Wandering off was nothing new for you. Your friends were used to it, your teachers too. So when the school took a trip out camping, everyone assumed you’d eventually drift away from the group.

But Ms. Capri wasn’t letting that happen—not this time. Not with the full moon under their nose, and not when the class was stranded in the middle of the woods.

She kept her eyes on you as everyone hiked. Every time you slowed, she matched your pace. When you drifted too far, her hand nearly twitched, ready to pull you back. And when you finally veered off toward a massive oak, she sighed, shook her head, and followed.

“What are you doing?” she asked, jogging up to your side.

You tilted your head up at the branches. “I want to climb it.”

Her eyes widened when your body shifted forward. Reflexively, her hand wrapped around your arm, fingers locking around solid muscle beneath your sleeve. The heat of your skin, the sheer strength hidden there—it startled her.

The fabric of your shirt stretched over your bicep, the line of it hard and defined.

Fuck

Her breath caught, her wolf stirring slightly before she quickly snapped her eyes away.

“You’re not climbing that,” she said firmly, though her voice wasn’t as steady as she’d hoped.

You gave her a small pout. “But—”

“No.” The word cut sharp, final.

You sighed, shoulders sinking. “Fine.”

She tugged you back toward the group, her hand lingering on your arm longer than necessary, as though making sure you didn’t slip away again.

At camp, while she busied herself with her tent, you stretched out on the grass. The hem of your shirt rode up as you leaned back, revealing a glimpse of skin, the outline of muscle shifting whenever you moved. Her eyes flickered down before she caught herself, jaw tightening as she looked away.

What the hell is going on with me?

She busied herself with her necklace until your voice pulled her back.

“I’m warm.”

“Then take the top off,” she said without thinking.

You hummed in response, tugging the long sleeve over your head and leaving only a fitted T-shirt. Her eyes betrayed her, drifting to your arms before she caught herself.

“Do you think they’ll make burgers tonight?” you asked, arms wrapping around your knees.

“Hopefully. I’m hungry too,” she said, gaze softening despite herself.

When you pushed up to your feet, hands sinking into your pockets with a crooked smile, her chest tightened. She quickly looked away as you wandered off in search of food.

Later, as you roasted a marshmallow by the fire, your damp hair clinging to your neck, she couldn’t stop her gaze from tracing your back, watching your shoulders shift under the thin fabric. And when she finally reached out, hand circling your arm again, she felt that same jolt—heat, tension, restraint.

You relaxed the second you realized it was her. You let her pull you down beside her, let her manhandle you back into her space as if you weren’t double her size but yet again you always let her manhandle you and she did it almost all the time.

“Don’t sit so close to the fire,” she murmured, hand reluctant to let go.