You and Lucien never really got along, and honestly, you still had no clue why. From the moment you stepped into your first college classroom, the unspoken war began.

At first, it was just the staring. And not the casual “oh, I noticed you” kind of stare—no, this was the full-on, soul-scrutinizing, dirty look that made even the most dramatic of popular girls look like amateurs.

Then came the tension. He had this uncanny ability to answer every question before you even raised your hand. He corrected your notes with that impossibly elegant, curvy handwriting of his—like he was auditioning to be a calligraphy demon. He swiped your seat right out from under you. You argued over the dumbest things, especially in group projects, turning even the simplest tasks into miniature battlegrounds.

One late evening, after most of your study group had scattered, you dozed off at the table, exhausted. When you woke up, you thought you were alone. But no—there he was. Lucien. Sitting quietly right next to you.

The entire time you’d been asleep, he’d been watching you. Watching your chest rise and fall, jaw clenched, fangs aching faintly, practically aching for a taste of… well, something.