LOGINAlex“The dean isn’t coming,” says Dr. Michelle Ambrose, one of my colleagues, as she twists her rings around her fingers and glances at the door of the lecture hall where we’ve all gathered under my direction. “I sent him an email an hour ago. I’ve sent him twelve emails today alone,” she continues, sniffling. “Laney was one of mine. She’s in my lecture class. She’s–” She closes her eyes, her pale, gray-blonde hair falling over her face as she bows her head. I look around the room at the eight seats filled by professors and the rows behind them filled further with the administrators from the biology department, our postdocs, student teachers, and assistants. Several graduate-level students came, but it’s the young students in the back, shrouded by shadows of confusion and grief, that tie my stomach in knots. I’ve been pacing as the department filed in, stuck in my own head, torn between thoughts of Skye and our argument, her points, which, if I’m being honest, were correct, and thi
AlexSkye doesn’t turn around. I slide my phone free from my pocket, noticing the three missed calls from Toby and the dozen other notifications from my horrified colleagues, but I ignore them, taking three steps and setting my phone on my desk. I look at Skye, taking in the way her hair shimmers in the lamplight when she turns to watch me move. Her eyes gleam like polished amethyst, swirling with power so different from mine. She’s right. I’ve been weak. I’ve kept myself weak. I’ve kept her at arm’s length even though everything I want is right in front of me, and for the first time in my life, I considered risking someone’s safety to have something for myself. “I haven’t been honest with you.”“I know,” she snarls–trying to look furious. But tears shine along her lower lashes. “I understand this is confusing. It is for me, too. And I hate that you feel like I’m gaslighting you about how I feel, but I’m looking at this through the lens of… I want you. I like you. I respect you, a
SkyeThe lecture hall in the psychology department is big enough to hold every single faculty member and the entire university administration in one place at one time. But I’ve never seen everyone gathered like this before, and the undercurrent in the room is so thick with unease I can taste it. Dr. Gerralde parts the aisle where I’m seated, sidestepping in my direction, and his pale face and uneasy eyes make my heart leap when I rise to my feet. “Sit down,” he says under his breath. “What’s going on?” I ease back into my seat. Everyone else is tittering nervously as well. Murmured conversations lift to the ceiling, but the podium remains empty. “The president is meeting with the board and the deans as we speak,” he says under his breath, glancing around the room before leaning in to continue. “A student is dead.”“What?”The door to the lecture hall bursts open before I can process the impossible news I just heard. An echo claps through the crowd in its wake, abruptly quieting ev
SkyeA network of skybridges and elevators leads to a handful of warming rooms and airlocks directly on the surface of the ice. The main one is quite large and houses a row of lockers, as well as changing rooms for men and women, and separate outdoor entrances for both. I hang my coat in a locker, fiddling with my padlock, then walk into the women’s changing room, where steam creeps across the floor, and several shower nooks spray warm, wet air, the entire space almost suffocated with humidity. I change out of my clothes and fold my pants and sweater neatly before donning the robe I brought from my condo. It took me an hour to find it, seeing as I’ve barely started the process of organizing my clothing after moving into my new place, but now it’s almost midnight, and I knew I wasn’t going to be able to sleep until I burned off some energy. It’s a balmy negative sixty when I shove open the door to the airlock and close it with a crunch behind me. Wind rattles the thick, frosted glass
SkyeI adjust the thick scarf worn around my neck and square my shoulders, careful of every movement I make while Abby picks at the plate of food on the tray in front of her. The cafeteria around us is quiet at this hour, full of students snacking in silent solitude over laptops and stacks of books, and professors and postdocs finding scraps worth of a meal after a long day of research and lectures. My last lecture of the day wrapped up less than an hour ago without the drama or fanfare I expected. Most of my lectures are math-heavy, which seriously irks my more experimentally leaning students. I spent the entire lecture with my back turned to the podium, making sure my scarf and turtleneck stayed in place, ignoring the groans and murmuring behind me. Now, the bruise is hard to ignore. It pinches with every move I make, and the scarf is definitely overkill. I’m sweating under the weight of it. “What’s up with you?” Abby asks, looking just as uncomfortable and as exhausted as I am.
Skye“Chin up.” I tilt my chin, my vision taken up by the serious but strangely devoted look painting shadows across the planes of Alex’s face as he zips me into a bright yellow parka, all the way to the neck. He’s careful, far more gentle when touching me than he was only half an hour ago, when I was breathless on his lap, and he sucked a bruise so deep I can still feel it throbbing. He’ll barely meet my eyes as it stands. In all honesty, I can barely meet his. Whatever that was felt… less like I was offering him the sustenance he desperately needed and more like something totally, completely, out of control and overtly sexual. I flush with heat just thinking about it, a small, involuntary squeak leaving my lips when he grips my fingers and reaches above my head to dig through a bin of gloves. We’re chest to chest, and he smells… amazing. Like everything male, dangerous, and delicious. Like things I can’t possibly place because this is the first time I’ve ever wanted–“These should
*Maddox*The sound of hammering resonates even though I’m inside looking out at the gallows that are being constructed in the courtyard. It’s been years since the last time I’ve heard that sound, and this is the first time I’ve ever ordered it myselfBut I don’t feel bad about it.This is something tha
*Isla*I am dreaming again. I know that it’s a dream because nothing I’m experiencing makes sense to me from my most recent memories, and as I puzzle over what I am looking at, trying to put it together, I’m struggling to figure out not only where I am but when I am… as well as who I am.This feels di
*Maddox*The shadows on the ceiling begin their dance again, and I suddenly feel all alone, like I used to just a few months ago that feels like a lifetime ago. I watch as tree branches turn to fingers, beckoning, pointing, accusing. I would shift my position and look at the wall, but it wouldn’t mak
*Maddox*I walk ahead of the stretcher carrying Isla and try not to pull my fur out. If I had thumbs, I might’ve already pulled out enough fur around my forehead that I’d look bald.Images of a wolf with a receding hairline come to mind, and I almost laugh. But nothing is that funny right now.What the







