Chapter 4 #2
“You’ll join Mr. Damen in his assignments,” Dr. Stephens declared. His posture was more relaxed, and his tone less curt. Overall, he seemed pleased. “The poor boy does need looking after, I’m sure you’ve noticed. It will make things much easier if you’re nearby.”
I couldn’t argue; Damen needed all the help he could get. But…
“W-what do you mean?” I stammered. Did this have something to do with me being Damen’s assistant? “What will be easier?”
My mouth went dry at his deadpan expression, and I barely caught myself from stepping back.
Being alone with Dr. Stephens made me nervous. I was rarely—if ever—alone with men who had a significant age gap over me. Even my adoptive father never stayed in the house with me without my mother nearby, at least until I was a teenager.
And now there’d been two occurrences in one day.
If being around him—someone I’d interacted with more than once—made me feel this uneasy, how could I ever handle meeting my father?
There was only so much I could take when it came to strong, imposing male authority figures.
My palms began to sweat, and my stomach knotted. I didn’t want to disappoint him. But really, what was he expecting me to say? “W-what are you talking about?”
“Bianca,” he sighed, and my ears perked at the sound of my name.
So, I was no longer worthy of an honorific?
Dr. Stephen’s shoulders squared as satisfaction lay heavy in his powerful frame. “I’m your Elder Er Bashou. I’m supposed to guide you. Once you re-enroll, you’ll change your major to psychology. Then—”
“Why?” I asked, holding the cup against my chest. His expression turned slightly more critical. “M-Ms. Protean said she wants me to work with her when I come back…” I added, wilting slightly under this attention. “I was thinking of moving to c-criminal justice…”
“Ah, Gloria .” Gregory sighed, the look fading as his tone turned to longing.
“Besides, I don’t like psychology…” I bit my lip, holding back my disdain.
Dr. Stephens frowned, and his eyes flashed, almost as if he had found my statement to be personally offensive. “Psychology is a safer field than criminology .”
“Aren’t you a forensic psychologist?” I asked. His statement didn’t make any sense and wasn’t even factual. “You go into crime scenes…”
“And you can’t work with Gloria,” he said, ignoring the hole I’d poked in his argument. “We Elders are past our prime—hence the existence of the Paragons—and she won’t be able to protect you. It’s best if you stay with Mr. Damen and me.”
What was he talking about?
“Isn’t she a werewolf?” Werewolves were scary. She was probably deadlier than Dr. Stephens, whose only power seemed to be talking to dead people and glaring at live ones.
Or maybe his protests stemmed from the fact that she was a werewolf?
“I don’t think she’d kill me…” I added hesitantly.
“She’s not going to kill you. She’s not an idiot,” he said, exasperated. “But she can’t protect you in her current condition.”
That wasn’t nice. “I don’t think she’d like you saying that about her.”
“I’m not saying it to be unkind.” Dr. Stephens frowned, cocking his head. His glasses briefly reflected the light from the lamp on his desk. “I’m only telling the truth. You’ll be putting both of you at risk if you work with her.”
“But it-it was her idea…” Why was my chest so tight and my thoughts dizzy? In the past, I might have backed down. After all, what was the point of arguing now? This wouldn’t happen until next semester anyway, and conflict hurt my stomach.
But Dr. Stephens knew nothing about me. He had no right to tell me how to live my life.
“Psychology—for the most part—is a stationary field.” Dr. Stephens’s voice was smooth. “It’s a proper area of study for a young woman, and research-based work is well-respected in our community. You can watch Mr. Damen safely while he does his work.”
Damen . My weakness.
Dr. Stephens played dirty.
Yet, who was he to tell me what to do? It almost seemed that only Ms. Protean and the boys cared about what I wanted.
I glanced at the coffee pot, unable to hold his gaze any longer. “I don’t want to major in psychology.”
Besides, Dr. Stephens was wrong. There was no way I’d be happy sitting on the sidelines while Damen waltzed off into danger.
No, I had to be in the field at all costs. It was my duty to be an invaluable asset, so established in my brilliance and skill that Damen would have no choice but to run all his disastrous plans by me first.
So that I could fix them before all manner of chaos broke loose.
I couldn’t do any of that by hiding in a library.
“You only want me close so you can keep an eye on me,” I told him, trying to steady my shaky hands. “I want to study with Ms. Protean.”
Dr. Stephens sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You sound just like her.”
I’d sucked in a breath, prepared to argue. But his statement threw me off. “Who?”
He didn’t answer, only studied me with his heavy gaze while he rested his chin on his linked hands. “You’re not going to listen to me, are you?” he asked after a long moment.
Well, the last time he’d told me to do something, I ended up covered in burdocks, was forced to pepper spray Titus, and was stalked by—at that time—strangers.
So, no .
“I don’t think I have to listen to you. Don’t I outrank you?” I asked. Surely, as my magical guardian, Elder, and whatever else he was, he had to answer me honestly.
I glanced at him and bit my lip. “I thought that’s how it worked.”
His mouth curled slightly, amusement flickering in his expression. But the movement was masked so quickly I was sure I’d imagined it.
“ Indeed ,” he drawled. His tone didn’t give away his thoughts, yet the tension seemed to drop from the air.
A weight also lifted from my chest, and the dim lighting in the room seemed to grow brighter.
This was a familiar feeling, like when Bryce and Brayden had first met me.
“Were you doing something?” I asked.
“Not much,” Dr. Stephens said, pointing to the chair across from him. “If you’re not going to top off your drink, then please sit down. Your lurking is extremely annoying.”
My breath caught as the fight faded from me, and I obediently slipped into the chair, crossing my ankles and tucking my feet behind the leg. His attention returned to the papers on his desk, and I was left to sip at my almost-cold coffee and sit in silence.
Yuck . Black coffee was the worst, but I would never give in and put cream and sugar in it now.
“I saw your father this morning,” he said, interrupting my pout.
My throat closed, and the drink in my mouth became even more bitter. “W-w-what?”
His expression was carefully blank, but his gaze keen. “You don’t want to meet him?” he asked.
I breathed through my nausea, barely holding back my panic at the familiar way his eyes moved over my face.
This was awesome . I was being psychoanalyzed. I thought I was used to it, but Dr. Stephens was still unfamiliar territory.
What was taking Damen so long? Why wasn’t he rushing back to my side?
“No.” I fought to keep my voice steady. “I don’t want to meet him.”
“He would like to meet you,” Dr. Stephens said, leaning over his desk. His eyes, sharp behind his glasses, seemed to dissect my every reaction. “Is there a reason why you’re avoiding him?”
I might puke on Dr. Stephens’s desk. He would deserve it, especially since he knew exactly what he was doing to me. “I—I don’t know?”
Dr. Stephens’s expression remained neutral, but his eyes showed a glimmer of professional curiosity. “Do you think it’s because seeing him might trigger you into confronting aspects of your past you’re not ready to face?”
“What?” Why was I acting so pathetic?
“It’s a natural response,” he continued, commanding a clinical tone. “How do you typically handle intrusive thoughts or memories about your past?”
My skin began to flush as I swallowed hard. “I—I don’t have those. I’m fine.”
Dr. Stephens leaned back slightly, but his gaze remained intense. “When you say ‘fine,’ what exactly does that mean to you?”
“I—” I started, then stopped. My heart was racing, and I felt sweat beading on my forehead. “Why are you asking me all this?”
Dr. Stephens’s expression softened slightly. “As your Elder Er Bashou and a professional, I am responsible for ensuring your well-being. Your reluctance to discuss your past with Eric Richards is concerning.”
“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I felt like I was suffocating. I looked away from him. “N-nothing happened,” I said, my throat burning.
“Bianca,” Dr. Stephens said. “Refusing to acknowledge what happened won’t make it disappear. Don’t you think it might be beneficial to work through these feelings?”
My vision was starting to blur at the edges. I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think. I just wanted to run away, to escape this interrogation. “I-I can’t—”
“What the fuck?” Damen’s voice snapped through the room, and an instant later, he’d twisted my chair to face him. He was kneeling on the ground at my feet and cupped my face gently, gray eyes flashing dangerously as they sought out mine.
Our gazes locked, and my breath steadied as the force of his strength almost seemed to pour from him.
But then he looked away.
He turned to Dr. Stephens, seething. “What are you doing?”
“Being proactive,” was Dr. Stephens’s calm reply. “Since you’re neglecting to do so.”
Damen’s aura burned with a vicious fury. “Are you trying to trigger her?” His hands shook as he ran them down my arms and turned his attention back to me. “Baby, it’s all right.”
I wanted to respond, but I couldn’t form the words. Instead, I just watched him, trying to regain my bearings as the darkness faded from my vision.
“What were you talking about?” he asked Dr. Stephens, fuming once again.
“Just a family matter.” Dr. Stephens didn’t seem concerned about the anger in Damen’s voice.
“I-it’s fine…” My clarity was returning, and the buzzing in my ears faded. Slowly, the rest of the room zoomed into focus. Even though he’d been addressing Damen, Dr. Stephens watched me curiously. It was him I addressed. “I don’t want to meet him,” I repeated.
“Don’t want to meet who?” Damen’s hands were warm over my upper arms, and his grip tightened into an almost bruising hold.
“My father…” I bit my lip, focusing on the chain resting over his chest. Today, he wore black slacks and a burgundy shirt, and, like always, he had the top two buttons undone.
There, against a black undershirt, rested the now-familiar charm that, once again, stirred something in my consciousness I couldn’t quite place.
But if Damen noticed me looking, he didn’t comment. Instead, he rounded on Dr. Stephens. “We talked about this!”
“I wanted to see if she’d consider it,” Dr. Stephens explained. “He’s quite eager…”
“I don’t care. This is her decision,” Damen rebutted. “He’s been waiting nineteen years already, he can suck it up and wait longer until she’s ready. Right, Bianca?”
His question pulled me from my musings, and I blinked at him. The conversation barely registered—something, just out of reach, was pulling at me. It was the most frustrating thing.
Why was his necklace bothering me now?
“Sure,” I agreed. I would never be ready, so there was no harm in making this promise.