The word purred from him.
Gods.
This was it.
I was going to die.
Probably from sexual tension.
Professor Kenna cleared her throat loudly from inside the office.
We sprang apart instantly.
Well.
I sprang.
Sten barely moved.
The professor stood framed in the doorway watching us both with cool, unreadable green eyes.
Rune-light flickered softly behind her, illuminating the sharp lines of her face and the silver threaded through her dark hair.
For one strange moment, she looked less like the head of a graduate Institute and more like one of the ancient beings whispered about in old realm legends.
A woman who had seen too much.
Survived too much.
Known too many Monsters.
“I trust,” she said dryly, gaze sliding over the damaged corridor behind us, “that no further structural damage will occur in my halls today.”
Heat flooded my face instantly.
The shattered enchanted glass.
The cracked stone.
The lingering scorch marks from rogue magic.
Gods.
Meanwhile, beside me, Sten looked entirely unapologetic.
Huge.
Relaxed.
Dangerous.
One broad shoulder leaned casually against the wall as though he hadn’t tried to rip a Werewolf apart less than twenty-four hours earlier.
“No promises,” he murmured under his breath.
Professor Kenna’s eyes narrowed immediately.
Not irritated.
