Chapter 7
chapter
seven
Jace
I stare at the pretty human across the room. She’s plump and round, curvy in all the best ways. Her pale—almost white—blond hair is piled on top of her head. Bright pink streaks scattered through the strands. Despite the overall dimness in the room, I can clearly see how vivid blue her eyes are.
“Professor Jace?” she asks.
My skin feels like it’s tightening, choking me. How does she know me? “What do you want?” I demand.
“I just wanted to meet you,” she says, her voice a little breathless.
I nod. “You’ve met me now.” But something about her gives me pause. “Wait, did you say your name is Harriet?”
“Yes,” she says, but her tone rises like she’s asking a question.
My tail whips around my feet. I want to stand and get the fuck out of here, but I’m torn because if I stand up, she’ll see everything.
Then her eyes drop to the piano and recognition lights her gaze. “I hadn’t realized that was you. That you were—”
“A monster? Yeah, well, I am. Now you know. As you can clearly see, I can’t go wherever and testify in a damned courtroom. Our secret is making its way out of Screaming Woods, but for the most part, we do try to keep things protected here.”
“Of course,” she says.
“Do you have a flashlight?” I ask her.
She frowns. “The one on my phone.”
“Good.” Then I flip the switch on the wall behind the piano and douse the chapel into darkness. I can still see, at least more than she can see me. I don’t have great night vision, but definitely better than a human’s.
“Goodbye, Harriet,” I say. Then I hoof it out of there.
I run the entire way to my house, hoping the exertion will stave off an attack of the fever. But being close to a beautiful woman has my senses on alert so I can definitely feel the beginnings of that endless craving.
I go directly to my study, staying clear of my music room since Xander is still repairing that one.
We locked up my baby grand piano after the first fever sent me on a rampage.
It’s why I restored the one at the church.
Xander rigged something and added that LED lighting for me so I can go at night and play.
The music helps with my sanity. So does teaching.
Which brings me back to Harriet. She’s my student.
WAS my student. She took at least three separate classes from me, all in the last couple of years.
I remember several things about her. She’s not a brilliant musician, but she fumbles her way through the assignments, acing the concept if not the execution.
She told me once that she was a perpetual student and that she was taking my classes to learn about music to better communicate with someone special.
Obviously she meant her brother, if her story from the chat a month or so ago is true. I’ve watched everything on his YouTube and he is miraculously gifted.
She must love her brother so much to take classes just to be able to better communicate with him.
No one has ever loved me that much.
Not my parents. Not my ex-fiancée. No one.
I may have only met Harriet Chambers, but I’ve seen her heart. And fuck me if it doesn’t make me want even a fraction of the affection she’s clearly capable of.
She could be the one to break my damn curse.
My heart keeps repeating that thought. Whispering it into my very soul so that it feels as if it’s the only logical answer. She’s the one.
She would be perfect. That thick, round body of hers is solid; she looks strong. Strong enough to handle me and my rutting urges. But if she didn’t break the spell, if she didn’t love me, then I would eventually destroy her. I couldn’t live with myself if that happened.
Knowing it’s a bad idea, I open my student files on my computer. I find her name immediately, as if my eyes know right where she is.
Harriet Chambers.
I open the file and there are her assignments. Papers she’s written. Videos sent in. I open one of the videos.
“Bear with me,” her recorded voice says, her lovely face beams into the camera, “I am not a great musician.” Then she places her phone so it’s angled, facing her torso and the piano keys. She proceeds to move through the assignment, talking as she goes.
Like a fucking pervert, I lose interest in watching her fingers fumble on the keys and zero in on her ample cleavage.
How had I never noticed her before?
She was a student. That’s how. Students are asexual beings that exist out in the world, but in a dimension other than mine. At least that’s how my brain categorizes them. Students are always off limits. So, I’ve never once looked at one and thought anything unprofessional.
Now, though, all of those rules cease to exist in my mind.
Harry725: I’m sorry if I put you in an awkward position. Your friend, who told me where you’d be—you as in my former professor—said you’d be happy to see me.
PROF_JACE: Which friend would that be?
Harry725: Uh… I guess he’s a griffin?
PROF_JACE: Figures.
PROF_JACE: And yes, he’s a griffin.
I shoot a text to Xander telling him he can fuck right off.
He texts back immediately with a laughing emoji, then a, “you’re welcome.”
“Fucker,” I mutter.
PROF_JACE: I’m sorry if I was rude.
Harry725: You were ambushed. That’s my fault.
Harry725: You really do play beautifully.
PROF_JACE: Thank you.
Harry725: I mean I knew that from your lectures and class presentations. But hearing it in person is astounding.
Harry725: I’ll leave you alone.
I don’t respond because I don’t know what I should say.
Nope, that’s not true. I should tell her yes, that she should definitely leave me alone.
I should tell her to get her gorgeous ass out of this fucked up town before she gets hurt.
Instead, I say nothing and leave the door open for her to find me again.