Control Slipping
1183 Words
Chapter Four
Ryker
Two days had never felt longer.
Forty-eight hours convincing myself I could handle this. That I could stand before Aria Pierce again and not lose control. That centuries of discipline wouldn’t crumble the second she walked through that door.
I was lying to myself.
Marcus had stopped by my office last night, taken one look at me, and said, “You look like hell.”
“Thank you for that,” I muttered, pretending to grade papers.
“When’s the last time you slept?”
“I don’t need—”
“Bullsh*t,” he cut in. “You’re spiraling. I can smell it.”
He wasn’t wrong.
My wolf had been pacing for days, restless under my skin, demanding I find her—track her—make sure she was safe. The urge to know where she was every second was maddening.
“What am I supposed to do, Marcus? She’s my student. Human. She has no idea what I am.”
“You could tell her.”
“And say what? Hi, I’m your immortal professor-s***h-werewolf mate?” I gave a humorless laugh. “That’ll go well.”
He sighed. “The bond won’t let you stay away forever.”
“Then I’ll fight it.”
“For how long?”
I didn’t answer.
Now, standing at the front of the lecture hall, I felt my control slipping already. My senses were sharp, searching—waiting.
Then I caught it.
Vanilla and jasmine.
Her scent hit me like a strike to the chest. My wolf surged, and I gripped the desk hard enough for the wood to creak.
She walked in with the same two friends, but this time she didn’t sit in the back. Middle row. Close enough that I could see the gold in her hair, the focus in her eyes.
Close enough to destroy me.
Our eyes met. Her breath caught. And that look—curious, calculating—told me she’d been thinking about me. Trying to figure me out.
Smart girl. Too smart.
“Today we’re discussing shapeshifter mythology,” I said, voice steady by some miracle. “Open to chapter three.”
She watched me as I spoke. Listened too closely. Her heartbeat jumped whenever I drew near. She’d been researching—I could feel it. Instead of worry, it made my wolf preen. She was thinking about us.
Dangerous. So damn dangerous.
“Professor Wolfe?”
I blinked, realizing I’d stopped mid-sentence. A student in the front row waited for me to continue.
“Apologies,” I said smoothly. “As I was saying—berserkers weren’t simply warriors. Some historical accounts suggest something more. Enhanced strength, unnatural endurance—almost supernatural.”
But half my attention stayed on Aria. She was taking notes, sharp and methodical, but her gaze kept flicking up to me. Watching. Assessing.
What did she see?
Halfway through, I made my mistake.
“Miss Pierce,” I said, before I could stop myself. “Your thoughts on why every culture developed shapeshifter myths?”
Her eyes lifted. “Fear of the other,” she said evenly. “Humans trust what they understand. Shapeshifters blur that line—something that looks human but isn’t. It’s a betrayal.”
“Or,” I asked, stepping closer, “is it fear of power? Fear of what we can’t control?”
Her gaze sharpened. “Maybe both. But the real danger isn’t difference—it’s deception.”
Touché.
I forced myself to look away. “Excellent point. Remember that for your essays—mythology reflects not just fear, but values.”
When class ended, I saw her packing up slowly. Too slowly.
She was going to stay.
My wolf stirred, pleased.
“Miss Pierce,” I said before she could speak, grounding myself in professionalism. “Can I help you?”
“I had a question.” She descended the steps toward me, her movements measured. Careful.
“About the lecture?”
“About you.”
The directness hit harder than I expected.
“I’m not sure I understand.”
“You’ve been teaching here for twenty years.” Her voice was calm, but her eyes gleamed. “I found an article from 2005 about you
joining the faculty.”
Shit.
“Your point, Miss Pierce?”
“You don’t look old enough to have been teaching that long,” she said. “Actually, you look exactly the same as in that photo.”
My pulse didn’t change, but my wolf went utterly still.
“I have good genes,” I said evenly. “And it’s not appropriate to discuss my age.”
“That’s not what this is about.” She stepped closer. Her scent wrapped around me, pulling at my control. “You talk about mythology like you lived it. Like you remember it.”
She caught herself, color rising in her cheeks. “Something about you doesn’t add up. I can feel it.”
There it was—her instinct. Not psychic, just sharp. Primal. Human.
“You’re perceptive,” I said quietly. “That can be dangerous.”
“Are you threatening me?”
“Warning you.” I stepped closer before I could stop myself. “Some truths are better left alone.”
“I don’t believe that.”
“You should.” My voice dropped. “Because once you learn certain things, you can’t unlearn them. And they might change everything you think you know.”
She didn’t back down. “What are you?”
The air tightened.
I could tell her. Right now. Show her everything—what I was, what she meant, what she’d awakened.
But she wasn’t ready. And I wasn’t ready to lose her.
“I’m your professor,” I said finally. “That’s all you need to know.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s the only one I can give.” I forced myself to step back. “Go home, Miss Pierce. Focus on your coursework. Stop chasing ghosts.”
She studied me, torn between curiosity and caution.
Then, finally, she nodded. “Okay.”
But it wasn’t.
“Be careful,” I said as she reached the door. “Not everyone dangerous wants to hurt you. Some are trying to protect you.”
Understanding flickered in her eyes—then she left.
The door closed behind her, leaving the faint trace of her scent in the air.
I exhaled slowly, every muscle locked.
My phone buzzed.
Marcus: How’d it go?
I stared at the door she’d disappeared through.
Me: She knows something’s off. She’s investigating.
Marcus: s**t. What now?
Me: I can’t keep lying. The bond won’t let me.
Marcus: You barely know her.
Me: It doesn’t matter. You know it doesn’t.
A pause. Then—
Marcus: This is going to get messy.
He wasn’t wrong.
I slipped my phone away and looked toward the window, where Aria Pierce was already walking across campus—still thinking, still searching.
This was going to get messy.
And I wasn’t sure either of us would survive it unscathed.
- Writer
