up!” he called out, his voice hoarse.

She glanced back, chest heaving, and the fleeting image of fear reflected in those golden-brown eyes made him falter, as though the invisible thread guiding him had snapped for just an instant. But not for long. He took a step forward—

She was already gone, darting through an open doorway and slamming the door with a resounding thud that should have jolted him back to his senses. It didn’t.

He was at the door, pounding on the wood before the echoes of that final slam had even fully faded.

“Open up!”

Even to his own ears, he sounded like a bad movie villain. Lida would kill him—no, actually, that was probably not what his aunt was most concerned about at this moment.

“Don’t draw attention, Mark. Control yourself. Be smart—” Those careful admonitions he’d tried (mostly) to heed for thirteen years suddenly felt like the childish echoes of a lifetime ago.

Silence mocked him from behind the heavy wood of the closed door. The scent he’d chased so relentlessly—gone, now. Swallowed by the growing certainty that he was an idiot, propelled by some goddamn pheromone overload straight into a restraining order (or maybe assault charges? It hadn’t actually gotten that far, right?).

He slumped against the door-frame, his breath coming in ragged gasps. What the hell just happened? he thought, his mind reeling from the encounter.

A hot, embarrassing flush crept up his neck, chasing the last vestiges of that captivating perfume from his overheated system. He should walk away. Apologize, mumble some excuse about ... he didn’t even know what. And get the hell out of here before things got exponentially worse.

Except...

Take her...

The voice echoed back, faint, then swelling. And now that the chase was over, that consuming need it sparked morphed, twisting into a different sort of ache, settling low and relentless. It wasn’t about fear, or logic, or any of those usual levers of motivation that kept him (mostly) a functional human.

He hammered his fist against the door— harder this time. Sharp pain radiated up his arm— not from the impact but from the surge of energy, almost electrical, that ripped through his tendons the moment his knuckles made contact with the wood.

“Please ... Open up!” he shouted, his voice echoing through the quiet neighborhood. But there was no response, only the hollow thud of his fists against the wood.

As the seconds tick by, it becomes clear she is not going to open.

What was it about this woman that had such a powerful hold on him? Why did her scent ignite such a primal urge within him?And why had she reacted so strongly to his presence?

Take her take her take her take her...

The voice whispered, its insidious command worming its way deeper into his consciousness.It only grew louder, more insistent, driving him with an almost physical force. He couldn’t resist it, couldn’t fight the overwhelming urge that pulsed through his veins.