The Professor, My Mate
I tried to focus, to pretend nothing had changed, but every time Dante entered the lecture hall, my heart betrayed me.
He stood tall and commanding at the front of the room, his presence filling every corner.
His eyes found mine more times than I could count, each glance making my skin prickle and my stomach twist.
He spoke of werewolves that morning. Their origins. Their strengths.
Their bond to the moon. His voice was calm, measured, but every word felt like it was meant for me.
“Werewolves,” he said, pacing slowly before the rows of students.
“Are born of both myth and blood. They are not mere creatures of instinct, but beings of balance, caught between humanity and something greater.”
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