Chapter 3

Sarah

I take a deep breath, my hand hovering over the polished wood of Dr. Morgan's office door. The brass nameplate gleams in the afternoon light filtering through the hallway window, a stark reminder of the line I'm about to cross. Not physically, but emotionally. This meeting is supposed to be about my research project, but my heart thunders in my chest as if I'm about to step into the lion's den.

Or should I say, the wolf's den?

I shake my head, trying to dispel the thought. Dr. Morgan isn't just a wolf. He's my professor, a respected academic. And I'm here for purely professional reasons.

Right?

Before I can second-guess myself further, I knock.

"Come in," his deep voice calls from within.

The scent hits me first – old books, leather, and something uniquely... him. It's a warm, spicy aroma that makes my skin tingle. I force myself to focus on the room instead. Bookshelves line the walls, crammed with texts ranging from educational theory to what looks like ancient mythology.

And there he is, rising from his chair as I enter. Dr. Lucas Morgan, all six-plus feet of brooding intensity and barely contained power. His silver-streaked dark hair is slightly tousled, as if he's been running his hands through it. Those piercing grey eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.

"Ms. Mitchell," he says, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through me. "Please, have a seat."

I nod and sink into one of the leather chairs opposite his desk.

"Thank you for meeting with me, Dr. Morgan," I manage, proud that my voice doesn't betray the nerves coursing through me.

He sits back down. "Not at all. I'm the one who insisted. Your research is important, and I'm looking forward to hearing about your progress."

I pull out my notebook, flipping it open. I launch into an explanation of my work on the Flipped Classroom Model, grateful for the familiar territory. As I speak, I can't help but notice how intently he listens, his gaze never wavering from mine.

Dr. Morgan leans forward, his elbows on the desk, fingers steepled. "Interesting. Have you considered how this might apply to students with attention difficulties?"

I blink, surprised by the question. "Actually, yes. It's a personal interest of mine." I hesitate, then decide to share a bit more. "I was diagnosed with ADHD and dyslexia as a child. It's part of why I became a teacher – I wanted to help kids who struggle like I did."

Something flashes in his eyes – recognition? Understanding? Before I can decipher it, he speaks. "I admire that, Ms. Mitchell. Using your own experiences to help others is commendable."

There's a warmth in his voice that makes me flush. I duck my head, pretending to consult my notes. "Thank you. It's... it's not always easy to talk about."

"I understand more than you might think," he says softly.

I look up, meeting his gaze. There's a vulnerability there that I've never seen before, and suddenly, I'm seeing past the intimidating professor exterior to the man beneath.

"You do?" I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

He nods, leaning back in his chair. "As a young shifter, I had... difficulties in school. Controlling my impulses, sitting still. It was a challenge, to say the least."

My eyes widen. I've never considered that shifters might face similar struggles. "How did you cope?"

A wry smile touches his lips. "With great difficulty, at first. It took years to develop the self-discipline I needed. But it also gave me a unique perspective on education and learning styles."

I find myself leaning forward, fascinated. "Is that why you became a professor?"

"Partly," he admits. "I wanted to make a difference, to help students who don't fit the traditional mold."

The realization hits me like a thunderbolt. We're more alike than I ever imagined. This man, this shifter who I've been so wary of, understands a fundamental part of me in a way few others do.

Just then, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I pull it out, intending to silence it, but the name on the screen makes my blood run cold.

Mark.

My ex-boyfriend. The reason I'm so wary of shifters in the first place.

I must have made a sound because suddenly Dr. Morgan – Lucas – is on his feet, concern etched on his face. "Sarah? What's wrong?"

I shake my head, trying to compose myself. "It's nothing. Just... an unwelcome message."

But my hands are shaking as I try to put the phone away, and I can feel the color draining from my face. Lucas rounds the desk, crouching beside my chair. His proximity should make me nervous, but instead, I feel an inexplicable sense of safety.

"Sarah," he says gently, "you don't have to tell me, but if someone is bothering you, I want you to know that you can trust me. I'm here to help, not just as your professor, but as... as a friend."

I look into his eyes, seeing nothing but sincerity and concern. And something else, something that makes my heart race for an entirely different reason.

"It's my ex," I whisper. "He's... he's a shifter. And he doesn't like to take no for an answer."

A low growl rumbles in Lucas's chest, so quiet I almost miss it. His hand reaches out, hesitates, then gently cups my cheek. His touch is warm, comforting, sending tingles across my skin.

"You're safe here," he says, his voice low and intense. "I won't let anyone hurt you, Sarah. Not him, not anyone."

I should pull away. I should maintain professional boundaries. I should remember all the reasons I've been afraid of shifters, of getting close to anyone again.

But I don't.

Instead, I lean into his touch, letting out a shaky breath. "Thank you," I murmur.

For a moment, we stay like that, suspended in a bubble of understanding and unspoken feelings. The air between us feels charged, electric. I can see the conflict in Lucas's eyes – the desire to protect, to comfort, warring with his sense of propriety and responsibility.

Finally, reluctantly, he pulls his hand away. But he doesn't move back to his side of the desk. Instead, he perches on the edge, close enough that I can still feel the warmth radiating from him.

"Would you like to talk about it?" he asks softly.

I take a deep breath, weighing my options. Opening up about Mark feels dangerous, like stepping out onto thin ice. But looking at Lucas, I feel a sense of trust I haven't experienced in a long time.

"We were together for a year," I begin, my voice barely above a whisper. "At first, he was charming, attentive. But then... things changed. He became possessive, controlling. He'd use his strength to intimidate me, his heightened senses to track my movements."

Lucas's jaw clenches, a muscle ticking in his cheek. But he remains silent, letting me continue.

"I left him two years ago, moved here to start fresh. But he keeps finding ways to contact me, to remind me that he's still out there."

"Has he threatened you?" Lucas asks, his voice tight with restrained anger.

I shake my head. "Not explicitly. He's too smart for that. It's more... implied. Little reminders that he knows where I am, what I'm doing."

Lucas's hands grip the edge of the desk, his knuckles turning white. "Sarah, what he's doing is not okay. It's harassment, plain and simple. Have you considered getting a restraining order?"

I laugh, but it's a hollow sound. "Against a shifter? Who would enforce it? Most humans are too afraid to stand up to your kind, and other shifters... well, they tend to stick together, don't they?"

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I regret them. Lucas flinches as if I've slapped him, hurt flashing in his eyes before he masks it.

"I'm sorry," I say quickly. "That was unfair. You're not... you're different."

He takes a deep breath, visibly composing himself. "No, you have a point. Many shifters do protect their own, even when they shouldn't. But Sarah, I want you to know that I'm not like that. If you need help, if you feel unsafe, I will do everything in my power to protect you. Not as a shifter, not as your professor, but as someone who... cares about you."

The intensity in his gaze makes my breath catch. There's something raw and honest in his words, in the way he's looking at me. It challenges everything I thought I knew about shifters, about him.

"I... I don't know what to say," I admit, my voice trembling.

Lucas's expression softens. "You don't have to say anything. Just know that you're not alone in this, Sarah. Whatever you need, I'm here."

The sincerity in his voice, the genuine concern in his eyes, it all becomes too much. Tears well up, and I blink rapidly, trying to hold them back. But it's a losing battle.

Without a word, Lucas reaches out, offering a box of tissues. As I take one, our fingers brush, and a jolt of electricity seems to pass between us. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, the world narrows to just us two.

The tension in the room is palpable. I know I should leave, should thank him for his time and walk out that door. But I can't move, can't look away from those stormy grey eyes that seem to see right through me.

The shrill ring of the office phone shatters the moment. We both jump, the spell broken. Lucas clears his throat, looking flustered for the first time since I've known him.

"I should... I should get that," he says, reluctantly moving back to his chair.

I nod, using the moment to compose myself. What just happened? What was I thinking? He's my professor, a shifter, everything I should be staying away from. And yet...

As Lucas answers the phone, his voice taking on a professional tone, I gather my things. My mind is reeling, trying to process everything that's transpired in this office. The connection we shared, the understanding, the almost-moment... it's all too much.

When he hangs up, our eyes meet again. There's an apology in his gaze, mixed with something else I can't quite name.

"I'm sorry, I have to prepare for a faculty meeting," he says, sounding genuinely regretful. "But Sarah, if you need anything – anything at all – please don't hesitate to reach out. Day or night."

I nod, managing a small smile. "Thank you, Dr. Morgan. For everything."

As I stand to leave, he rises as well. "Sarah," he says, stopping me at the door. I turn back, my hand on the doorknob. "Please be careful. And remember what I said – you're not alone."

The intensity in his voice, the concern in his eyes, it wraps around me like a warm blanket. For the first time in months, I feel truly safe.

"I will," I promise. "Thank you... Lucas."