Professor Black Novels & Stories

He’s close now, he looks at me as if he’s studying me. “Higher, stretch.” His hand moving near my ribcage but not touching. “I need to see how the muscles look.” I stretch higher. His eyes track the movement of my body like he’s memorizing equations. “Turn slowly.” He takes a deep breath. “Something wrong, Professor?” “Your posture.” His voice sounds strained. “Your back curves here.” His finger runs down my back, the first time he’s touched me since I stripped. “Do you feel that?”

he added, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before he turned and walked away. Each step was an effort, his wolf howling in frustration as he distanced himself from his mate. But he knew he couldn’t stay—not yet. She was human, or at least appeared to be, and that complication alone was enough to make his head spin. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to leave the festival entirely. Instead, he lingered in the shadows, his sharp senses trained on her as she resumed her conversation. “I’m glad you came, Elena,” the man - her professor - was saying, his tone warm and familiar. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you about the next set of classes. You’re making incredible progress with your research

A hint of amusement laced his voice. "She was talking about some thesis, but I guess it was an excuse," Professor McClone teased. Sebastian's mind racing, he smiled. "Don't think too much, John. We were working on the Ashwood Heritage research. She wasn't lying," Sebastian clarified. Professor McClonechuckled. "I didn't ask for an explanation, Seb. Just meet her when you come back," Professor McClone said. With a final smile, Professor McClone hung up the call.

“Last night, you fainted due to your high fever. Your professor here helped you and brought you here.” “Why wasn’t I taken to the hospital?” Because normally that was the most logical thing to do when someone faints. His house wasn’t a medical center, neither did it resemble a hospital. Though the lady was a doctor, that wasn’t an excuse. Pushing past her view to stare at Professor Grey, who was now seated in the same spot where Dr. Brown sat previously—still smoking. Why would a professor smoke? It was unhealthy and unethical too. I keep questioning, and I will always question why and who made this man a professor in the first place, because he was unfit in every aspect of it.

“I tried, but he insists. He says it’s about Ms. Hunt.” “Send him in,” I agreed, releasing the speaker button. Augustus’s head fell back with a groan. “I can hear the slurs coming from a mile away.” My muscles tensed in anticipation. Like most, Professor Draven was a pureblood enthusiast, but to the extreme, and unfortunately, Delilah had him for Literature. I toyed with the idea of preemptively transferring her out of his class, but didn’t want to be too hasty. My door swung open, and Professor Draven barreled in—broad shoulders, hulking form, and severe scowl.

The class was silent, waiting for him to speak. "Good afternoon. This is psychology twenty-two hundred, the study of deviant behavior. I'm Professor Theodore Ashford. Dr. Ashford is also fine, " His modulated, deep voice resonated within the walls of the room with ease. "Now, I know half the class is here to just pass. The other half are actually up for the challenge." The sound of uneasy students shifting in their seats filled the air. Isa saw a glimmer of a smirk appear on the professor's face in response to the discomfort.

"Hmm… I'm not too sure either. Maybe you should ask Professor Black." Professor Black is one of the most popular young professors at our school. At 26, with blond hair and a sharp, handsome face, he has the kind of looks that catches everyone's attention. Known for his warm, gentle personality, he always wears a crisp white suit that gives him a polished, almost elegant look. He seems to have a certain glow when he stands in the sunlight, which is probably why so many people in the school admire him. I hesitated, then said, "I don't know, but I always feel the way Professor Black looked at me is a

Mara opened her mouth to reply, but the door opened and everyone quieted down. The professor walked in, but his back was facing, so I didn't see his face at first. He had lean broad shoulders that filled out the white button-down sleeves rolled to his elbows. He had dark hair and a strong posture. A few girls whispered and giggled. Mara leaned over. “Damn, the new prof is fine.” I laughed under my breath. “You’re ridiculous.” Then he turned to face the class and my laugh died in my throat. Grey-blue eyes. The same angelic jaw. The same mouth that had been on me last night.

Until someone asked. At the front, an older man in a tweed blazer was setting up a projector — Professor Blackwood, I assumed. He had white hair, round glasses, and the kind of energy that suggested he'd already made three jokes to the audiovisual technician. He was a vixen shifter, according to the flyer. A fox. One of the few shifters with a research position at a real university. Cross-species biology. The exact field I wanted to study. The exact future I was building toward — the one where I got out of the pack and made something of myself that nobody could take away.

Why did he ask me to stay back? Professor Black loaded up his notes at the front desk. My body was burning as he walked over without rushing. He set a thin folder in front of me. “Bianca,” he said. “You’ve been dropping in class. “Are you okay… is anything going on in your mind?” “I…I’m…I mean,” It was as if I was a toddler learning to speak. “I mean step-uncle… I’m good.” “Professor Black,” he corrected. His eyes never left mine. “Call me Professor when we are at the college… leave Uncle for the house.”