Professor Anders continued his lecture, but I could tell I'd gotten to him.
His posture remained precise, spine stiff and chin high, the picture of authority—but his hands betrayed him. One gripped the edge of the podium too tightly, knuckles pale against the polished wood. The other turned his chalk slowly, over and over, like he needed something to do with the static buzzing through his skin.
I could hear it in the way his words clipped a little too sharp, or lingered just a second too long.
Controlled. Poised.
And unraveling.
Silently. Reluctantly.
Because of me.
I crossed my legs under the desk, slow and deliberate. The sound of fabric sliding over skin caught his attention for just a fraction of a second, but it was enough.
That flicker of his gaze. That slight pause.
I raised my hand again—gentle smile, polite posture, like the perfect student—but my words came wrapped in double meanings, laced in challenge. I questioned his interpretation of character duality, then pressed deeper into themes of repression and identity.
And every time I spoke, his mask tightened.
The classroom began to shift. Subtle. Tense. A few students stopped scribbling notes just to watch. Others exchanged looks, like they couldn't decide if this was entertainment or something more dangerous.
It was both.
Professor Anders paused near the blackboard, running a hand through his already-messy dark hair. His fingers curled at the back of his neck as he turned, chalk raised.
A student toward the back—Darren? No, maybe Mason—asked about Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. About how a man could become the thing he feared. The way the darkness, once tasted, never truly let go.
And that was when Alec Anders stilled.
Not visibly. Not for most. But I saw it.
The way he hesitated before turning to the board. The stillness of a predator before it pounced—or retreated.
"Some monsters," he said slowly, voice quieter now, lower and lined with gravel, "don't realize what they are until it's too late. Until they've already crossed the line. Some live in denial. Others... crave the darkness."
A hush fell. Even the scratch of pen on paper stopped.
My lips parted before I knew what I was saying. "And what if they crave both?"
Heads turned.
Someone coughed.
But I didn't look away. Neither did he.
For one sharp moment, it felt like the whole room vanished. Like it was just him and me, suspended in the question. I saw something flicker behind his eyes—old, scarred, unspoken. The kind of truth that doesn't fade, only burrows deeper.
Then he blinked. Turned back to the board. Started writing again.
But his hand shook just slightly with the chalk.
The fire we'd sparked wasn't going out.
And I wasn't done fanning it.
——————-
The bell rang like a gunshot.
Chairs scraped. Zippers opened. A tide of murmuring students poured toward the exit with the desperate energy of people who'd just escaped a fire—and maybe, in a way, they had. They didn't understand what they'd felt, but they wanted out.
I didn't move.
I lingered, slow and calm, gathering my things with the kind of deliberate grace that dared him to stop me.
And of course—he did.
"Miss Everen."
The way he said my name...
Low. Steady. A quiet growl wrapped in civility. Like the sound of thunder before the lightning strike.
I turned to face him, pulse drumming in my throat. "Yes, Professor?"
He stood at the front of the room, hands at his sides, but his whole body buzzed with restrained power. His storm-colored eyes were unreadable, but the air between us vibrated.
"I'd like a word."
No please. No formality. Just command.
The last student—Ana—glanced back at me. I gave her a quick nod. She hesitated for half a second before disappearing through the door. Professor Anders followed, only long enough to shut it behind her.
The click echoed.
He didn't lock it.
But it felt like he had.
The silence that followed was thick and charged. Like the walls had absorbed our energy and were now holding their breath.
He turned back to me.
"You enjoy testing boundaries."
His voice was low and calm, but the tension crackled beneath it. Like a wolf circling, deciding whether to warn—or bite.
I crossed the room slowly, letting my heels echo with every step. "Only the interesting ones."
His gaze narrowed. "What game are you playing?"
"Who says I'm playing?"
"Don't play dumb."
I tilted my head. "I never said I was dumb."
He exhaled sharply. A twitch in his jaw betrayed his restraint. "You're not like the others."
I stopped just short of his desk, letting my bag drop to the floor. "No. I'm not."
"You cloak yourself well," he said after a beat. "But I can feel it. Something... powerful. Coiled under your skin."
I held his gaze. "Then stop pretending like you're not doing the same."
That landed.
He stilled.
No movement. No breath. Just that electric pause of something ancient holding itself back.
"I don't know what you are," he said, voice quieter now. "But you're not human."
The words were meant to unnerve.
But they didn't.
"Neither are you," I said softly.
A flash—too quick to name—passed through his expression. Surprise, maybe. Or recognition.
We were close now. Too close.
The air between us buzzed. His aura flared again, brushing against mine like a pulse of magic—or warning. Beneath his skin, I could feel the warlock energy. Old and bitter. Woven with something wild. Something hungry.
I leaned in, just a little. "You hide it better than most. But I can still smell the power on you."
"And what exactly do you smell, Miss Everen?"
I smiled, slow and dangerous. "Fear. Fury. Temptation."
His breath hitched.
And for a moment—I thought he might touch me.
His hand twitched at his side, then stilled.
I didn't move.
He didn't either.
We were trapped in the space between want and restraint.
His eyes dropped to my mouth—then jerked back to mine. His pulse ticked at his throat.
Then—he blinked.
And stepped back.
The spell shattered like glass.
"We're done here," he said, voice stiff and clipped.
Just like that, the fire was caged again.
I bent slowly to grab my bag, keeping my expression unreadable. When I reached the door, I paused with my hand on the knob.
"Oh," I said over my shoulder, sweetly casual, "and don't worry. I'll keep our little chat very professional."
I didn't wait for a reply.
But I could feel his eyes burning into my back the entire way out.
—————
The door clicked shut behind me as I stepped out of Alec's classroom, my pulse still thudding against my ribs like a warning drum I couldn't silence. The hallway was nearly empty now—students long gone, the silence thick with something unspoken.
But I wasn't alone for long.
Ana appeared from the end of the hall, her arms crossed over her chest, eyebrows already raised. "What the hell was that?"
I didn't answer.
Not with words.
I just gave her a look that said later and nodded toward the nearest restroom.
We slipped inside, the heavy door sighing shut behind us. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed faintly, casting pale reflections across the mirror-lined wall. The air smelled like lemon disinfectant and lavender soap—a poor attempt to cover up teenage chaos.
I leaned over the sink, gripping the porcelain, trying to shake off the heat still clinging to my skin. My blonde hair had started to slip from its ribbon, strands brushing against my cheeks. I looked wild and polished all at once—the cropped white cardigan still buttoned neatly over my fitted pink tennis skirt, every inch of me styled, yet shaken underneath.
Ana didn't say anything at first. She just stood beside me, arms folded, waiting.
"I don't even know where to start," I whispered finally, my voice thinner than I meant it to be.
"He said something to you, didn't he?" Her voice was quiet but firm. "It wasn't just a look."
I nodded once. "He knows. Or he suspects. He looked at me like he was trying to tear the truth out of my skin."
Ana's expression tightened. "What truth?"
"That I'm not human."
Her eyes widened slightly, but she didn't flinch.
"And then he said he didn't know what I was. That he's never seen anything like me."
Ana's brows furrowed. "He's definitely something too. The way his energy shifts when he's around you? It's not just werewolf."
"I know."
I pulled the ribbon from my hair, letting the golden strands fall loose as I stared at my reflection. I looked like the same girl I'd been this morning, but something had changed. The fire between us—me and Alec—wasn't just attraction. It was recognition.
"I can't stop thinking about the way he looked at me," I said, almost to myself. "Like I was familiar. Like I was dangerous."
Ana's voice softened. "You are."
I glanced sideways at her.
"I mean that in the best way," she added with a crooked smile. "But Scarlet, you need to be careful. If he figures out what you really are..."
"He won't," I said quickly. "Not yet."
"And if he does?"
"I don't know."
Ana stepped closer. "Is it just him? The power? The mystery?"
I hesitated.
"No," I admitted. "It's something else. Something older. I feel like I've known him before... and not just in the romantic fantasy kind of way. Like... actually known him."
Ana's gaze held mine for a long moment, and I knew she didn't think I was being dramatic. She'd had dreams before too—visions she never fully understood. Maybe that was why she didn't call me crazy.
Just worried.
"We'll figure it out," she said. "Together."
I gave a weak smile and fixed the bow back into my hair. My hands didn't tremble this time.
"I'm fine," I said, straightening. "Let's just eat before I pass out."
Ana raised a brow. "If you suddenly start compulsively flirting with strangers again, I'm throwing a protein bar at your head."
I laughed—genuinely, for the first time all day. "Deal."
We pushed the door open and stepped back into the hallway. The distant sound of trays and voices echoed from the cafeteria.
Whatever storm I'd stirred up with Alec... it would have to wait.
For now, I had a lunch table to dominate.