Chapter 4

Sarah

The campus is alive with activity - students lounging on the grass, discussing their latest assignments, while others hurry to their next class. It's a perfect day, the kind that makes you believe anything is possible.

As I make my way across the quad, my phone buzzes in my pocket. I fish it out, smiling when I see Jenna's name on the screen.

"Hey, Jen."

"Sarah! How's my favorite overachiever?" Jenna's cheerful voice comes through the speaker. "I was just thinking about you. How's that independent study project going?"

I can't help but chuckle at her enthusiasm. "It's going well, actually. I've been making good progress on the Flipped Classroom Model research."

"That's the one where you flip the traditional classroom structure, right? Homework in class, lectures at home?" Jenna asks, genuinely interested.

"That's right," I confirm, warming to the topic. "I'm focusing on how it can benefit students with learning differences, like ADHD or dyslexia. Dr. Morgan's been incredibly helpful with his insights."

There's a pause on the other end of the line. "Dr. Morgan, huh?" Jenna's tone is teasing now. "You two have been spending a lot of time together lately."

I feel my cheeks warm, grateful Jenna can't see me. "It's not like that, Jen. He's my professor and advisor. It's strictly professional."

"Uh-huh," Jenna says, clearly unconvinced. "You know, as a member of the Whispering Pines pack, I happen to know a thing or two about Dr. Morgan."

My steps falter. "What do you mean?"

Jenna's voice lowers conspiratorially. "Well, for one, he's highly respected in the pack. Ryan speaks very highly of him. Did you know he's been instrumental in bridging the gap between shifters and humans in academia?"

I didn't know that, actually. "Really?" I ask, intrigued despite myself.

"Oh yeah," Jenna continues. "He's been a strong advocate for inclusivity and understanding. It's part of why he's so valued in the pack. Not to mention, he's quite the eligible bachelor."

"Jenna!" I exclaim, feeling my face flush even more.

She laughs. "What? I'm just stating facts. Look, Sarah, I know you've had... difficulties with shifters in the past. But not all of them are like Mark. Dr. Morgan, Lucas, he's one of the good ones."

I sigh, conflicted. "I know that, Jen. I do. It's just... complicated."

"I understand," Jenna says, her tone softening. "Just... keep an open mind, okay? And if you ever want to talk about it, I'm here."

"Thanks, Jen," I say, grateful for her friendship. "I appreciate that."

"Anytime, sweetie. Now, tell me more about this Flipped Classroom thing. I want all the details!"

As I launch into an explanation of my research, I can't help but feel a warmth in my chest. Jenna's words about Dr. Morgan echo in my mind, adding another layer to the complex feelings I'm developing for him. Maybe, just maybe, it's time to start letting go of my fears and trust my instincts again.

As I finish explaining the intricacies of the Flipped Classroom Model, I hear Jenna stifle a yawn.

"Oh, Jen, I'm sorry," I laugh. "I didn't mean to bore you with all the technical details."

"No, no," she insists, though I can hear the amusement in her voice. "It's fascinating, really. I just had a late night with Ryan."

I smile, happy for my friend's joy. "Alright, I'll let you go. Thanks for calling, Jen. It means a lot."

"Anytime, Sarah. Take care, and remember what I said about Dr. Morgan, okay?"

We say our goodbyes, and I slip my phone back into my pocket. Jenna's parting words linger in my mind as I continue my walk across campus. Dr. Morgan... Lucas. The man who's slowly but surely changing my perception of shifters.

Logically, I know not all shifters are like Mark. I've met plenty of kind, decent shifters. But fear isn't always rational. It's a visceral thing, born from experience and trauma, that lingers long after the mind knows better. Still, with every interaction, every gentle word and understanding look, Dr. Morgan chips away at the walls I've built around my heart.

I can't deny the pull I feel towards him, the way my heart races when he's near. It's more than just his striking looks or that deep, rumbling voice. It's the kindness in his eyes, the patience he shows when we're discussing my research, the way he makes me feel safe and understood.

But can I really trust these feelings? After Mark, I swore I'd never let myself be vulnerable to a shifter again. Yet here I am, my thoughts constantly drifting to one.

I adjust the strap of my messenger bag, filled with graded papers and lesson plans, as I make my way across the quad.

As I walk, my mind drifts to my upcoming meeting with Lucas. My cheeks warm at the thought of him, and I chide myself for the reaction. He's my professor, my mentor. Nothing more. But even as I think it, I know it's a lie. There's something about him that draws me in, despite my better judgment.

I'm so lost in thought that I almost don't notice the familiar scent that suddenly assaults my senses – a mixture of sandalwood and something darker, more primal.

My heart stutters, then begins to race. No. It can't be.

"Sarah? Is that you?"

The voice sends ice through my veins. Slowly, I turn, praying I'm wrong. But there he stands, barely ten feet away, a predatory smile playing on his lips.

Mark.

My ex-boyfriend. The man who haunts my nightmares.

"What a pleasant surprise," he says, his voice smooth as silk. He takes a step closer, and I instinctively back away. "It's been too long."

I struggle to find my voice, to appear calm despite the panic clawing at my chest. "Mark. What are you doing here?"

He chuckles, the sound sending shivers down my spine. "Is that any way to greet an old friend? I'm a visiting professor this semester. Imagine my delight when I caught your scent on campus."

My mind reels. Mark, here? At my university? The safe haven I've built for myself suddenly feels like quicksand beneath my feet.

"We're not friends, Mark," I manage to say, proud that my voice only trembles slightly. "Please, just leave me alone."

His eyes narrow, a flash of something dangerous glinting in their depths. "Now, now, Sarah. There's no need to be hostile. I thought we could catch up, reminisce about old times."

The way he says "old times" makes my skin crawl. Flashes of those "old times" assault my mind – bruises hidden under long sleeves, tears shed in silence, the constant fear of setting him off.

"There's nothing to talk about," I say, taking another step back. My eyes dart around, searching for an escape route. The quad suddenly seems too open, too exposed.

Mark moves closer, his tall frame blocking out the sun. "I've missed you, Sarah," he murmurs, reaching out as if to touch my face.

I flinch away, my heart pounding so hard I'm sure he can hear it. "Don't," I whisper, hating how small my voice sounds.

His nostrils flare slightly, and I know he can smell my fear. Damn shifter senses.

"If you'll excuse me, I have a meeting to get to," I stammer. I need to get away from him.

As I turn to leave, his hand shoots out, gripping my arm. His touch burns through the fabric of my blouse. "We're not done here, Sarah," he says, his voice low and menacing. "You can't run forever. Remember, I always find what's mine."

With a final squeeze that's sure to leave bruises, he releases me. I stumble back, my breathing shallow and quick. The world spins around me as I watch Mark saunter away, disappearing into the crowd of students.

I stand there, frozen, for what feels like an eternity. My legs tremble, threatening to give out. I need to move, to get somewhere safe, but my body won't cooperate. The sunny day now feels oppressive, the chatter of students like static in my ears.

Suddenly, a group of laughing students brushes past me, jolting me back to reality. I gasp, sucking in air like I've been underwater. Move, Sarah. You need to move.

Without conscious thought, my feet carry me across campus. I weave through buildings and walkways, my only goal to put as much distance between myself and Mark as possible. My vision blurs with unshed tears, my chest tight with barely contained panic.

It's only when I find myself in front of a familiar door that I realize where I've gone. Dr. Morgan's office.

I hesitate, my hand hovering over the doorknob. Should I bother him with this? He's my professor, not my protector. But the memory of Mark's threat echoes in my mind, and before I can second-guess myself, I knock.

"Come in," Dr. Morgan's deep voice calls from inside.

I push open the door, stumbling into the room. The familiar scent of old books and pine envelops me, but it does little to calm my frayed nerves.

Dr. Morgan is already standing, his brow furrowing as he takes in my appearance. "Sarah? What's wrong?"

The concern in his voice undoes me. The tears I've been holding back spill over, and a sob escapes my lips. "He's here," I choke out. "Mark is here."