Chapter 14
Lucian
I stand in front of the smart screen in the lecture hall and watch as students file in for Tuesday’s class. As much as I tell myself I’m definitely not watching for a certain someone to make their way through my door, I know that’s a lie.
Reagan comes in first, followed by the woman who inhabits my every waking thought. Cara. Her eyes find mine immediately, and I wonder if she’s struggling as much as I am. Our emails continue to be the highlight of my day, aside from the moments I’m snuggled up with her at home in hound form.
Or at night when I’m listening for any sign that she’s pleasuring herself. Even now, the taste of her orgasm haunts me. I’ll be doing something mundane, like standing in front of a group of students, and out of nowhere the taste of her floods my tongue.
It’s maddening.
Shaking my head, I look away from the woman currently consuming my mind and focus on something more important. Like today’s topic of discussion, which should earn me a further glimpse into her mind.
“Shifters?” One girl, I think her name is Laura, says from the front row.
“That’s right. This week’s theme is shifters, so let’s dive right in.” There’s a flurry of whoops from a few of the students, but it’s Cara’s growing smile that has me hopeful. “Now, who can name a well-known shifter in mythology?”
“Werewolves, duh,” a guy says from my left. Shawn. He acts a fool in class for his friends, but his weekly reports are some of the most insightful I’ve received—not counting a certain captivating female.
“Duh,” I say in agreement, mimicking his tone.
“Werewolves have a ton of myths, as do Lycans. We see them mentioned a lot in pop culture between books, movies, and television shows. There are even some card games, like the aptly titled Werewolf, that play on those myths. Can anyone tell me the mythological difference between Lycans and werewolves?”
Several students raise their hands, including Cara, and I make a show of pretending to select someone before settling on her. As if it was ever a choice.
“Depending on the myth, some say there are no differences between werewolves and Lycans, or lycanthropy, and use the terms interchangeably, but there are some that suggest otherwise.”
When she doesn’t continue, I nod. “That’s right. And do you know what these other myths are?”
She blushes a little under my scrutiny but continues, her voice strong. “They say Lycans can shift at will and have a bond between themselves, the man, and their wolf, while werewolves are cursed to shift only during a full moon and lose all semblance of control during that time.”
“That’s exactly right, Cara. And it’s one of the things I enjoy most about studying mythology.
Depending on your location, your heritage, or even who your parents are, there’s a myth.
Some are all based on the same one, changing over time because of things like hysteria or wild sightings.
It’s something we could research forever and never run out of new points.
Now, who else can name another shifter in mythology? ”
Several students call out at once, but I see Reagan lift her hand, so I call on her. “Reagan, go ahead.”
“Well, if there are werewolves, surely there are other were-creatures, like bears.”
“There are. Werebears, and I believe someone else called out werecats, have known myths. Werecats are similar to werewolves in that humans shift into panthers or tigers while others shift into domestic cats. We see the latter in pop culture, usually in reference to witches. Werebears are less common. Some say they are only humans wearing the fur or skins of slain bears, while others believe in a total shift between human and beast. Give me another one.”
“Selkie!”
“Cerberus! The OG weredog.”
There it is. The one I was hoping for. But I don’t dive into it yet. Instead, I pick out the young woman in the back of the class.
“Pamela, go ahead.”
“Uh, well, they’re not shifters exactly, but Kitsune can technically shift. Though their myth is more about a fox spirit.” Her face has grown redder in the time she’s spoken, but I pretend not to notice.
“That’s true, but like I said, that’s the beauty of mythology.
There’s a ton of information out there about the Kitsune.
The fox spirits are known to shift between fox and human form, with both good and bad levels of spirit, and a lot of differing mythology around their tails and trickster behavior. Well done. Who mentioned Cerberus?”
A guy in the middle of the class raises his hand, and I nod.
“Cerberus is a hellhound, and there are many myths about them. Of course, the most popular one is Cerberus, the giant three-headed dog with venomous saliva that protects the underworld. But there are other myths too. Some believe they are harbingers of death, while others say hellhounds are evil spirits in the form of fiery hounds sent to capture unsuspecting humans and bring them to another realm. Or, of course, some connect them to the Wild Hunt as the pack that follows the wild huntsman through the night in search of souls.”
“Cool,” the guy, Thomas, says like he thinks they’re the coolest thing ever.
“Very cool, indeed. Now, what’s next? I want one more before we dive deeper. Whoever said Selkie earlier, can you tell me more?”
The girl, Briar, raises her hand. She’s sitting near enough to Cara that I catch a glimpse of her from the corner of my eye. She looks absolutely captivated, just like she always does during class, and I can’t help but get excited for her next submission.
“I grew up hearing stories about selkies. People sometimes refer to them as seal people who wash up on shore, shed their skin and shift into humans. It’s said that if a selkie loses its skin, it can no longer shift into its seal form, which is how a lot of selkie women became trapped by human men back in the day. ”
I do my best to look around the entire room and not just focus on the one whose reaction I’m the most interested in, but my gaze always falls back to her. To Cara.
I’m so fucked.
The realization hits me during office hours on Friday while reading through Cara’s latest assignment.
Every week I try not to read hers the moment it shows up in my inbox, and so far I’ve failed.
It’s how I know I’m screwed. Her report, the one I know she toiled over these past few evenings when she should have been asleep, is refreshing in the way that ice water is on a hot day.
After reading it, I know I can’t keep fighting the pull to her.
Truthfully, I’ve known it for a while now, but I’ve tried to bury it down so deep that it wouldn’t matter. A lot of good that’s done for me.
Like with all of her assignments, the insights she puts into each one would impress any professor.
It’s proof that she’s listening in class and taking the topic seriously.
Her view on shifters makes my hound rumble with happiness.
Cara talks about the mythos of shifters, specifically those with two sides—human and non-human—and how she imagines it would be both hard to come to terms with and inherently freeing to know you’re never alone.
She talks about the different pack mentalities of shifters in mythology, how some are loners and others thrive in a pack, and then she talks about those shifters who she believes are misunderstood.
I must have read the portion of her report on hellhounds at least six times already since she submitted it this morning.
It was foolish of me to send my feedback and grade to her already, but I couldn’t stop myself.
How could I, when she wrote about how she doesn’t believe hellhounds are the harbingers of death and instead believes they’re the selfless protectors of humans who only harm those who mean to do harm?
Her footnotes included several articles of alleged hellhound sightings where harm was done, along with the research she found to show that the people who got hurt were abusers.
I’m about to read it again for the seventh time when there’s a knock on my door.
Cara’s there when I look up, standing in the doorway with an expression on her face that I can’t read. “Can I come in?”
“Of course,” I say, surprise making me slow to respond. I take my glasses off as she shuts the door and sits in the chair across from my desk. She doesn’t say anything right away. Having her in here like this, the two of us alone with the door shut, has me all fucked up.
If I thought my control was bad when she got hurt, now it’s practically nonexistent.
“Sorry to bother you,” she starts, and I smile. If only she knew how little she bothered me. “I hoped we could discuss your notes on my shifter report.”
“Is something wrong?” Maybe I should have taken time away from it, let myself come down from the euphoric feeling of her maybe actually understanding us.
“No. Well, maybe. I loved the feedback, and honestly no one has ever understood my love for this stuff, so it feels amazing that you do, but I…”
Shit. I definitely should have waited. I inhale, trying to get a sense of her emotions. She’s anxious—that’s clear without her scent, nervous too, but I detect… is that… arousal? Need rises in me so swiftly I have to look away from her, afraid she might see the lust in my eyes.
“Sorry,” she says again, making me smile.
“Don’t apologize, Cara. Take your time; I’m in no rush.” As bad as it might be for us to spend even more time in her presence, I can’t deny myself her company.
“Right, well…” She stands then, clearly restless, and walks around my office.
“Look, I just want to make sure that our email exchanges aren’t making you feel the need to boost my grade.
I know I’m not the best writer, even if it’s a topic I’m so passionate about, so I appreciate the grade of my recent report, but I can’t—”
“Who says you aren’t a good writer?”
She turns, stunned by my question. “What? Oh, just my mom. It’s why she wants me to manage the books of our family law firm and not the lawyer side, not that I’m really interested in either.”
The more I hear about her mother, the more I dislike her. “You’re nearly top of the class, Cara, and if your research and arguments are half as good for legal matters as they are for myths, then I’d say your mother is wrong, and you’d make a damn fine lawyer.”
Her eyes finally meet mine, and I’m surprised by what I find there.
My experience with Cara so far is that she’s a woman who has her shit together.
She’ll do what’s requested of her, even at the detriment to herself, and she’ll make the most of a bad situation.
She’s fiercely loyal to those she cares for and will always stick up for someone in need.
The woman staring back at me now isn’t confident or sure of herself, and I wonder when the last time someone truly complimented her was. Not for her looks, but for her brain. Reagan does, but even I know that usually comes with the stigma of Well, best friends have to say that.
“I… you really think so?”
Unable to take it anymore, I rise from behind my desk and stride to where she stands with her back to my shelves.
“I know so. Our exchanges have nothing to do with your grades. You earned those marks all on your own.” Her eyes search mine, and I wonder what she’s looking for.
I can hear the way her heart beats, thrumming steadily within the confines of her ribcage.
I wish I could decipher the beats.
More than that, I want to tell her everything.
Paint the picture of exactly what I see when I look at her, what I feel when I read her reports or her emails, or how content my hound and I are to curl up beside her at night, but I swallow it all down.
“Conversing with you outside of class has become a forbidden highlight of my day, but if it will strengthen your belief in yourself, then we can press pause.”
Fighting against every instinct inside me, I step back. This is for the best. Coop knew it before, and even I did. I just wasn’t strong enough to do it, but for her I’ll make the sacrifice.
Temporarily.
“Wait,” she says, her voice breathless as she grabs onto my bare forearm. Then to herself she whispers, “God, what am I doing?”
I don’t speak or even move. With her hand on my skin, the heat of it sears me like a brand. My hound howls inside of us like he’s chanting. Mate! Mate! Mate!
She takes the barest step forward, not letting go of my arm. “I don’t want to press pause.”
When she finally looks into my eyes, I’m drowning in a sea of moss green. “What do you want then, Cara?”
Each second that passes without her reply is agony.
I’m both eager for her response and terrified of what it might be.
My hound is restless, desperate to claim her but worried she’ll reject us or even that I will.
But lost in her eyes like I am, it’s clear that I don’t know if I’m strong enough to resist her.
She looks down at where her hand rests on my forearm, biting her now-healed bottom lip. “I want to keep talking. I—”
“Then we will,” I reassure her, placing my hand over hers. It disappears completely beneath my palm, making me smile.
“Tell me you feel it. Tell me this pull isn’t all in my head, Lucian.”
“I…” Can I tell her that? I can hardly admit it to myself. She’s been under my skin since we scented her that night in the forest.
“It’s okay,” she says, taking my hesitation as a dismissal and withdrawing her hand. The absence of it spurs me into action.
“Fuck it.” I grab her hand and pull her into me before sealing my lips to hers the way I’ve wanted to do for far too long. My hound revels in the taste of her, howling for me to claim our mate, and I know, deep down in the depths of my soul, there’s no turning back from this.