Chapter 4

CHAPTER 4

M ax willed his hands not to shake as he tamped the coffee.

He’d always been awkward around people. He could hold his own in a lecture theater, of course, behind the safety of a podium, but if students came up and asked questions face to face, he’d have difficulty maintaining eye contact. As for book signings, they were a killer. He’d practice his signature countless times beforehand, but still his freakin’ fingers would shake when he took the pen, and his autograph would turn into a squiggle.

He blamed it on his inner wolf. Or, more precisely, his mistrust of his inner wolf. He was always worried that those wolf claws were too close to the surface of his hands. Sometimes he thought he detected a red gleam in his eyes in the mirror, and if he smiled, he worried that his incisors looked too pointy. His mom had warned him his wolf’s presence would get more pronounced as he matured, and he reminded himself of that often. But she hadn’t warned him adequately about the effect of an attractive human on his inner wolf.

“Just be careful not to pack the coffee too tight otherwise the water won’t get through.” Charlie’s melodic voice pulled him out of his funk. She was peering over his elbow. Too close for comfort. His nostrils flared, picking up her tantalizing scent, mingling with the freshly ground coffee beans.

“So how long did you work as a barista?” he asked, by way of distraction.

“Nearly six months.”

“In Motham?”

She laughed softly. “No, in Be-Tween, I think my mom would have died if I took a job in Motham.”

He couldn’t help casting her a quizzical glance. “And yet you just have. Does your mom know you’re working for me?”

“Oh yes,” she replied airily. “She’s fine with it.” Why did he sense she was lying?

“Do you have a father?”

“Yes, yes, I do.”

“And he’s okay with you working for a werewolf?”

There was a pause. “Just screw it in—that’s right,” she instructed. Max tried to ignore the other possible connotations of the words as he focused on putting the coffee basket into the machine and tightened it.

“Now put the mug under and press the button with a little cup sign on it,” she said.

Max did so, and watched the treacly stream of coffee emerge. “So your father, what does he think of you working for a wolf?” he repeated.

“Oh,” another little laugh, “Dad is absolutely fine with it.”

“You said that with a lot more enthusiasm,” Max said, glancing at her.

She smiled. “Dad’s very different from my mom.”

“In what way?” Max guessed all these questions were acceptable; there was a level of getting to know each other required here.

“Mom is the head librarian at Tween Library, she’s kind of prim and proper, whereas Dad is pretty laid back. He’s an artisan, a cabinet maker who migrated to Tween from the southern states. He likes Motham City as much as I do, and his sister Eloise apparently once—” She stopped at exactly the moment the coffee tapered out. “I guess we should froth some milk,” she added.

“I take my coffee black.” Max decided it would appear overly inquisitive to pursue her comment about her aunt, even though it intrigued him.

Nor had he thought to ask how she took her coffee.

Gods damn it. What bad manners.

Truth was, his awkwardness was worse around the opposite sex. Despite his trendy shoulder-length dark hair, his razor-sharp cheekbones and sensual mouth—the look that had gained him a reputation as the sexiest teacher at Selig University—he was painfully shy around women.

His first serious girlfriend, a beautiful fae who’d also lectured at the university, had doggedly pursued him, then complained he wasn’t assertive enough in the bedroom. She’d kept demanding he be more wolf, less human, which had made him deeply uncomfortable. His second girlfriend, a stunning elf actress, had expected him to stare into her eyes and adore her, buy her gifts constantly. When she pouted one night that he was more interested in his dusty old texts than her, he’d said in jest that yes, they were far less demanding (or had he kind of meant it?). Very soon after that, she’d left him for a wealthy vampire, and quite honestly, he hadn’t missed her.

Except, damn it, the vampire had been a bit of a slap in the face.

Maybe that was why he was so fascinated by Charlie. He really couldn’t abide women who were vain, And Charlie had an ingenuity about her, an innocence, but also a bubbly sense of fun. It struck him that neither of his exes had made him feel like dating was fun . But Charlie, with her bouncing curls and her infectious laugh, yeah, he could imagine having fun with her.

What the hell, man? She’s your research assistant, not your date.

“I’m sorry, I should have asked how you take your coffee,” he said, abruptly turning to the fridge.

“White, but you don’t have to froth milk on my account. Cream straight from the fridge is fine.”

“No. I’m determined to get this right. It will likely be the first of many we share.” Feeling an odd warmth in his belly just saying these words, he turned and glanced at her to see her nibbling at her full lower lip. Gods, she was pretty. “By the end of your time here, I’ll be a great frother,” he added, turning the knob vigorously, then watched with horror as the milk spurted over the edge of the jug and splattered all over the kitchen bench.

Charlie laughed as she located a cloth and handed it to him. Despite his embarrassment, Max found himself joining in as he mopped up the mess.

Yeah, it was easy to laugh with Charlie. At least about his coffee-making skills—or lack of them.

When they were both seated in the study with their coffees and some homemade butter cookies Mrs. Bates had left, Max almost sighed with relief to get back on topic. In the big comfortable leather chair with his books and his notes piled high on his desk, his enthusiasm for his subject matter took over. “Let’s get started then,” he said as he grabbed his leather diary, and watched as Charlie went and got her laptop.

“I use an electronic diary,” she explained.

“I much prefer paper and pen. I’m old-fashioned like that,” Max said as he flicked the diary open. “I have a pile of work for you to start collating for me. And tomorrow morning we have an appointment at the library to check out the full collection of the Almanac of Beasts.”

Her eyes formed saucers. “Oh wow! I viewed them as part of my master’s course, but we weren’t allowed to handle them. Will we really get to look at the originals?”

“Absolutely.” Max couldn’t help a smug smile. His name opened doors—and precious books.

“Oh my, that is so exciting.” Charlie had that breathy tone happening again. Another alarming tingle in his groin made Max shift his chair closer to the desk.

“I’m also negotiating a time to access the archives of Motham Palace. I’ve been corresponding with their curator for months.”

“I didn’t think anyone was allowed access to the Palace archives?”

“Very rarely. And not when the Motham family themselves are in residence. They are very private folks.” Max was excited at the thought of accessing Athelrose Motham’s original diaries, which described the building of Motham, and his love story with Amelia, a high-breed human who ran away from Tween to be with him. It had caused an incredible ruckus at the time.

“I arranged to be here while the royal family are away,” he explained. “Fingers crossed it will go according to plan.”

Charlie was shaking her head in wonderment. “I thought I’d just be collating notes all day. But this is going to be amazing.” She beamed at him as if he was a miracle worker.

Max tore his gaze away from her mouth. “No doubt you want to get started,” he said, a little more brusquely than he’d intended. “These,” he waved a hand over the pile of colored folders, “are just the tip of the iceberg. It will probably take a few days for you to catch up.”

“May I bring my chair closer?”

“Of course.” She drew nearer and he had to concentrate on the task at hand to stop his nostrils seeking out her scent. “The colored sticky notes in each book relate to chapters I’m working on. Each chapter has a corresponding colored file. I’d like you to enter the citation and the book title onto your computer, then put a copy into the respective folder.”

“So the red file relates to the defeat of the monster army. Blue for the rise of Athelrose Motham to leadership.” She sorted through them. “Yellow for the building of Old Motham, green for the capture of Orc Island. This book really is going to be very comprehensive, isn’t it?”

“That is the intention, yes. Can I ask you to start collating info for the red file first? That relates to chapter one.”

“No problem.” Charlie smiled, already laying the files out in front of her neatly. “Everything is very organized. You are not at all the absent-minded professor,” she bantered gently. Max tried not to register the heat riding his cheekbones at her tone, at once teasing and admiring, quite a lethal combination, stroking his ego and his…

Don’t fucking go there…

But oh boy, he had to admit, he could get used to those chocolate eyes, and her long dark eyelashes batting at him with admiration.

As the morning progressed, Charlie sat quietly entering data on her computer while Max kept reading and adding reference notes. He couldn’t help thinking that there was a kind of easy camaraderie developing between them. She compiled the data much faster than he’d expected. At this rate he’d be able to get onto writing the first draft sooner than he’d hoped.

It wasn’t until Charlie said, “Oh, pardon me,” and patted her tummy, which he assumed meant it had delicately rumbled, that Max glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece and realized it was way past lunch time. He didn’t usually bother taking a break.

He heard his own stomach rumble. Loudly. How embarrassing. Hunger was not something he experienced during the day. Only at night did he remember his body needed sustenance.

But now he had Charlie to think of. She clearly needed to eat. He should organize some food. But what? Making coffee had been disastrous enough. Before he could work out what to do, she said, “Shall I go and buy us some lunch?”

“Better still, why don’t we go out and grab something to eat?” he said, to his own surprise. “We’re close to the Right Bite café, it’s a pleasant place I’ve been to once or twice already.”

Charlie beamed. “I love that café, me and my friends used to go there all the time after lectures.”

Soon they were out in the fall sunshine, the leaves from the large sycamores that lined the street scrunching under their feet as they walked down the hill toward the cafe precinct.

“Tell me more about your master’s dissertation,” Max asked. The title and her grades had clinched it for him when he’d read her application. “A rather controversial subject to take on, if I may so.”

“Early human/monster romantic relations.” She glanced at him with a slight challenge in her smile.

“Yes, and the fact you got a high distinction must mean you did a great job.”

“I worked hard on it, I admit. I wrote about Athelrose and Amelia, of course, but then there were other less famous relationships, many of them concealed and hushed up by humans. There was Eliza Dryden and the infamous vampire connection, though nobody ever quite established if she truly was undead or just pretended to be to keep angry humans from running a stake through her lover’s heart. I found out there were a significant number of human/monster love stories before the great war. A human apothecary ran off with an orc over a century earlier. Hushed up by the Tween Council of Towns. Another young woman, the town baker, took off with an ogre, and a fae who was a known felon ran off with the daughter of one of the human army colonels. There’s talk of a minotaur mating with a high-breed woman during the war and the baby looking so human that they removed his horns and brought him up in early Tween society. Goodness knows where his descendants are now. It’s fascinating when you follow the leads. There are no records of these liaisons at all in Tween, of course. Only monsters recorded these pairings.”

Max remained silent, wondering if she’d found much out about werewolf/human bondings.

Almost as if she’d read his mind, Charlie added, “And of course, you must be aware that werewolves and humans have a complicated history. With the ceremonial ruttings and all.”

Max strode on, fists tight in his pockets. “They are not an admirable part of our past. Little was written about them, and what was has been mostly destroyed. It is not something I am proud of, the taking of human females against their will.”

After a moment’s silence, Charlie said, “I would have to refute that. Evidence suggests most of the young women involved were not coerced. Once again, that is human anti-monster propaganda. Many were, in fact, willing participants in the ruts.”

“I wish I could agree with you. But there are too many eyewitness accounts of wolves invading human towns and snatching the women at night.”

“And just as many accounts, in diaries and the like, that suggest they gave their consent before they entered into a rut. I would hazard that there were plenty of human women, gagged by a patriarchal society, for whom being chased by a werewolf and…” Her voice trailed off and Max was certain he could hear her panting slightly as she hurried to keep up with his huge strides, “—gaining sexual pleasure was… liberating. Not coercive, but mutually satisfying, in fact.”

“I remain unconvinced,” he grunted.

“But think about it, Professor. In Tween society, to take a daughter back after such a supposed misdemeanor, they would have to blame wolves, would they not?”

Max cast a glance at her animated face. She was passionate about the subject, and he didn’t want to dash her enthusiasm. “I accept there are a few records that would point to that. I assume you are referring to Deborah Willowten’s diaries?” She assented, and he continued. “However, my species were not known for their morals. And unfortunately, they were very well known for behaving in wild and debauched ways, particularly in rutting season. You need to be wary of whitewashing the past, Charlie.”

“I don’t think I’m that easily swayed,” she said stoutly, and he liked that she didn’t back down. But nor did he feel comfortable continuing the conversation. “We’ll have to agree to disagree,” he said stiffly.

They walked for a while in awkward silence after that, along the thoroughfare that soon morphed into the commercial precinct of The Hole In The Wall, with its shops and high-rise buildings. Max occupied himself noting the increased number of humans in this part of Motham compared to his last visit. The monsters looked well to do and affluent, wearing suits and carrying cell phones. He heard bursts of laughter and mixed dialects floating out of stores and cafés.

In the year since he’d been here to deliver a lecture, the city had gotten far more cosmopolitan.

There, suddenly right in front of them, was the Right Bite with its checkered red and white tablecloths on tables out on the street, and multi-species monsters sitting and lunching and chatting.

“Ah, we’ve arrived,” he said with relief. “Go and grab a table and I’ll get the menus.”