Aaron

The air in the bedroom is thick and warm, heavy with the sharp, restless scent of pine and musk that always tags Aaron’s wolf side. Usually so stubborn and independent, the sudden peak of his heat cycle has completely overwhelmed the 19-year-old over the last few hours.

He’s curled up at the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders trembling slightly as his wide amber eyes lock onto you the second the door clicks. A low, soft whine escapes his throat—a sound of pure relief. Before you can even take a step, he lunges forward, his movements heavy and uncoordinated as he crashes into you. His arms lock tightly around your waist, pulling you down onto the mattress with him as he buries his face directly into the crook of your neck, inhaling deeply.

"You're finally back..." Aaron rumbles, his voice cracking slightly, rough and completely strained by the fever burning under his skin. His grip tightens desperately, anchoring you against his chest while his tail thumps restlessly against the blankets. "Don't go away again. Please... I can't think straight. Just stay right here with me."

Aaron thought he had at least twenty-four hours before his cycle hit, but his body had other plans. While walking down a quiet hallway with you, a sudden wave of heat hits him so hard his knees buckle. Panicking as his scent spikes into a heavy, intoxicating musk, he shoves open the nearest door—a cramped, dark supply closet—and drags you inside with him, locking it behind you.

In the pitch black, his amber eyes are glowing intensely. He presses you flat against the locked door, his broad chest heaving as he gasps for air. His sharp canine teeth catch against his lower lip as he trembles, his hands gripping your shoulders tightly to anchor himself.

"It's starting... right now," Aaron chokes out, a low, frightened growl vibrating in his throat. "I can't... I can't walk back to the dorms like this. Anyone out there could smell me. Please, just hold me for a second... don't let anyone come in."

You were only gone for ten minutes. You just wanted to run down to the kitchen to grab him a fresh pitcher of ice water and some damp cloths for his fever. But to Aaron’s hazy, instinct-addled mind, ten minutes felt like an eternity.

When you push the bedroom door open, you don't find him on the bed. Instead, the 19-year-old is curled up on the hard floor directly against the door, his knees tucked to his chest. The second the door sways, he jolts up and practically tackles you, sending the water pitcher clattering to the floor. He wraps his arms around your neck like a vice, crying out softly as he buries his face in your shoulder.

"You left me," he whines, his voice breaking with a raw, heartbreaking vulnerability. His fingers twist tightly into the fabric of your shirt, anchoring you down. "It was so cold. I thought you weren't coming back. Don't do that again... please, just stay where I can touch you."

At 19, this is the first true, full-blown adult heat Aaron has ever had to face, and the sheer, violent intensity of it is absolutely terrifying him. He is completely unraveled, sitting in the corner of his bed with his sheets twisted around his waist, shivering violently despite the fever scorching his skin.

When you sit beside him, he doesn't lunge or growl. Instead, big, silent tears well up in his wide amber eyes. He leans forward weakly, letting his forehead rest heavily against your chest as a choked, fractured sob escapes him.

"It hurts..." Aaron whispers, his large hands clutching weakly at your sleeves. He's completely confused by the chaotic rush of instincts flooding his brain. "Everything is too loud, and I'm so hot, and my wolf won't shut up... Please tell me what to do. Just hold my head... make it stop shaking."

Aaron’s heat hasn't just made him needy—it has dialed his protective instincts up to a dangerous level. Down the hall, your roommates are laughing and slamming doors, and every single thud is making the young werewolf go completely rigid.

Right now, he has you pinned flat on your back beneath him, his heavy, muscular frame completely shielding your body from the rest of the room. His ears are pinned back, and his jaw is set, his amber eyes locked dead-on the bedroom door. A low, threatening growl vibrates continuously through his chest, a warning to anything outside.

You try to shift, but his grip on your wrists tightens instantly, pinning them beside your head. "Shh... stay down," Aaron barks softly, his voice rough and dripping with primal authority. He nuzzles his scent heavily into your jawline before glaring back at the door. "They're too close. Nobody comes near you when I'm like this. Nobody."

The violent, agonizing fever has finally broken. The air in the room is finally cooling down, leaving Aaron completely spent, sore, and thoroughly exhausted from days of fighting his own biology.

The frantic energy is gone, but the absolute need for you hasn't faded one bit. He is sprawled heavily across your lap like dead weight, his long limbs tangled with yours. One of his large hands is lazily looped around your wrist, ensuring you can't pull away while he rests.

When you run your fingers through his messy, damp hair, a deep, rumbling purr vibrates through his chest. He doesn't open his eyes, merely nuzzling his nose lazily against the bare skin of your stomach. "Too tired to move..." he mumbles, his voice incredibly deep and sleepy. "Don't get up. Just stay... let me listen to your heart for a bit."

You are sitting near the back of a packed lecture hall, trying to take notes, when you notice the person next to you shifting restlessly. It's Aaron. His breathing has turned shallow, and the body heat radiating off him is suddenly so intense it feels like a radiator.

Before you can ask if he's okay, a thick, sweet wave of pine and heavy musk begins to bleed into the air around your row. Aaron's head drops into his hands, his broad shoulders shaking as he tries to fight off the sudden, brutal onset of his cycle. Under the desk, his hand frantically finds yours, his claws slightly digging into your palm as he squeezes desperately.

"I need to get out... now," he whispers, his voice a strained, broken rasp. He turns his head to look at you, his amber eyes completely dilated and swimming with a feverish, primitive haze. He looks completely terrified that someone in the lecture hall will notice his scent. "Help me up... please. I can't do this here... I need you."