Chapter 25 Briar
brIAR
When I arrive at my office after class the following Monday, Monroe is already waiting for me.
“Someone’s eager.” I yawn and cover my mouth. Juni had me up again last night, the third night in a row. I cross the room, take a seat behind my desk, and pour myself a glass of water, hoping some hydration will revive my wilted state.
“I wouldn’t say eager...but I figure the sooner I get control of my magic, the better. I’d rather not have to repeat the course.” While I believe her, it’s amusing how easily the pretty lies slip from her mouth. This is all to get to the mortal realm.
I don’t understand her obsession with that place. Florezca is beautiful, with every amenity one could wish for. There’s no crime, no dirty streets, no litter, violence, or hate. If she gave this place a chance, she’d see how much we—this world—has to offer her.
A burning ache warms my sternum, and I rub my palm against it. Monroe’s mint stare drops to the movement, and I immediately rip my hand away from where my mate mark hides beneath my button-up. I reach for my water glass and take a sip.
She nervously nibbles her bottom lip, and my neck pricks with embarrassment.
I can’t stop staring. Would she nip mine like that, playful and punishing?
Sifting through the air is the telltale powdered-sugar scent of desire.
Monroe’s forehead wrinkles beneath her tortoiseshell frames.
Has she figured it out yet, or does she still tell herself a different story—that someone’s baking or carrying around treats?
Confusion scampers across the bond, but she shakes it away, like a majority of the emotions I’m able to glean when she’s not hiding behind the guise of control.
Her gaze darts behind her toward the door. She still hasn’t sat down. “Where will we be doing our session?”
“Right here.” I gesture at the seat across from me. “Plenty of space to work. We’re shifting, not sparring.”
Though I bet she’d be happy to…
She snorts and sits in the seat, muttering something too low for me to catch, which is impressive considering my impeccable immortal hearing.
“While I know this was covered in class, let’s begin by talking through the basics.”
“Okay.” Monroe’s fingers fidget in her lap. When she notices me looking, they still before smoothing out the top of her black lace skirt.
I swallow thickly. “As you’ve started to realize, magic flows from energy and is stronger in its delivery with emotion.”
“Of course I know that,” she snaps before gnawing on her bottom lip. “But I don’t mind you going over the information again and clarifying the types of emotions.”
Readying her pen and notepad, she looks up at me expectantly.
“Joy, excitement, rage, envy, sadness, desire. One of the reasons our magic is more potent after waking from rejuvenation, or first thing in the morning, is that even if we don’t remember our dreams, there’s nothing blocking the emotions evoked by them.”
Her brows lift. “I suppose that makes sense. Though I don’t understand why I am still having trouble. Especially when I’m an expert on emotions.”
“Knowing the clinical significance of an emotion and allowing yourself to experience it are two very different things.”
Anger sears the mate mark like a brand.
“I know that.” She thumps her heel against the ground, then crosses her leg over the other. “But there’s nothing wrong with regulating your emotions. In fact, more people should try it.”
The burning dissipates and she lifts her chin, mint-green irises zeroing in on me.
Well, if that isn’t a personal dig, I don’t know what is.
Her walls are up and fortified. If only she realized how much she let slip through the cracks when she exhausts her beautiful mind and lets it dream.
As much as she’s overtaken my thoughts, I don’t wake up with an unsettled ache beneath my ribs and a miserable hard-on because of my feelings. It’s all her.
Every night it happens, followed by an internal debate.
To give in to the desire, using my hand for meager solace, or grit my teeth and ignore it.
Lately, due to my exhaustion, the latter has won out.
Which is probably for the best. I’m certain that if there were a rejected mate handbook, there’d be a warning to not fuck your fist to the tune of your spurner.
I’m not sure which is worse: being stuck in my bunny form, witnessing her pleasure and unable to do anything to find relief, or feeling her lust and ecstasy roll through the bond, but each torturous stroke of my cock is a reminder that it’ll never happen.
She’s determined to reject the bond and me.
But at the end of the day, I don’t deserve any pity. I’m the Bloom who landed us here after all.
Remain professional and educational, Briar.
I sigh, keeping my face impassive and leaning back in my chair.
“When it comes to magic, you have to pour your emotions into it. I believe your struggle stems more from halting the flow of your emotions rather than a lack of ability.” As soon as I finish the words I’ve been rehearsing since I found out I’d be teaching her in these one-on-one sessions, my chest lifts.
It’s like I’m a young sprout patting myself on the back, but the wins are few and far between lately.
“So how do I fix it?”
“What are some emotions you’ve felt when you’ve gotten your magic to work?” I ask, maintaining my smooth teacherly veneer.
“Frustration.”
“What else?”
“Anger.” Her tone is a knife—sharp, cutting, and meant to wound.
“I can believe that.” The corner of my mouth kicks up. I can’t help it, Monroe is every bit as captivating as she was those months in her apartment, more so now with that bite added to the glare she shoots me from across the desk.
It’s twisted how I find the ire she spears at me thrilling.
I know it’s wrong. She isn’t mine and she won’t ever be—I’m reminded of that daily—but some fucked-up part of me presses on out of masochistic curiosity.
I want to dig up everything she buries deep in that beautiful mind of hers.
The truth is, I don’t deserve her secrets, but that doesn’t stop my desperation to uncover them. “Anything else?”
She nibbles her bottom lip, eyes flitting up from beneath her speckled spectacles. “The first time my magic worked…I felt desire.”
Don’t react.
I shift in my seat, annoyed that a hint of sweetness tints the air. At least she hasn’t deciphered its meaning. Yet. “Desire is more of a gateway emotion. In letting go and giving yourself over to it, it opens you up to the full spectrum.”
“Why don’t you say that more explicitly in class when you teach us?”
“If your professor told you that your emotions would assist your magic, wouldn’t you try to make yourself feel an emotion?” I clasp my hands atop the desk. “That’s not something you can manufacture or control. I’m sure you’ve run into something similar, working with your clients.”
“I suppose you have a point,” she says, sighing. Her mouth scrunches and she tilts her head. “Then why tell me now?”
I stand up and walk around the desk, leaning against it before I get any closer. “Your expert understanding of emotions may be helpful as a therapist in the mortal realm, but here, among Blooms, trying to control every feeling isn’t a strength.”
“Therapists don’t try to control emotions.
We focus on coping and regulating them.” She pushes her chair out and meets me at eye level, her chin raised.
“But I’m feeling angry right now.” Her eyes drag over my flourish marks, and my skin warms under her attention. “Does that help with today’s lesson?”
“Let’s find out, Dr. Tanner.” I wrap my hand around her wrist and gently lift it between us, meeting her gaze. “How’s your magic? Is it buzzing along your fingertips?” I trace them and drag my pointer finger up her forearm. “Trailing through your veins?”
Her breath catches in her throat. “Yes.”
While I’m certain she’s not lying about her anger, there’s another emotion she’s unable to conceal.
Mouthwateringly sweet desire. There’s only one thing that stops me from weakly admitting who I am to her: She holds me responsible for her death.
Something so unforgivable and impossible to overlook, the best thing I can do is help her graduate the Conservatory.
Emotionally, I’d say I’ve mastered maintaining the professional boundary between student and professor. Physically, I’m doing a piss-poor job.
“Don’t be a fool, Briar,” Corrigan warned me over breakfast. “Keep your distance.” She’s always been able to see right through me. Guess it’s only fair that the feeling is mutual.
And if I had my druthers, I’d be closer to Monroe. Brush through the waves of her hair, trace the length of her neck with my lips. My teeth.
Get a hold of yourself.
“Shift,” I bite out, blinking myself back to the real reason we’re here. She needs to be ready to deliver spring. Nothing else matters. This is what she wants, and I’ll ensure she’s prepared.
“No.” Fear slinks along the bond like a thief attempting to stick to the shadows.
“Why not?” My attention darts where I thumb over her wrist bone.
“You refused to demonstrate the last few classes. There’s no spring for you if you can’t shift, and I have to be able to give the dean an update this week.
So why don’t you tell me what you’re afraid of and we’ll sort it out. Together.”
Please. Help me, help you.
Her pale-mint brows draw up in surprise. Maybe afraid was too on the nose—
“What if I get stuck like last time and can’t fully shift back?” She rips her hand out of my grasp.
“The bunny ears and tail were a nice addition.” After being called Sir Thumps-A-Lot for months, I enjoyed getting to appreciate her adorable bunny features.
I arch a brow at her and brace my hands on the desk behind me so I’m not tempted to touch her again.
“Worried I’ll have to help coax them back into place? ”
“No.” Her tone is firm, but her eyes soften along their edges.