Not exactly legendary feminine mystique.
Professor Kenna watched me too carefully.
“Well,” she murmured at last, “we shall see.”
Something about her tone made my stomach tighten.
“But be warned, Miss Cordoza—if the Fates choose you for a mate, they are rarely kind to those who ignore the signs.”
I blinked.
“Signs?”
“Mating fever,” she said simply. “Resonance. Obsession. Compulsion. The bond manifests differently depending on species and magical affinity, but when denied…” Her expression cooled slightly. “It can become unpleasant.”
Unpleasant?
That sounded ominous as hell.
“How unpleasant?” I asked carefully.
Professor Kenna took another sip of tea before answering.
“I once watched a Dragon Shifter male set fire to three villages because his mate attempted to marry someone else.”
I stared at her.
“Well, that seems excessive.”
“It was.”
“And you’re saying this like it’s normal?”
“At Runevald?” She smiled faintly. “Quite.”
Jesus Christ.
I rubbed both hands down my face slowly.
“Professor,” I said weakly, “I genuinely do not think this will be an issue for me.”
“And why is that?”
Because no one looked at me and saw destiny.
Because men barely looked at me at all unless loneliness or convenience lowered their standards enough.
Because I was too soft, too emotional, too uncertain, too much and not enough all at once.
Because I had spent most of my life being overlooked standing beside prettier, stronger women.
“I’m no one’s idea of a mate,” I admitted quietly.
The room went still.
Not silent.
Still.
