All Chapters of THE CURSE OF LUST: Chapter 1 - Chapter 10

Oxford had been on my list for some time, after Cambridge, Durham, Edinburgh, and London, not to mention the brief Atlantic detour to Harvard and Yale. Each university promised something new, yet they all collapsed into the same shape in the end. Stone walls, clever mouths, sharp ambition dressed up as brilliance. Centuries passed. The pattern did not change.What else was there to do when a body remained fixed between twenty and twenty-five, and four hundred years stretched too wide for any honest profession? No one entrusted real authority to a woman who looked scarcely out of girlhood. Respect curdled into condescension. Responsibility evaporated into polite dismissal. Lecture halls and meaningless jobs became my refuge, places where age was measured in footnotes and citations rather than faces.The curse had seen to that.In the seventeenth century, when they dragged me before the firelight, they called me an abomination. What they never said aloud was why they were truly afraid.

The annual gathering to mark the beginning of term had always been the same: professors and students, even members of staff, crowded together under the pretence of civility. Officially, it was a sober occasion, an evening of polite conversation, introductions, and a toast to the year ahead. Unofficially, bottles hidden in satchels and refilled glasses ensured the wine flowed far more freely than the organisers would admit.The residence hall was heavy with the smell of wax and smoke, spilt drink already staining the parquet floors. Students sprawled over velvet chairs and crowded near the piano, where someone attempted to drown the chatter with halting jazz. Laughter burst in waves, conversations tangled and knotted, and the lines between student and tutor blurred in a haze of low light and indulgence. Some professors tried to blend in, laughing too loudly, dancing awkwardly with

The invitation from Professor Ashford the next day was simple, polite, but it carried an unspoken weight."Miss Bain, come to my office after class. We need to review your project notes," Ashford said, his eyes lingering a little too long before adding, "I want to make sure you are keeping up."I knew that was not the truth. He had noticed me distracted in class, observed my absences, and assumed it was because of Julian. Perhaps he thought he needed to protect me, though I required no protection at all. The irony was not lost on me—not one bit.Quietly, deliberately, I asked Rowan to let it go. To stop guarding me so closely.He did not like that. He never did.It was not the first time I had made the request. Over the years, I had asked it again and again, usually in moments like this, when the curse muddied my instincts, when desire and danger tangled too tightly for comfort. Rowan always knew when those moments came. He felt them in me as surely as I did. And still, he obeyed. Rel

The morning after, the world felt sharper, louder—almost cruel in its clarity. Julian Grantham had left more than his desire on me; he had left my body a live wire, every nerve screaming, every instinct buzzing. The orgasm from yesterday did not simply fade, it lingered, pulsing through my blood, stirring something deep and dangerous. My scent had changed, stronger, richer, uncontrolled. Even in the quiet corridors, I could feel the pull it caused. Eyes lingered too long, heads turned just a fraction too quickly when I passed. Men and women alike reacted to it, drawn to something primal I could no longer hide.My wolf, dormant and obedient most of the time, stirred uneasily, confused by the surge of something unfamiliar—a shallow, abnormal heat that made every presence around me aware, even wary.It was worse when

The corridors were empty that late in the evening, the heavy hush of the college pressing in on every step I took. Ashford's office door was half-lit, his lamp burning behind it. I knocked softly, then firmer.His voice came clipped, tired. "Enter."I pushed the door open slightly, and his eyes fell on me. The moment he realised it was me, his expression shifted—darkened, colder, like a storm gathering behind his gaze."I'm busy, Miss Bain," he said, voice sharp now, controlled but cutting. "You'll have to go."I pressed closer to the door, refusing. "Professor, please. I only need a word."A long sigh, the scrape of a chair.