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Cecilia
My class was a bunch of vamps and fur freaks.
Oh, and a few obnoxious elementals too, skulking in the back row, flinging tiny electric zaps at each other from their fingertips. Which wasn’t helping my current tension levels.
I’d sidled through the room and slipped into the corner, as far away from everybody else as possible, trying, and failing miserably, to blend in. Now I was shifting in my chair, my jumpy movements making it impossible to get comfortable. The wooden seat was slippery smooth under my jeans, no doubt having been polished by countless paranormal butts.
And now, my human one too.
On the wall beside me, someone had carved deeply into the plaster with what must have been a dagger—or claw—a message that was less than profound:vamps suck. Well, duh, of course they did. That was kind of their thing.
The air was robustly jumbled in scents. An earthy musk, like animal fur. Potent vapors of cinnamon blended with leather. Hickory, pepper. Dirt and rain. The odors weren’t overpowering, or even unpleasant, but their combination didn’t smell like any classroom I’d ever been in. And with the number of high schools I’d moved between over the years, I’d certainly seen plenty.
I curled a lock of hair to my nose and sniffed my lavender and coconut shampoo, taking comfort in the familiarity of my human scent. Hoping it wouldn’t pulse too brashly for curious wolves. Or tempt thirsty bloodsuckers.
I sat waiting for several minutes, and it seemed like all the students had arrived, so when a tall, slender man in a crisply pressed shirt and slacks strode into the room, I assumed he was the professor.
I sat up respectfully, pursing a smile and—
He walked right past the podium.
He moved gracefully, almost regally. And his suave, slim-fit clothes showed off a taut body underneath. I’m sure anyone would have agreed, he was incredibly handsome.
His scowl though. Never mind a bed, he looked like he’d gotten out the wrong side of the womb.
His phone buzzed, he pulled it out of his pocket, and somehow his scowl tightened even further as he read a message. That square jaw strained, harder than granite.
As he sat down in the corner opposite to me, I wondered not only what had bothered him, but what breed he was. Not a shifter, not with such a lean physique, and not a vamp, with his emerald eyes missing the usual scarlet irises. Unless the lack of color and angry face were due to not having fed for a while. I shuddered.
If he needed blood, I’d be happy to direct him to the nearest vamp café, but he wasn’t getting it from me.
I was probably being unfair. Maybe he was just a pissed off elemental who knew something about this class I didn’t. All I knew was my first days at New Lincoln University hadn’t exactly been easy on my nerves. Being the only human student among thousands of potentially dangerous paranormals was a lot to take in.
Taking a deep breath, I focused my attention on the large whiteboard. I was here to learn, to get a diploma, and to take care of my mom. So that was what I was going to do.
I pushed thoughts of Mr. Scowly out of my mind, set a reminder to pick up my mom’s medication, and waited. The clock said almost ten minutes past the hour. I wished the professor would hurry up, a large shifter in a black hoodie was growling something at a vamp a few seats down and it didn’t sound like that was going to end well.
Finally, the door creaked open, and a guy who looked several years older than me hurried in. He fumbled his folder of notes and stopped to reshuffle them. Then he pushed up the glasses that had slid down his nose, giving me a moment to take in his startling presence.
He was huge. At least six feet five, with shoulders broader than the door behind him.
Breaking into a rush again, he rounded the podium. “I’m so sorry I’m late.” His rosy cheeks betrayed his fluster as he set down his notes and gave a sheepish smile. “Department meeting ran over.”
This mountain of a man was our professor? He wore black jeans, his thighs puffed out like muscly tree trunks, and under his scarlet and black checked flannel shirt swelled biceps and pecs. His size and clothing were such a contrast to his trimmed chestnut beard, adorable glasses, and unkempt, wavy hair. Like a nerdy lumberjack.
Assuming he was a paranormal, he had to be a shifter. My mind boggled at what massive sort of beast he might be when shifted.
Blinking and shifting in my seat again, I shook myself back into focus. It was time to study literature. From a teacher who looked like he could snap the whiteboard in two.
Clearing his throat loudly, the professor opened his notes and braced the podium with both hands, leaning forward slightly and scanning the students. Everyone had quieted down, even the growling shifter.
“Good morning, class. My name is Mr. Belanger—please feel free to call me Aaron though. I’m sincerely sorry for being late, but considering how many meetings get piled onto me,”—he paused, clearing his throat, and smiling wryly— “it was…just a matter of time.”
A few titters rippled across the class. The joke went over my head at first, then I got it. He was a bit young for dad jokes, but it made me smile.
His eyes scanned the classroom when they suddenly met mine. His smile wavered. His gaze tracked up and down my body and he froze. What was going on? Every muscle in his face and body had locked into a stunned expression.
His eyes held mine for several awkward moments before I blushed and looked away.
