The Professor, My Mate

LESSIE

The coffee mug slipped from my fingers and shattered against the floor of my dorm. It wasn’t because I was clumsy.

Not because I was rushing to make it to classes which have become a norm for me.

But because of the scent that hit my nostrils the moment I opened my schedule email. It was something so wild that I couldn’t place it.

“Lessie, are you okay?” My roommate, Sandra, poked her head around the corner, eyeing the brown puddle spreading across the floor.

It was my official first day on campus and it had been haunting me as I didn't know how to face it.

Smelling weird things, my vision blurred and suddenly so sharp, I convinced myself it was just stress and I needed to rest. But I grew worse by each passing day.

I stared at my laptop screen. It was a memo reminder for Professor Dante Ravencrest's class.

"Yeah, just..." I swallowed hard. How could I smell someone through an email? "Just nervous about the new semester."

Lies come easier these days. Ever since my parents died in that car crash three years ago, I had gotten good at pretending everything was normal.

That the nightmares didn't wake me up screaming. That sometimes I caught myself listening for sounds that shouldn't exist.

Things have only gotten worse since my first day on campus.

Twenty minutes later, I stood outside Room 247 with my hand frozen on the door handle.

The scent was stronger here, almost intoxicating. Among all the scents I could smell, one stood out, as if calling to me.

My heart pounded faster like it was about to explode. Students walked past me in the hall, chattering about their summer breaks, but all I could think of was the pull behind that door. It was strongly calling to me.

I pushed inside.

The lecture hall fell silent. It was not the normal hush of students settling into their seats, but the complete, unnatural silence that follows lightning strikes. Every head turned toward me but I barely noticed.

Professor Dante Ravencrest stood frozen behind his podium, his amber eyes locked on mine with a stare that stole breath from my lungs.

He looked younger than I expected, probably in his early thirties, with dark hair and the kind of jaw that belonged on magazine covers.

But it was his eyes that held me captive, almost drowning me in them.

Eyes that looked at me like I was the answer to a question he had been asking his whole life.

"Miss..." His voice broke the awkward silence, making the students turn their gazes back to the front of the class.

"Count. Lessie Count." I forced myself to walk to an empty seat in the front row, hyperaware of his gaze following me.

"Welcome to Mythology 301." He cleared his throat, but his amber eyes never left mine.

"We'll be exploring the intersection between folklore and reality. How ancient stories shape our understanding of the world around us."

His fingers gripped the podium edge so tightly I could see his knuckles going white.

"Some of you might find that the line between myth and truth is thinner than you imagine."

The way he said it, looking directly at me, made my skin burn. Like he was trying to tell me something, but in code. Like he knew something I didn't.

The lecture continued and passed in a swift blur. I tried to take notes but my hands kept shaking.

Every time Professor Ravencrest's eyes found mine, something twisted deep in my stomach. Hunger, perhaps.

Or maybe just one of the strange things happening to me lately, things that made no sense.

When the lecture ended, students filed out, chattering about assignments and syllabi.

I stayed seated, pretending to organise my notebooks while the class emptied. For a reason I couldn't pinpoint, I wanted to stare at him longer, just for a little while.

"Miss Count." His voice made me jump. "A word?"

I approached his desk on unsteady legs. Up close, he was even more devastatingly handsome.

Tall enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze, broad shoulders filling out his button-down shirt perfectly. But then, there was the scent again.

"You wrote about werewolf mythology in your application essay." His voice was firm and professional. "Specifically about pack dynamics and mating bonds."

My cheeks flushed with heat. "My parents were anthropologists. I grew up around folklore."

"Anthropologists." He repeated, his eyes rolling off me before settling with that intense stare that made me swallow hard. "And they are...."

"Dead." The word came out harsher than I intended. "They died in a car accident three years ago."

His face softened and his eyes filled with pity, the same pitiful eyes I had endured each time I bumped into people who knew them. It made me small and weak.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Are you?" The question slipped through my lips before I could stop it.

His amber eyes flashed and just for a split second, I could have sworn I saw them glow. But then again, it could just be my messed up vision. Perhaps it was time to visit a doctor.

"Yes, I am." He responded in a soft voice that complimented the look on his face.

It wasn't the pitiful look, it was the look of a person who understood my pain.

We stood frozen for a minute, dwelling in the awkward silence while I stared into those eyes, almost drowning in them.

I had longed to share my pain, not the usual "I'm sorry for your loss" or "are you okay?", when I knew exactly what was going through their minds.

"Professor Ravencrest?" A student's voice from the doorway broke the spell.

He stepped back, his professional mask sliding back into place.

“We'll continue this discussion during office hours. Come to my office by Friday afternoon."

It wasn't a suggestion so I nodded.

As I walked towards the door, his voice stopped me one more time.

"Miss Count? Be careful walking alone at night. The campus has been... unsettled lately."

I turned back, but he was already gathering his papers, dismissing me.

Outside in the hallway, I pressed my back against the cool wall and tried to catch my breath.

What the hell is wrong with me and why is the scent coming from him so strong?