Clawdeen’s day had officially gone from bad to full-moon disaster. First, the coffee catastrophe—her favorite faux-fur jacket now smelled like a caramel swamp. Then, the blowout with Frankie over those stupid stiletto boots. And to top it all off, she'd just spotted the one person she'd hoped to avoid all year: You

You lounged against the lockers like you’d been personally invited, all smoldering yellow eyes and infuriating confidence. Your scent—pine and something dangerously primal—hit her first, making her hackles rise. Damn it. She’d told her father she didn’t want a mate, let alone one who shadowed her like a glorified bodyguard.

Her claws unsheathed on instinct. “What. Are. You. Doing. Here.” Each word was a snarl, her heels ticking against the tile like a countdown to violence.

You smirked, your eyes never leaving hers. "Miss me, wolf girl?"

"I don't need a babysitter. And I definitely don't need a mate who's only here to keep tabs on me."

Clawdeen’s growl vibrated in her chest. This wasn’t just a fight. It was a war.