His Student, His Mate

The Pull

Chapter 3

Aria

I stood in the hallway for a full minute after the door closed, trying to remember how to breathe normally.

Some legends are more real than you think.

His words echoed in my head, wrapped in that deep voice that had somehow gotten under my skin. I pressed my palm against my chest, feeling my heart hammer against my ribs.

"Earth to Aria!"

I jerked my head up to find Maya and Riele standing a few feet away, both staring at me with identical expressions of concern.

"You okay?" Riele asked, stepping closer. "You've been standing here like a statue."

"I'm fine." The lie tasted bitter. "Just... processing."

Maya's eyes lit up with barely contained glee. "Oh my God. What did he say to you?"

"Nothing. Asked about my major, why I took the class. Standard professor stuff."

"Standard professor stuff doesn't make you look like you've seen a ghost." Maya crossed her arms. "Come on, spill."

I started walking, needing movement, needing distance from that lecture hall. They fell into step beside me as we headed down the main corridor.

"He's just intense," I said finally. "Very focused."

"Mmhmm." Maya's tone was thick with skepticism. "And that's why you're practically running?"

"I'm walking normally."

"You're speed-walking. There's a difference."

Riele touched my arm gently. "Did he make you uncomfortable? Because if he crossed a line—"

"No." The word came out too quickly. I took a breath. "No, he was completely professional. Something about him just feels... off."

There. I'd said it out loud.

Maya raised an eyebrow. "Off how?"

How could I explain it? The way he'd looked at me like he could see straight through to my bones? The electricity when our eyes

met? The feeling that he'd been speaking directly to me during that lecture about mates and forbidden bonds?

"I don't know," I said helplessly. "Just a feeling."

"Your feelings are usually right," Riele said thoughtfully. "Remember that guy from debate club last year? You knew something was off, and two weeks later—"

"He got arrested for credit card fraud, I remember." I rubbed my temples. "But this is different. Professor Wolfe hasn't done anything wrong."

"Then what's bothering you?" Maya asked.

Dangerous. The word rose unbidden. Not in a way that made me want to run, but in a way that made me want to lean closer, to figure out what he was hiding.

And that impulse scared me more than anything.

"Coffee," I said instead of answering. "I need caffeine before I overthink myself into a spiral."

The campus coffee shop was packed with the usual afternoon crowd—students hunched over laptops, study groups claiming the corner tables, the espresso machine hissing and gurgling. We found seats by the window overlooking the quad.

Maya ordered something with caramel and whipped cream. Riele got tea. I ordered a large black coffee and immediately burned my tongue on the first sip.

"So," Maya said, stirring her drink, "on a scale of one to 'I'm transferring universities,' how bad is the Professor Wolfe situation?"

"There is no situation." I stared out the window, watching students cross the quad. A guy in a Crescent Ridge hoodie. Two girls laughing over their phones. A couple holding hands. Normal college life.

Why didn't mine feel normal anymore?

"Aria." Riele's voice was gentle but firm. "You're spiraling. I can see it."

"I'm not—"

"You haven't touched your coffee. You're staring out the window like you're searching for something. And you've been tapping your pen against your cup for the last five minutes."

I looked down. She was right. I forced myself to stop.

"It's just..." I struggled for words. "Have you ever met someone and immediately known they were going to change your life? Like, fundamentally change it?"

Maya and Riele exchanged a look.

"That's pretty intense for a first class," Maya said carefully.

"I know. I know it sounds crazy."

"It doesn't sound crazy," Riele said. "It sounds like you're attracted to him."

"It's not—" I stopped. Was that all this was? Attraction? It felt bigger than that. More significant. "Even if I was, he's my professor. Nothing can happen."

"Nothing should happen," Maya corrected. "There's a difference."

I took another sip of coffee, grateful for something to do with my hands. Through the window, I caught a glimpse of dark hair, broad shoulders, a familiar posture.

My heart jumped.

But when the person turned, it was just another professor I didn't recognize. Not him.

I slumped back in my seat, annoyed at my own disappointment.

"Okay, you've got it bad," Maya said, watching my face. "Please tell me you're not going to do something stupid."

"Like what?"

"Like develop a crush on your professor and tank your GPA because you can't focus."

"I'm not going to tank my GPA." I pulled out my phone, checking the time. "Actually, I should get to the library. I have that International Relations paper due Friday."

"Study group at seven," Riele reminded me. "Della's bringing notes from the lecture we missed."

"I'll be there."

But as I gathered my things, I couldn't shake the feeling that something had shifted today. Something fundamental. And no amount of studying or rational thinking was going to change it.

The library was quieter than the coffee shop, all hushed voices and rustling pages. I found a table on the third floor, away from the underclassmen who treated the first floor like a social club.

I opened my laptop, pulled up my International Relations paper, and stared at the blank page for ten minutes.

Then I opened a new tab and typed "Professor Ryker Wolfe" into the search bar.

Academic due diligence, I told myself. Just being thorough.

The Crescent Ridge University website gave me the basics: Ph.D. in Mythology and Folklore from Oxford, multiple publications, tenure track. The faculty photo was small and slightly blurry, like it had been taken from a distance.

Or like he'd avoided sitting for a proper one.

I clicked through to Rate My Professor.

Professor Wolfe - Mythology and Folklore

Difficulty: 4.8/5 | Overall Quality: 4.9/5

"Brilliant but intimidating. Makes you work for every point, but you'll learn more than in any other class."

"Don't take this if you want an easy A. But if you want to actually think? Best professor I've had."

"Something about him is intense. Like he knows things he's not telling you. Fascinating but unsettling."

I scrolled further. Nothing personal. No social media—no i********:, no f*******:, no X. In an age where everyone had some digital footprint, Professor Wolfe was a ghost.

I found the faculty directory and scrolled through archived versions.

Five years ago: same photo.

Ten years ago: same photo.

Fifteen years ago: same—

I stopped, leaning closer to the screen.

The photo was identical. Not similar. Identical. Same angle, same expression, same everything.

Either he'd been using the same photo for fifteen years, or...

"Or what?" I muttered. "He's a vampire?"

The absurdity of the thought made me close the laptop harder than necessary. A nearby student shot me an annoyed look.

I was being ridiculous. He was private. That was all. Plenty of people avoided social media. The photo thing was probably just university laziness—they'd never asked for an updated one.

But my instincts wouldn't quiet.

I opened the laptop again and searched "Ryker Wolfe years teaching."

A mention in a Crescent Ridge newsletter from twenty years ago: "We're pleased to welcome Dr. Ryker Wolfe to the Mythology and Folklore department."

Twenty years.

If he'd gotten his Ph.D. at twenty-five, that would make him at least forty-five now.

The man I'd seen today didn't look older than thirty-five.

My phone buzzed.

Della: Where are you? Study group starting soon.

I checked the time. 6:55. I'd been researching for over two hours.

I shoved my laptop into my bag and headed for the stairs, but my mind was still spinning. Twenty years. The same photo. No digital presence. Eyes that flashed gold in the light.

Some legends are more real than you think.

What if he hadn't been speaking metaphorically?

By the time I got back to my dorm, it was past nine. The study group had been productive—Della's notes were detailed, and we'd outlined most of our upcoming papers—but I'd barely contributed. My mind kept drifting.

Della was already in bed when I came in, scrolling through her phone. She looked up when I closed the door.

"You okay? You were quiet tonight."

"Just tired." I dropped my bag by my desk. "Long day."

"How was Mythology?"

"Intense."

She raised an eyebrow. "Intense how? Did Professor Wolfe live up to the hype?"

I thought about his eyes holding mine. The way he'd said Some bonds are impossible to ignore. The heat that had flooded my skin when he'd stepped closer.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "He did."

Della studied me for a moment. "Be careful with that one, Aria. I've heard stories."

"What kind of stories?"

"Just... he's not like other professors. People either love his class or drop it after the first week. There's no in-between." She rolled over, pulling her blanket up. "And every semester, there's at least one student who develops a crush. It never ends well."

I changed into pajamas without responding, but her words echoed in my head as I climbed into bed.

It never ends well.

I lay in the dark, listening to Della's breathing even out into sleep. My mind wouldn't quiet. I kept seeing his face, hearing his voice, feeling that electric pull.

Eventually, I drifted off.

And dreamed of wolves.

They moved through shadows with liquid grace, eyes gleaming gold in the darkness. Somewhere in the dream, a voice—his voice—whispered words I couldn't understand.

When I woke at 3 AM, heart pounding, I could have sworn I smelled something wild, like a forest after rain.

I had his class again in two days.

I lay awake until dawn, caught between anticipation and dread, knowing that whatever this was—this pull, this recognition, this impossible connection—I was already in too deep to walk away.