Chapter 10: Michael
1055 Words
For the past three weeks, I've driven Aurora home almost every night.
It became routine in the worst possible way.
Midnight library lights.
Her tired eyes lifted the moment she noticed me waiting.
The quiet walk to my car.
The silence between us that somehow said too much.
And every morning afterward—
I ignored her.
It was cruel.
Necessary.
But cruel.
In class, I kept my distance with surgical precision.
I addressed her the same way I addressed everyone else.
“Miss Whitmore.”
Never Aurora.
Never softly.
Never the way I wanted to.
I stopped lingering near her desk.
Stopped looking too long.
Stopped letting myself enjoy the way her pulse betrayed her whenever I stood too close.
At least during daylight.
But nighttime—
Nighttime ruined everything.
Because every evening, no matter how much distance I forced between us during the day—
I still found myself waiting outside the library.
Like an addict returning to the very thing destroying him.
And Aurora always came.
Reluctantly at first.
Then quietly.
Like she had already begun expecting me there.
Tonight was no different.
Rain tapped softly against the windshield while she sat beside me, staring out the passenger window silently.
Streetlights painted gold across her face every few seconds as we drove through town.
Beautiful.
Dangerously so.
She looked exhausted again.
Too many sleepless nights.
“You should sleep more.”
Her eyes shifted toward me briefly before returning to the window.
“You should stop waiting outside the library, Professor.”
A fair response.
Silence settled again.
Comfortable this time.
Which was its own problem.
I tightened my grip slightly against the steering wheel.
Because comfort was dangerous.
Especially for someone like me.
The memory returned without permission.
The penthouse.
Her body against the elevator doors.
Her hands gripping my shirt.
The sound she made when I kissed her.
F*ck.
I could still remember exactly when my control broke.
The moment desire stopped feeling human.
The moment something ancient beneath my skin clawed upward violently.
Hungry.
Possessive.
Mine.
And Aurora—
Sweet, reckless Aurora—
Had looked at me with trust instead of fear.
That terrified me more than Hell ever had.
“You never explained what happened that night, Professor.”
Her quiet voice pulled me from the memory instantly.
I glanced at her briefly.
She still looked out the window.
Not pushing.
Not demanding.
Simply stating it.
No fear in her voice.
That alone was dangerous.
“I know.”
The answer came quieter than intended.
Rain fell harder outside.
The wipers moved steadily across the glass.
For a long moment, neither of us spoke again.
Then finally—
“When I told you to leave, Aurora,” I said slowly, “it wasn’t because I wanted you gone.”
Aurora’s fingers tightened slightly in her lap.
Small detail.
But I noticed everything about her now.
“Ohh” she whispered.
No.
She didn’t.
I exhaled slowly.
Carefully.
Because there were truths I could never give her.
Truths that would ruin the fragile thing forming between us instantly.
“That night,” I continued quietly, eyes fixed on the road, “I lost control.”
Understatement of the century.
“I shouldn’t have kissed you like that.”
A lie.
I absolutely should not have.
And yet—
I would do it again without hesitation.
“You looked scared afterward, Professor,” Aurora said softly.
Not accusing.
Just honest.
I laughed once under my breath.
A tired sound.
“If you saw what I really am when I lose control,” I murmured, “you would’ve been terrified.”
The words hung heavily inside the car.
Dangerously close to truth.
Aurora didn’t answer immediately.
And somehow, her silence affected me more than questions would have.
Because she stayed.
Even after the shadows.
Even after the fear.
Even after every warning I gave her.
She stayed.
“That’s why you ignore me in class, Professor Michael?”
I glanced toward her briefly.
There it was.
The quiet pain she tried hiding.
“Yes.”
The honesty surprised even me.
Aurora finally looked at me fully now.
Moonlight and passing streetlights softened her expression.
Too beautiful.
Far too human for someone like me to touch.
“You ignore me all morning,” she said quietly. “Then every night, you drive me home.”
I tightened my jaw slightly.
Because hearing her say it aloud made the situation sound exactly as impossible as it was.
“I know.”
“Why?”
The question came softly.
No anger.
Just confusion.
I looked back at the road.
Because if I looked at her any longer, I’d say something reckless.
Something true.
“Because staying away from you during the day is the only control I have left.”
Silence.
Heavy silence.
The car slowed at another red light.
And suddenly, I became painfully aware of how close she sat beside me.
The warmth of her.
The softness in her breathing.
The trust she still placed in me despite every reason not to.
It was unbearable.
I turned toward her before I could stop myself.
Aurora’s breath caught instantly.
There it is again.
That look.
That dangerous look she gives me, like she doesn’t understand how badly it affects me.
My eyes dropped briefly to her lips.
Soft.
Tempting.
Still capable of unraveling centuries of restraint with terrifying ease.
I leaned closer instinctively.
Slowly.
Drawn toward her like gravity itself.
Aurora didn’t move away.
That made it worse.
My hand lifted slightly, fingers almost brushing her cheek—
And suddenly—
The shadows inside me stirred again.
Violently.
Hungry.
I stopped immediately.
Every muscle in my body is locking painfully.
No.
Not again.
I pulled back sharply, jaw clenched hard enough to hurt.
Aurora’s breathing sounded uneven now too.
The same as mine.
The light turned green.
I drove forward instantly.
More distance.
I needed distance.
“You should stop looking at me like that, Aurora,” I said quietly after a long silence.
Aurora frowned faintly.
“Like what?”
I laughed softly.
Dangerously.
“Like you trust me. Like you already know me too well.”
Because if she ever learned the truth—
The real truth—
Aurora Whitmore would realize trusting me was the worst mistake she could ever make.
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