15. Stella
15
Stella
I have decided that I am very interested in Authentic History.
I am so interested that I may need some extra assistance. Maybe private lessons.
Michael dismisses the class, and I hang back, draping my wings over the chairs on either side of me as soon as they empty. My striped shirt hits the bottom of my ribcage, leaving a strip of skin over my denim shorts visible. I may or may not arch my back a little to make the shirt creep up some more.
Oh, are my breasts more noticable, too? What an unfortunate coincidence.
Once I’m sure everyone is gone, the professor looks up at me, his light green eyes locking onto my brown ones and then slowly tracing my figure. I rise to my feet, and his eyes track my movement as I walk to the front of the room.
“Lost again, Stella?” His voice sounds almost bored, but his eyes sparkle, indicating he is anything but.
“No, I think I’m right where I need to be, Professor.” I sit on one of the desktops in the front row, swinging my combat boots back and forth.
He clears his throat, moving behind his desk to shuffle some papers together. “You’re going to be late for your next class.”
I check my watch. “You ended a little early today. I’ve got ten minutes, and it’s next door.”
“Well, then,” he chuckles as he sits down, “how can I help you?”
“How long have you worked here?” I need a staff member to give me behind-the-scenes information about this place, and Michael is my most likely candidate.
He’s different than the other professors, and I want to know why.
He kicks his feet up on his desk and leans back, crossing his hands behind his head. “I started when I finished my schooling two quarters ago.”
“Wow. That’s brand new, brand new.”
The professor laughs softly. “Teaching was the only job for a shifter like me that seemed tolerable.”
“What type of shifter are you, anyway?” I ask before my brain can tell my mouth that it may be rude. I wince, ducking my head. “You don’t have to answer that.”
He chuckles, pushing his hair off his face. “It’s okay, Stella. I’m a red stag.”
“Oh, aren’t those giant?” I’ve heard about deer shifters, but I’ve never met one. A red stag has to be the largest type. It’s not what I expected from Michael, but now that he says it, I can see it.
“It’s not polite for a male to brag about his size,” my professor replies with a cheeky grin.
I nearly choke on my surprise, my face heating.
He takes pity on me and my flushing face and changes the subject. “Have you looked at your career sheet?”
It’s time to decide how honest I can be with him. There needs to be trust to get information out of him, and giving up a small part of myself may help build that.
I decide to go with a slimmed-down version of the truth.
“I haven’t, honestly. I got a little overwhelmed after I read my spirit rules.”
“Ah, I see. Will they be difficult for you?”
His gray trousers cling to his runner’s thighs, his shirt stretching across his chest in a way that makes me want to see what’s underneath. The male is gorgeous and brings to mind one rule that I will struggle with. “Some of them more so than others,” I mumble.
His feet slam on the ground, and he gestures for me to come closer. I don’t hesitate. I hop off the desk and move to his side. He leans so close to me that I can smell cool mint on his breath.
“Tell me what your rules are.”
My heart is pounding at the proximity, the intense look that has overcome his face. “Why? If you don’t know them, and I tell you, you could report me for breaking them.”
“I’d never report you, Stella,” he says softly, and in my spirit, I know I can believe him. “It is a curiosity of mine to learn what rules are in place for each spirit. I’m keeping a ledger of them all.” His eyes widen, and he leans back, clearing his throat. “You know, so I can make sure students behave.”
I regard him through narrowed eyes. For a brief moment, there was something there. Some truth within him that is calling out to my own and begging me to discover it. “Can I see this ledger?”
His eyes dart side to side, making sure no one has entered his classroom yet. “If you bring me your rules to add to it, I will let you see it tonight. But it’s not something I’m willing to share with anyone else.”
“Why are you trusting me with this?” I ask so softly he leans into my air to hear me. This close, I can see how his white hair curves around his ears. I can smell the fresh scent of his laundry detergent.
“I don’t know,” he answers honestly. “But I do not believe it is misplaced.”
Nodding, I reach out to touch his cheek but stop myself halfway. There is a strange magnetism between the two of us that I am unsure how to define. I think he may feel it, too, because he doesn’t move away from me.
My voice is barely audible when I ask, “When and where?”
Our eyes lock on one another for a long beat before he clears his throat. “My office. I’ll put on my schedule that you’re getting private tutoring, so come after dinner and bring your books.” I nod my understanding and move to leave when he grabs my upper arm. “Something about you makes me trust you in ways I don’t usually, Stella. Please do not abuse it.”
“Everyone has secrets, Michael. I wouldn’t want mine being spilled either.”
Dinner was surprisingly fun. Jules joined Clay, Ryan, me, Tree, and his coven. The coven thinks they may need me to feed them again tomorrow, three days since I first donated my blood.
Honestly, I expected them to need me sooner. How could I not agree to help them when they only need me twice a week?
On my way to Michael’s office, I search the grounds for a glimpse of my blue-haired leprechaun, but I haven’t caught so much of a whisper of him since our conversation in the woods.
How have I not seen him at all? The campus isn’t that big.
I hike my bag further up my shoulder and knock on the plain wooden door. It opens to Michael, his sleeves rolled up and white hair ruffled. “Come in, Stella, and let’s discuss today’s lecture.” His voice is cool and professional, with none of the familiarity I’ve grown used to hearing.
I slide past him and sit across from the desk, pulling my canvas bag into my lap. He closes the door, and I can almost feel the click of the lock, making my heart skip a beat.
I don’t know this male.
And I am in a private room with him.
With the door locked.
Fucking stupid move, this one. Who knows who Michael really is and what he wants from me?
My heart beats so fast that I barely notice the room surprisingly spacious around me. I breathe manually, focusing on each inhale and exhale until I can make out a desk, two bookshelves with a scattering of books, and a standing lamp with an amber bulb. There is no plant life like I would expect a forest-dwelling spirit to want and almost no color.
Michael sits across from me, unlocks a desk drawer, and pulls out a thin, leather-bound notebook. It’s worn with a broken spine that tells the story of a cover wrapped around its body many times. “This is where I’ve been writing the spirit rules down,” he says, pushing it toward me.
That jars me out of my fear spiral, and I grab it.
He was telling the truth.
Did I really think he wasn’t or has this lingering nastiness with Yuri left me untrusting of males? I’m getting more texts every day, and they grow in anger each time.
I take the ledger and sit back to read, then jolt upright. “Wait, I brought you something.” I reach into my bag to retrieve the items and hand him my rule sheet and a bundled napkin. He unwraps the napkins and smiles at the three cookies I brought him.
“A bribe?” he says with a laugh. “You’ve already got what you wanted.”
“It’s a study session, right? Who studies without snacks?”
“I suppose you’re right,” he says, grinning as he grabs a cookie and takes a huge bite. He leans over the desk and reads my rule sheet. I watch in amusement as his eyes widen and narrow, his brows raise and furrow, and his neck grows red. “These are your official rules?” he chokes out.
“It’s the sex rule giving you that face, right?” I can’t hold back a laugh at his expense. His eyes are halfway bugged out of his face.
“It’s entirely inappropriate for the administration even to be thinking about!” He’s upset on my behalf, and that pleases me. I can’t help but think most teachers would be a bit more subdued in their reaction, if they even cared. “And this solitary one on one instruction? I’ve not seen that for anyone else.” He waves his hand at the ledger. “Look for yourself.”
Flipping through the ledger, what immediately stands out is the tight, neat handwriting that fills the pages. It’s masculine, and everything is so evenly spaced it may as well be a font.
After admiring Michael’s penmanship, I read some of the rules.
Many seem like Academy rule reiterations, while others logically make sense if you’re trying to break a spirit. Vampires are not allowed to consume blood, Reapers are banned from visiting the void and reaping souls, and sirens are not allowed to listen to music or sing—all of those track with what I would expect from a spirit-breaking place like this.
So why the rule about celibacy for me?
“I know there are myths about the Valkyrie that said they were virgin warriors and couldn’t marry, but all the myths got a lot wrong. I don’t see any other rules directly based on an Authentic mythology interpretation. Why mine?”
He scratches the back of his head with one hand and picks up another cookie with the other. “I’m trying to think of that myself. Not only is it a hard rule to enforce – it hinges upon your bedmates making the choice to report you or getting caught in a moment of exhibition – but it’s also not based in fact from what I can tell with what little information we have on Valkyrie spirits.”
It may be my imagination, but it seems like Professor Jessup is getting a little hot under the collar, judging by the slightly red flush on his neck.
I stretch out over the back of the chair, smirking at the shifter. “Right, how are more Valkyrie born if we don’t fuck?”
He sputters some cookie across the desk as he coughs at my crude wording. He takes a drink from a mug beside his keyboard and clears his throat before guiding the conversation gently away from my blunt question. “I wonder which administrator wrote your rules.” He shakes his head, his voice dropping to a barely audible tone as he mutters, “No one consulted me.”
“Could you find out?”
“I’m going to try. I’m unsure what the motivation here is, but it’s beyond curious.”
It’s always hard to tell how old a supernatural is, but Michael can’t be older than his late thirties. He’s got that ethereal beauty associated with his spirit, with soft crinkles at the corner of his eyes but nothing more. Eventually, I wrench my eyes away from his face and read through the ledger more. This would be incredible for my article. But I highly doubt Michael will let me borrow or copy it, and I don’t want to push my luck and ask right now, lest he yank it away and throw me out on my ass.
But I will get it before I’m done here. I need it to show the whole picture.
“This is fascinating,” I say as I hand him the leather book. He flips to a blank page and transcribes my rules in tight handwriting. “They all seem to follow a basic pattern. Like they’re perfectly designed to break body, mind, and spirit.”
His shoulders stiffen, and he doesn’t look up, but his hand stops entirely.
Fuck, I went too far.
After a heavy second, he continues writing while speaking quietly. “You need to be careful who you say stuff like that around, Stella.”
“Yes sir, sorry, I don’t know what came over me,” I mutter, pushing to stand. He returns the sheet with my rules to me, barely making eye contact.
“I mean it, Stella.” He finally looks at me, his gaze hard on my own.
“Understood, Professor,” I whisper.
“Good. See you next class.”