The Wrong Touch
Third-Person Limited – Kendra, then Dominic
By the next day, the Karina Disaster had spread through school like a virus.
Every hallway Kendra walked down, she heard it.
"Did you smell her in Bio, bro?"
"It was like Axe and dead raccoon."
"Her face looked like someone baked a cake on it—"
Kendra kept her head down, lips pressed tightly together. She didn't smile. Not even when a freshman muttered, "Eau de Locker Room" and nearly choked laughing.
She wasn't stupid.
She knew people would connect the dots eventually. Joint Service. The milkshake. The glitter slime. Now Karina's cursed cosmetics and swap-out gym outfit.
The only thing that surprised her was how long it took for Dominic to say something.
Lunchtime.
Kendra sat at the same table with her girls near the back of the cafeteria. The room buzzed with the usual mess of smells and sounds—pizza, fries, too many bodies, overlapping conversations. Trays clattered. Someone's soda fizzed over at another table.
"Okay, but you have to see this angle," Erica said, sliding her phone across the table. A blurry photo of Karina in the hot-pink "PRINCESS IN TRAINING" top, face twisted mid-yell, filled the screen.
Jeah wheezed. "She looks like one bootleg Barbie."
"Guys," Jennie said softly, "we should probably let it go now."
"I let the slime go," Kendra said, stabbing a fry. "This is balance."
She was mid-chew when the noise in the cafeteria dipped.
Not all the way to silence—just lowered, like someone had turned down the volume.
Her shoulders tensed automatically.
She didn't have to turn to know why.
Dominic and his pack were on the move.
She heard the shift in the crowd—chairs scraping, whispers starting, the faint sound of Karina's perfume announcing her before she actually appeared.
"Don't look," Kendra muttered to her friends. "It's like feeding pigeons. They'll never leave."
Of course, they all looked.
Of course, they all went quiet.
Dominic stopped at the end of their table, tray in hand, his friends fanned out behind him like a wall. Karina stood slightly to his right, arms crossed tightly, chin tipped up, her jaw still caked at the edges with slightly off-colored powder. She'd scrubbed, but not all of it was gone.
Kendra didn't stand.
She took another slow bite of food instead.
"What?" she asked flatly, finally lifting her eyes to Dominic's.
He looked down at her with a calm so controlled it made her uneasy.
"So, this is how it's going to be?" he asked. "You humiliate my girlfriend, then sit here like nothing happened?"
"Your girlfriend humiliated herself," Kendra said. "I just added seasoning."
A few people snorted.
Dominic's jaw ticked. "Someone broke into her locker," he said louder, pitching his voice so it carried. "Messed with her perfume, her makeup, her clothes."
More faces turned toward them. Conversations quieted.
"Could've been anyone," Kendra said, heart beating a little faster now.
"Could've," Dominic agreed. "Except not everyone just happened to get a mysterious bucket of pink slime dropped on them yesterday. Not everyone has lock-picking skills as I suppose someone from a 3rd world country like yours would."
His gaze sharpened. "But you do, right? Atchinson?"
A ripple went through the crowd.
Kendra's blood ran cold for a second. He didn't know for sure—he was guessing. But it landed too close.
She stared back, not blinking. "You got proof?" she asked. "Or just a big mouth?"
"Come on," he said, gesturing around them. "Who else has a reason? You show up here, first week you punch Antonio, slam Karina into a table, and suddenly her stuff starts acting cursed? You think people are stupid?"
Some heads nodded around them. Others stayed carefully neutral. No one spoke up against him.
Kendra could feel her friends stiffen at her sides.
Dominic stepped closer, past the edge of the table now.
"This isn't Jamaica," he said, and something about the way he said it made her want to break the tray over his head. "You don't get to come here and treat this school like your personal war zone because you've got anger issues and nothing to lose."
"That's enough," Jennie whispered. "Kendra, don't—"
Kendra's vision narrowed.
"Nothing to lose?" she repeated. "Because why—my dad doesn't donate your tuition?"
Dominic's eyes glinted. "Because you're temporary," he said softly, but still loud enough for everyone to hear. "You're here for what—one year? Two? Then you go back. This place will still be ours. Karina will still be ours. You? You're just a messy guest who doesn't know how to behave."
Heat climbed up Kendra's neck.
If he had stopped there, maybe she could've swallowed it.
He didn't.
He looked down at her tray, then back at her, and his lip curled.
"Try not to eat the whole buffet next time, Atchinson," he added. "I know back home they starved you of good food, but damn."
The laugh that tore through the cafeteria this time was brutal.
Some people laughed like they didn't want to, hands covering their mouths. Others didn't bother hiding it.
Whale.
Buffet.
Starved.
Words she'd heard before, from strangers and family and herself on bad days. Words she usually turned into armor or weapons.
Right now, they felt like nails.
Her chest burned.
Her hands shook under the table.
"Kendra," Erica hissed, "don't. Please don't."
The worst part was that Karina was watching, her eyes bright, drinking it in like water. Every flinch. Every breath.
She wanted Kendra to explode.
She wanted Kendra to swing.
She wanted another spectacle.
Kendra slowly set her fork down.
"If I stay here any longer," she said quietly, "I'm going to catch a charge."
She stood up.
She did not look at Dominic again.
She stepped away from the table, ignoring the lingering stares, forcing her feet to move toward the cafeteria doors and not toward his face.
"Hey," his voice cut through the buzz. "I'm talking to you."
"Good for you," she snapped, not slowing, not looking back.
Her eyes were on the exit. On escape. On oxygen that didn't smell like fries and humiliation.
She felt his hand close around her wrist.
It wasn't the rough shove from before. It wasn't a violent jerk. It was just a grip—firm, hot, fingers wrapping around her skin.
She spun, ready to unleash every filthy, painful word she had in her vocabulary—
—and everything stopped.
The cafeteria noise dropped to a muffled hum. The smells of food, sweat, and expensive body spray thinned under something sharper, warmer—like pine after rain and smoke on cold air.
He was close.
Closer than he'd ever been.
For one surreal second, all she saw were his eyes—dark, blown wide, like he'd just seen a ghost. His fingers tightened just slightly around her wrist, as if something beyond him had grabbed on too.
Kendra's heart lurched.
Not in a romantic way.
More like a What the hell is happening,why is the room tilting,why do I feel like I just stepped into an elevator way.
"Let go," she said, but it came out softer than she meant it to.
His lips parted. His voice didn't sound like his when he spoke.
"You've got to be kidding me," he whispered.
Kendra's skin prickled.
She yanked her hand back.
The pressure broke. The noise of the cafeteria rushed back in—laughter, whispers, the clatter of trays. The weird heaviness in her chest loosened just enough for anger to rush in.
"What is wrong with you?" she hissed.
He didn't answer.
He just stared at her like she'd personally rewired his DNA.
She turned on her heel and walked out of the cafeteria without looking back.
Whatever that weird electric moment had been?
She shoved it into the same locked box she kept all her other feelings in.
Ignored it.
And, as far as she was concerned, never thought about it again.
Same Moment – Dominic
When Dominic's hand closed around her wrist, his world cracked.
He'd meant to stop her.
That was it.
He hadn't even thought about what he was doing, not really. Just saw her walking away, felt the sting of her ignoring him, like he was no one, and reacted.
Then his fingers touched her skin.
And the bond snapped into place.
Her scent hit him first—no, not hit. Slammed into him. That faint warmth he'd been catching around her for weeks, suddenly magnified a hundred times over. Underneath cafeteria grease and shampoo and school air was something else entirely:
Warm sugar. Spice. Ocean wind. Home.
His wolf surged up so violently he almost staggered.
Mate.
The word wasn't spoken out loud, but it rattled through his bones anyway.
The cafeteria faded. The fluorescent lights overhead, the scrape of chairs, the smell of fries—all of it bled out into nothing.
There was just his hand on her wrist, her pulse thudding against his fingers, and her eyes locked onto his—wide, angry, confused.
His pupils grew wide to drink in more of her.
Up close, he noticed stupid details. A tiny freckle near her temple. The faint scar on her lower lip that he'd never seen from far away. The shade of brown in her eyes wasn't just brown; there were lighter flecks in them, like sun on molasses.
His chest squeezed, hard enough to hurt.
"You've got to be kidding me," he breathed.
Kendra's face flickered—from anger to something like surprise, to anger again.
She ripped her wrist out of his hold like his touch burned.
"What is wrong with you?" she snapped.
Everything, he thought numbly.
He couldn't say it.
He couldn't say anything.
He just watched her walk away; his wolf howling behind his ribs like someone had slammed a door in its face.
The cafeteria slammed back into focus.
Noise.
Smell.
Stares.
His pack, looming near him like a shield and a cage all at once.
"Yo," Antonio said under his breath. "Dom. What was that?"
Dominic didn't answer.
He couldn't. His tongue felt useless. His brain had latched onto one single, horrible truth and was refusing to let go.
Kendra Atchinson—the loud, stubborn, infuriating Jamaican girl he'd been tripping, mocking, and punishing for weeks—
was his mate.
After Lunch – Hallway
"Say it again," Robin said, leaning against the locker-room wall. "Slowly. So my brain can fully process the stupidity."
Dominic glared at him. "You're one concussion away from being useless, don't push it."
Antonio huffed out a laugh, then sobered when Dominic didn't.
They were alone in the back hallway behind the gym, away from curious ears. The echo of bouncing balls and whistles drifted faintly from the far court.
"Dom," Antonio said, voice low, "you're serious?"
Dominic scrubbed a hand over his face.
"She's my mate," he said. The words tasted unreal and inevitable all at once. "Kendra. The exchange student. The one I just—"
He broke off.
He didn't want to say it out loud.
"The one you just clowned in front of the entire cafeteria," Robin supplied helpfully.
Dominic shot him a death look. Robin held up both hands. "What? It's true."
Antonio stared at the floor, then back up. "When?" he asked. "Just now?"
"When I grabbed her," Dominic said. His fingers curled unconsciously, like they could still feel the phantom of her pulse. "It hit. Hard. The scent, the… everything. My wolf went crazy."
"And she…?" Antonio asked.
"She doesn't know," Dominic said quickly. "She's human. She felt something—I could see it—but she doesn't know what it is. Which is… good."
"Good?" Robin echoed. "You sure about that? Cause from where I'm standing, this is a disaster."
He ticked points off on his fingers. "One: she hates your guts. Two: you've humiliated her in front of half the school. Three: she's already on thin ice because of probation and the exchange program. Four—"
"Shut up, Robin," Antonio said.
He looked at Dominic, eyes serious. "You got to tell your dad."
Dominic grimaced. "I know."
"He's going to lose it," Robin said cheerfully.
"Shut. Up," Dominic growled.
His wolf was pacing in tight circles in his head, snapping and snarling. Every memory of every insult he'd thrown at her, every shove, every laugh, came back with claws on.
He'd been an ass before.
Now?
Now everything he'd done sat on his shoulders like weights.
He thought of the way she'd flinched—just slightly—when he'd said buffet. The way her jaw had tightened.
His stomach turned.
"I didn't know," he muttered.
"That excuse expires the second the bond hits," Antonio said quietly. "After that, everything you do to her, you feel. Ten times worse. That's how it works, Dom. You know that."
He knew that.
It was already starting.
Every time he replayed the scene, his chest burned like he was the one being laughed at. His own words echoed back at him twisted, like someone had shoved him into that version of himself and locked the door.
He pushed off the wall abruptly.
"I'll talk to Dad after Joint Service," he said. "He needs to hear it from me, not from some random slip."
"Hey," Robin called as Dominic started walking away. "On the plus side, at least your mate can fight."
Dominic flipped him off without looking back.
That Evening – Principal's Office
His father's office smelled like leather, old paper, and faintly of the forest beyond town.
Dominic hovered in the doorway for a full ten seconds before stepping inside.
"Close the door," Theatus said without looking up from his laptop.
Dominic did.
His father finished typing, hit a key, and then finally raised his eyes.
"You're early," Theatus said. "No Joint Service today?"
"It ended at four," Dominic said. "Miss Hall let us go. We finished early."
Theatus nodded once. "How is that going?"
Dominic shifted. "Fine."
"And your behavior toward Miss Atchinson and her friends?" his father asked, tone mild. "Improved, I hope."
Dominic's throat went dry.
This was already going badly.
"There's something I need to tell you, "He said.
Theatus leaned back in his chair. "That sentence rarely precedes good news," he said. "Go on."
Dominic inhaled.
"Today, at lunch," he said, "I… found my mate."
For a second, there was no reaction.
Then Theatus' chair creaked forward slightly as he leaned in, eyes suddenly became sharper. "Who?" he asked.
Dominic swallowed. "Kendra Atchinson."
The silence that followed was heavier than any shouting could have been.
"The exchange student," Theatus said slowly. "From Jamaica. Human."
"Yes," Dominic said.
His father stared at him for a long moment. "How?" he asked.
Dominic blinked. "You know how," he said, confused. "Contact. Eye contact. It just—"
"When," Theatus clarified, voice tight. "When did this happen?"
"Today," Dominic said. "In the cafeteria."
Theatus' eyes narrowed. "Specifically," he said, "before or after you loudly insulted her weight in front of the entire student body?"
Dominic's heart dropped into his stomach.
"You heard about that," he muttered.
"Dominic," his father said, voice low and dangerous now, "I had three staff members report your behavior to me before lunch ended. So again: did the bond snap into place before you called your mate a glutton in front of her peers, or after?"
"After," Dominic admitted, barely above a whisper.
His father closed his eyes briefly, like he was warding off a headache.
"Of all the things…" he muttered, then opened them again, pinning Dominic with a look. "You realize what you've done."
"Yes," Dominic said, heat crawling up his neck.
"You have publicly humiliated your mate—multiple times—without knowing who she was," Theatus said, ticking off the offenses on invisible fingers. "You tripped her on her first day. You allowed your circle to mock her. You stood by while your girlfriend poured a drink on her head. Now you've mocked her body in front of half the school."
When he listed it like that, Dominic felt physically sick.
"I didn't know," he said again, hating how weak it sounded.
"And now you do," Theatus said. "Which means every choice you make from this point forward is deliberate."
Dominic looked at the floor. "She hates me," he said quietly.
"Of course she does," Theatus replied. "Why shouldn't she? A bond is not a free pass to someone's forgiveness."
"…What do I do?" Dominic forced himself to ask.
Theatus studied him.
"First," he said, "you control yourself. No more provocations. No more power games. You do not lay a hand on her in anger again. The bond will punish you harder than I ever could if you hurt her."
Dominic's wolf whined in agreement, loud in his head.
"Second," Theatus continued, "you protect her. Quietly. Subtly. Without making her suspicious. Our world remains hidden; she cannot know what she is to you—not yet. Not until I say it's safe."
"What if she never finds out?" Dominic asked.
Theatus' gaze softened by a fraction. "Then you spend your life loving someone from a distance," he said. "It has happened before. It is not easy. But you will not force this on her."
Dominic swallowed hard.
"Third," his father added, "you find a way to make amends for the damage you've already done… without dragging our kind into the light in the process."
"So… I fix what I can," Dominic said, "and don't make it worse."
"Exactly," Theatus said. "This bond may feel like a curse tonight. One day, you may see it differently. But right now?"
He leaned forward, eyes hard.
"Right now, you will do everything in your power not to break her further."
Dominic nodded once.
"Yes, sir," he said. Then, quieter, "Yes, Alpha."
Theatus' gaze softened again, just slightly. "You said it happened today," he said. "At lunch."
Dominic nodded.
His father sighed. "Then remember this moment," he said. "Because one mistake, one misstep… and you can hurt your mate in ways that take years to heal."
Dominic thought of the way she'd hit the floor in the hallway three weeks ago when he tripped her.
He thought of the way he'd watched her fall today—not physically, but under his words.
He had no way of knowing yet that the worst fall was still coming.
That moment in the cafeteria—his fingers closing around her wrist, her eyes locking onto his, the bond snapping into place—
had happened exactly one week before her body would hit the ground again, bones breaking.
Later, when everything went wrong, when guilt kept him awake long after the moon set, he would think back to this day and hear the same sentence repeatedly in his head like a punishment:
It happened a week before the fall.