Scent of Apple and Cinnamon

Maddox POV

I have been inside this high school for barely two minutes, and I am already suffocating under the heavy, desperate attention of every student in the corridor. The sheer desperation radiating off these kids is pathetic. They flock to me, eager to suck up to the big bad Alpha, oblivious to how embarrassing their groveling is. All I want is to be left alone. I do not want their awe, their hushed whispers, or their lingering stares. Yet, girls migrate toward me from every direction, their giggles echoing off the cheap metal lockers, forming a suffocating blockade. It takes every ounce of my self-control just to keep walking forward without shoving them all out of my way. The irritation gnaws at my chest. This circus happens at every new school, and I am sick of it. I scowl at the sea of faces, projecting my foul mood, but no one seems to get the hint. I let out a harsh sigh. At this rate, I will have to use my Alpha tone to clear the hallway.

One girl in particular steps right into my path, forcing me to a halt. I stare at her, deadpan and bored. She is oblivious to my scowl and the dark warning flashing in my eyes. She is a stereotypical cheerleader, a literal plastic doll brought to life, complete with glossy blonde hair and massive blue eyes. She bats her lashes at me so hard it is comical.

“Hi, there,” she breathes.

She reaches out and touches my arm. I bite the inside of my cheek to fight the urge to gag. Her skin against mine feels like an unwanted invasion. If it were not for the strict manners my mother hammered into my skull, I would rip her hand off and throw it back at her.

“Hello,” I reply tightly. My voice is a low, rigid line. I want nothing more than to shove past her and get to my locker.

She mistakes my rigid stance for playing hard to get. Taking a step closer, she invades my personal space even further. A pungent cloud of heavy perfume hits my nose, a toxic mixture of synthetic flowers and cheap chemicals. Does she bathe in this trash? The stench burns my nostrils.

“I’m Sloane,” she purrs, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder.

I suppress a dark laugh. Does she actually think this routine works on me? I see right through her shallow, vain facade. I am anything but impressed.

“Maddox,” I growl back. I shift my weight, preparing to step around her.

Before I can move, she grabs my arm. Not a light touch—a firm, familiar grip, as if we are close friends.

The audacity of this girl. To dare put her uninvited hands on an Alpha. It is a straight-up death wish. My temper flares, a hot spike of rage piercing through my forced calm.

“Please remove your arm,” I demand gruffly. The authority in my voice leaves no room for debate.

Her blue eyes widen in shock. She drops her hand as if my skin just burned her, a confused, lost expression twisting her features. She clearly expected me to melt under her touch. Good. A harsh dose of reality will do her some good.

“I have to get to class,” I tell her snidely, dismissing her existence.

I step past her, but she freezes. Her mouth drops open. She splutters, unable to process the rejection. Then, her entire body goes rigid.

“Are you gay?” she blurts out loudly in the crowded hallway.

The words echo down the corridor. Dozens of curious students stop in their tracks, turning their heads to stare at us. I stiffen. A cold, dangerous silence falls over the corridor. I have nothing against anyone’s preferences, but demanding answers about my sexuality in a hallway packed with gossiping teenagers is crossing a massive line. Questioning an Alpha so disrespectfully in front of a crowd is a blatant challenge.

That is a step too far.

Furious, I turn back around. Before she can even blink, I close the distance between us. I grab her by the front of her expensive clothes, pick her up off the ground, and slam her backward.

Her head connects with the metal lockers with a loud, resounding crack. She writhes in my grasp, her feet dangling above the linoleum floor. I do not care that she is a female. I do not care that she is weaker than me. Disrespect is disrespect, and she needs to learn her place.

I lean in close and smile into her terrified, wide eyes. The arrogant cheerleader is gone, replaced by pure panic.

“For the record,” I growl, my voice a dark, lethal rumble as she claws at my relentless grip. “I am not. I’m just not interested in you.”

I open my hand and let her drop.

She crumples to the floor in a heap. Her face flushes a deep, interesting shade of crimson as her hands fly to her throat. She gasps wildly for air, coughing and sputtering against the cold floor tiles. The hallway remains dead silent, everyone watching the spectacle in terror.

Sloane’s pathetic little lackeys finally break the trance. They rush forward, gathering around their fallen leader. They shoot me terrified, sideways glares, too afraid to actually voice their anger for daring to injure one of their own. I glare right back. They drop their gaze, haul Sloane to her feet, and retreat down the hall, tripping over themselves to escape my presence.

I scoff at their retreating backs. Pathetic girls. Too shallow and vain for their own good. The warning bell rings, breaking the tension in the air. The surrounding students scramble, keeping their heads down as they rush to grab their bags and clear out of my sight.

I adjust my stance and turn to walk away, eager to put this miserable morning behind me.

I take one step. Then another.

I stop dead in my tracks.

A scent drifts toward me, slicing through the lingering stench of Sloane’s perfume and the stale school air. It is mesmerizing. Overwhelmingly sweet. Crisp apples and warm cinnamon. The aroma wraps around my senses, pulling me in like a physical force. My mouth waters. It smells exactly like fresh-baked apple pie, my favorite dessert.

What is this? Why am I drawn to it?

The answer clicks in my brain. The realization hits me like a freight train.

Pure horror washes over me. My boots feel glued to the floor. My hands begin to shake. A cold, suffocating dread chills my stomach, settling heavy in my chest.

This smell can only belong to one person.

My mate.

I groan internally. I prayed she would not be here. I hoped I would never have to go through with this. Why this public school, of all places? Why now?

In my mind, my wolf goes feral. He roars, thrashing against the mental walls I throw up. He realizes what I am thinking and loses his mind. He screams threats, hurling insults and demanding I submit to the bond. He vows never to speak to me again if I dare go through with my plan. I grit my teeth and ignore him, forcing his chaotic presence down into the dark corners of my mind.

I close my eyes. The sweet, spiced apple scent lingers, testing my resolve. Part of me wants to turn around. Part of me wants to run in the opposite direction and avoid her, hoping to spare her feelings for just one more day. I could wait. I could put it off until later.

But I know the truth. I desperately need to get this over with before the mate bond solidifies, before it becomes too strong to break. If I wait, the pull will only grow more intense. She will be hurt either way. There is no avoiding the pain. It is better to crush her hope now and let her come to terms with the harsh reality.

I know she will never forgive me for this. I do not blame her.

*I am sorry*, I think to myself, staring down the empty corridor.

I just cannot have a mate. I refuse to let myself become vulnerable. I refuse to tie my soul to someone, to have a fragile girl rely on me for her survival. I will only fail her. Just like my father failed my mother. His love made him weak, and his failure destroyed our family. I will never allow myself to become that pathetic. I do not even know if I possess the capacity to love another person. Not now. Not ever.

The scent pulls at my chest, a magnetic tug dragging me forward. Reluctantly, I let my feet move. I follow the mesmerizing aroma of apples and cinnamon down the hallway. I let the scent guide me, drawing me closer to the source.

I have to find her. I have to sever this bond right now, before I talk myself out of it.