Chapter 15
Valen
The history class that I so enjoyed teaching had slowly become a source of anxiety.
Between wanting Archer and trying to resist him, I was terrified that I’d slip up in front of my students, revealing just how much had actually happened between us.
I didn’t like feeling that way. And for one brief moment when I walked into the room, I hoped and prayed that Archer had finally gotten the hint and dropped out.
But there he was, golden and beautiful as ever. And now he was sat right in the front fucking row.
I forced myself to look away from him, focusing instead on arranging my notes on the podium with more care than they required. The familiar routine of preparing for class should have been calming, but knowing Archer was sitting there watching my every move made my skin feel too tight.
And he looked so damn good.
“Good afternoon, everyone,” I began, my voice thankfully steady despite the chaos in my head. “Today we’ll be discussing the formation of the Supernatural Accords of 1847 and how they changed the legal status of vampires and several other creatures within magical society.”
I risked a glance at the class and immediately regretted it.
Archer was leaning forward slightly, his blue eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my unbeating heart skip.
He was taking notes, but I could tell he wasn’t really paying attention to the historical content.
He was studying me, cataloguing every gesture and expression like he was preparing for something.
“The Accords were revolutionary for their time,” I continued, pacing behind the podium to put some distance between us. “They established vampires as legal entities rather than magical creatures, which meant we could own property, enter into contracts, and participate in magical commerce.”
A student in the back row raised her hand. “Professor, what kind of resistance did vampires face when trying to integrate into magical society?”
“Significant resistance,” I replied, grateful for a question that didn’t require me to look directly at Archer.
“Many magical families viewed vampires as fundamentally dangerous. Our feeding requirements were seen as predatory, our immortality as unnatural. There were concerns about vampires gaining too much influence through accumulated wealth and political connections. People who live a long time tend to accumulate a lot of wealth, though that’s not always the case. ”
“But vampires don’t actually need to hurt people to feed, right?” This question came from a werewolf student near the middle of the room, Ms. Chen. “I mean, there are other ways?”
My jaw tightened slightly. This was exactly the kind of topic I’d been hoping to avoid, especially with Archer sitting there absorbing every word.
“That’s correct. While some vampires do require blood, others can sustain themselves through different forms of energy.
Sexual energy, for instance, or intense emotional states. ”
I felt rather than saw Archer’s attention sharpen, his pen stilling on his notebook. The bastard knew exactly what kind of vampire I was now, if he hadn’t figured it out already.
“Sexual energy?” The werewolf looked genuinely curious. “How does that work exactly?”
Christ. This was like walking through a minefield blindfolded.
“It’s a form of psychic feeding,” I explained, keeping my tone clinical and academic.
“The vampire draws sustenance from their partner’s arousal and satisfaction.
It’s actually considered one of the more ethical feeding methods, as it can be mutually beneficial when practiced between consenting adults. ”
Several students were taking notes now, but I could feel the weight of Archer’s stare like a physical touch. When I finally made the mistake of glancing his way, he was wearing that same knowing smile that had gotten me into trouble in my office.
“Are there any legal restrictions on that type of feeding?” another student asked.
“The Accords established guidelines,” I said, turning back to the whiteboard and writing out dates with perhaps more force than necessary.
“Consent is paramount, obviously. And there are professional ethics to consider. A vampire in a position of authority, for instance, would be expected to maintain appropriate boundaries, although that particular ethical line has only really taken root since the eighties.”
The irony of my words wasn’t lost on me, and I could practically feel Archer’s amusement radiating from the front row.
“What about romantic relationships?” This question came from a witch student I didn’t recognize. “Between vampires and other supernatural species?”
My hand tightened on the marker. “Such relationships weren’t uncommon, though they faced significant social challenges. Differences in lifespan, feeding requirements, and cultural expectations made them... complex.”
“But not impossible?” the student pressed.
“Not impossible,” I admitted, my voice rougher than I intended. “Though they required careful navigation of social prejudices and practical considerations.”
I spent the rest of the class period focusing strictly on dates and political developments, avoiding any topics that might lead to more personal questions. But I could feel Archer’s presence like a constant electric current, making it impossible to fully relax into my usual teaching rhythm.
When I finally dismissed the class, I made a show of organizing my papers while students filed out, hoping Archer would take the hint and leave with everyone else.
Of course, he didn’t.
“Fascinating lecture, Professor,” he said once the room was empty, his voice carrying that same undertone that had gotten me into trouble before. “I had no idea vampire feeding practices were so varied.”
“It’s basic biological fact,” I replied curtly, not looking up from my papers. “Nothing fascinating about it.”
“Really?” I heard him stand up, his footsteps approaching the front of the room. “Because I found the part about mutual benefits particularly educational. Makes me wonder what other feeding methods you might be willing to discuss in more detail.”
My hands stilled on the papers. “Mr. Quinn, if you have questions about the coursework, you can schedule office hours like any other student.”
“Oh, I don’t think office hours would be appropriate for the kind of education I’m interested in,” he said, and I could hear the smile in his voice. “After all, you did mention something about professional boundaries.”
I finally looked up at him, finding him standing just close enough to be within my personal space but not close enough to be obviously inappropriate if someone walked in.
His blue eyes held that same determination I’d seen in my office, the same refusal to back down that had led to us fucking on my desk.
“What do you want, Archer?”
“I want you to stop pretending that what happened between us didn’t matter,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper. “I want you to admit that you’ve been thinking about it just as much as I have. That you enjoyed it.”
Of course he was right, and that made everything infinitely worse.
I had been thinking about it. Constantly.
The memory of his body beneath mine, the sounds he’d made, the way he’d responded to every touch…
it was all I could think about during my classes, during fencing practice, and especially during the long sleepless hours when I should have been grading papers.
“It doesn’t matter what I enjoyed,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “What matters is that it can’t happen again.”
“Why?” He stepped closer, heat rolling off him in waves “Because of some arbitrary rules about professors and students? Because you’re worried about what people might think?”
“Because I could destroy your life,” I snapped, louder than I intended. I glanced toward the door, making sure it was still closed. “And you could destroy mine. Do you have any idea what would happen if your family found out? If the administration discovered what we’ve done?”
“I don’t care about my family’s opinion,” he said, but there was something in his eyes that suggested it wasn’t entirely true. “And the administration doesn’t need to know anything.”
“You’re being naive.” I turned away from him, putting the podium between us like a barrier. “Secrets have a way of coming out, Archer. And when they do, it won’t just be your reputation on the line. I could lose everything I’ve built here. How is that fair to me?”
There was a long pause. “You’re right,” he said at last. I heard him take a step back, his heat fading. “I’m asking you to risk a lot just so I can… pull one over on my parents.”
I turned to face him, seeing the realization in his eyes.
“I’m being really immature, aren’t I?” he said softly, a tone of melancholy filling his voice.
“Archer…” I sighed, shaking my head.
“That’s a yes, isn’t it?”
“Maybe a little,” I admitted, and watched his shoulders slump. The melancholy in his voice made my stomach clench. “But that doesn’t make what you’re feeling any less valid.”
He looked up at me then, surprise flickering across his features.
“Look, Archer,” I said, stepping out from behind the podium despite every instinct telling me to maintain distance. “I understand wanting to rebel against family expectations. Trust me, I’ve had centuries to perfect the art of disappointing people who think they know what’s best for me.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Centuries of practice, huh?”
“More than you can imagine.” I found myself moving closer to him, drawn by that vulnerable expression he was trying to hide. “But using me as your method of rebellion... it puts us both at risk for something that might not even be what you really want.”
“What if it is what I want?” he asked quietly. “What if it’s not just about my parents?”
The question hung between us, loaded with implications I wasn’t sure either of us was ready to face. Because the truth was, I’d been asking myself the same thing. Was this just about the incredible sexual energy he provided, or was there something deeper happening here?
“Archer...” I started, then stopped. What could I possibly say? That I thought about him constantly? That feeding from him had been unlike anything I’d experienced in three centuries? That the idea of never touching him again made something in my chest ache in a way I’d forgotten was possible?
“I should go,” he said when I didn’t continue, shouldering his bag. “You’re right about the risks. I’m sorry for being so selfish.”
He was halfway to the door before I found my voice again.
“Wait.”
He stopped, his hand on the door handle, but didn’t turn around.
“Your next private history lesson,” I said, my voice rough. “Come early.”
He turned around slowly, his blue eyes wide with surprise and something that looked like hope. “How early?”
“Twenty minutes before our scheduled time.” I felt my resolve cracking even as I spoke, but I couldn’t seem to stop myself. “And Archer? This isn’t a yes. I’m not making you any promises.”
“Of course.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but I could hear the excitement thrumming beneath it. “And don’t worry, I won’t say anything to anyone. I promise.”
I nodded curtly, not trusting myself to say anything else.
The moment the words had left my mouth, I’d known I was making another mistake.
But watching him walk away, seeing that dejected slump to his shoulders, had done something to me.
He held a strange power over me that I didn’t want to admit to.
“Go,” I said, turning back to my papers before I could change my mind. “Before I come to my senses.”
I heard his footsteps quicken as he left, the door closing behind him with a soft click that seemed to echo in the sudden silence. I stood there for a long moment, staring down at my notes without really seeing them.
What the hell was I doing? I’d just invited him to come early to our next session, which was essentially an invitation for more trouble.
The responsible thing would be to cancel the private lessons altogether, to put as much distance between us as possible until this inconvenient attraction burned itself out.
But the memory of how he’d looked just now, vulnerable and disappointed, made my chest tighten in a way that had nothing to do with hunger. And that was perhaps the most dangerous thing of all.
I gathered my things mechanically, trying to ignore the voice in my head that was already counting down the hours until I’d see him again. This was going to end badly for both of us. I was certain of it.
But apparently, I was going to let it happen anyway.