by Liz Meldon
A thick, dark silence blanketed the room around us, the same as one might find outside this time of the morning. Eerie to some. Ideal for me, perhaps for Emma, both of us trapped in a world of noisy, smelly, emotional humans just about every other second of the day. Here, in the darkness, neither of us had to pretend. When I finally forced myself up and out of her, I didn’t even bother to retrieve the lamp. I could see just fine, and as I shuffled back and fell unceremoniously into my chair, I assumed she could too. After all, wolves were creatures of the night, just like me, whether the stubborn, thoroughly ravished shifter on my desk cared to admit it or not.
Emma lay there for a few moments, dress hitched up around her hips, ankles on the edge of the desk, knees together, until her breath evened out. Then, she slid off and went straight for her things, navigating the dark with ease, as I’d suspected. While she slipped back into her panties and heels, she just crumpled up the stockings in one hand and snatched the half-drunk bottle of red wine with the other.
And that was that—she was off, headed for the door on surer footing than when she had first arrived. I frowned, elbow on the armrest, chin on my fist as I watched her go.
“Emma?” She stopped just shy of the door, sighing heavily, her head down. Was this regret? Had the sex been sobering for her? Because I felt intoxicated for the first time in an age. “Are you all right?”
“Fine,” she said without missing a beat. Gone was the croon of a seductress, replaced with something hollow again. I sat up straighter, still undressed and in no hurry to right myself, and leaned forward.
“Hmm. Right. Completely fine, eh?”
Bun destroyed, her hair tumbled down her back in utter disarray. The sudden urge to pick through the knots, to trail my fingers through the chaos, struck hard, and I curled my hands to fists, chest suddenly tight. Mercifully, the desire passed when Emma finally peered back at me through the darkness, wearing an expression that just screamed fuck off, Calder.
I could practically hear the words in my head.
The knob creaked, and the room flooded with dim light from the hall as she opened the door and disappeared through it. Heels clicked quickly down the corridor. In her absence, the door only fell half-closed, a streak of yellow cutting across my classroom.
Her scent lingered—in the air, on my clothes, fused up my damn nostrils.
With a huff, I pinched the bridge of my nose. Not only had I failed at fucking her out of my system, but after tonight, I was more distracted than ever. Emma Kingsley, with her sweet blood and fiery kiss and top-shelf cunt, was in far deeper now, right down to my marrow, and perhaps there was no way to ever get her out.
I closed my eyes and let my head thump back against the leather.
Fuck.
December
14
Calder
Another term come and gone.
The final few days before the Christmas holiday had been an absolute nightmare. Not only had I spent an eternity tackling midterm prep with my own students, but the whole faculty had been roped into transporting all one hundred and forty-two of our surrogate children—Foster’s words, certainly not mine—to the airport in Bardufoss, where they would catch the shuttle to Oslo, then onto wherever home was for the two-week holiday ahead.
December 21st, the final day of classes, had been plagued with an annoying mix of endless midterm questions and a noticeably checked-out glaze from all my students.
Yesterday, December 22nd, we had loaded everyone and their mountain of luggage into the academy’s buses and zipped them off to the airport. Given the number of buses, three trips were required throughout the day, back and forth from the small Bardufoss air base. Half the staff hung back in the terminal, there to help with check-in and boarding and oversized luggage complaints. I had been stuck on the buses, my head exploding with the inane chatter of teenagers—holiday plans and Christmas wish lists and will my boyfriend actually stay in touch and oh my god I forgot my mobile phone charger back at the dorms…
I was actually going to miss the little buggers.
About a third of the staff caught the final flight to Oslo, while the rest of us stayed behind for the holidays. No students were permitted to remain in residence, but if we signed some legal document promising not to sue should we slip on a patch of ice or what have you, staff could live in their academy-provided residence year-round.
Given the number of bridges I had burned back home, Solskinn seemed as good a place as any to spend Christmas. According to Robert Howard, the staff always threw a huge party on Christmas Day and celebrated the new year in Solskinn proper, so at least there was something to look forward to.
In the meantime, I had papers to grade, assignments to eviscerate, and January midterms to prepare for my juniors. My office also needed a thorough clean, layered in a full three months’ worth of grime, and I had spent this morning sorting and tossing junk, dusting the antiques I outright refused to let the cleaning staff touch, and organizing my filing cabinet. It had kept me occupied well enough, two mugs of microwaved blood warming my belly and Wagner’s timeless compositions blasting from my laptop.
I was nearing the end of Götterdämmerung’s third act when I heard the howl of a rescued sled dog. A distinct sound against a normally muted landscape, it was soon joined by a chorus of other voices; the academy mutts were on the loose, trundling across the snowy landscape, snapping at the fat, fluffy flakes beneath a light grey overcast. From my office windows, I had a perfect view of the pack’s sheer joy—all the leaping, barking, yipping. All the burying of their faces in freshly fallen snow, sniffing around the covered fountain in the middle of the main roundabout.
Beyond them, the school’s gates remained closed. Shortly after Thanksgiving, the regional police announced the disappearances over the last year were linked, with all those missing last seen around the same patch of forestry. Thus far, no bodies had surfaced, but the academy had doubled their security team to assuage any parent concerns, and trips to the village had been suspended for all of December until the local authorities could completely guarantee student safety.
So, a dozen private security officials now roamed the campus, half of them set up in the two guard stations at the main gates, the rest patrolling on foot. It seemed a bit unnecessary to me; I had yet to detect any predators sniffing around the school, and the increased presence of men in black uniforms only unnerved the students.
And, really, Emma and I were better security than those earbud-wearing apes. Our senses were sharper than any computer or camera, and we could respond in a flash when necessary. Unfortunately, with the supernatural still relatively in the closet, we were forced to defer to the human specialists—for now.
Trailing after the unleashed dogs, Emma strolled along the semi-cleared paths, her hair in a thick, high ponytail. Sporting a thin green coat, grey leggings, and a pair of sneakers, she appeared to be gearing up for a run. As soon as she came into view, the dogs went barreling back to her, barking and charging, tails wagging so hard it was a wonder none of them experienced lift-off.
She seemed to enjoy their enthusiasm, her smile the widest and most natural I had seen in weeks. Something had been off with her lately, and it had been quite clear that she’d only visited my office after Thanksgiving dinner to deal with whatever was on her mind. Not that I cared—the sex was still fantastic, and that was the whole point of this. What did it matter if we were both using each other to achieve our own ends?
But if we were just using each other for physical release, why had I grabbed my own thin jacket and abandoned my office cleanup to meet her? I could have easily just let her go about her business with the dogs, who, without their student handlers, would be her responsibility for the next two weeks.
Yet here I was, marching through the empty, silent corridors of the main building, hoping that I hadn’t missed her in the time it took me to get from my office window to the front doors. I hadn’t, and as I shoved through, zipping up my jacket and shoving my ha
nds in my pockets against the bitterly cold air, as if the cold bothered me, I found myself pleased to see her. Yesterday had been a bit of a blur getting the students sorted. Emma had been involved in some capacity, but this was the first time I had seen her since yesterday morning.
For all I knew, she could have hopped on a plane at the airport and left with all the rest of them.
As I stalked down the stone stairs, I was pleased that she hadn’t. After all, she was the name I’d been assigned at the start of the month for the staff Secret Santa and her gift was already in the mail.
Still though. I fucking loathed myself for being excited to see her, for the way my lips yearned to curve into a grin.
It was just the sex. I was a man, after all, and the sooner I accepted that I desired her—physically and nothing more—meant it would be easier to get through the day without ruminating on my choices. I just wanted to fuck her, that was it, and there was nothing wrong with wanting to fuck a gorgeous shifter, although many in the vampire community would strongly disagree.
But the sex was great and that had to be why, as I approached her, I wore a soft smile, my cheeks speckled with heat. And as for the excitement suddenly pounding through my veins—well, two weeks of no students meant plenty of opportunities for more great sex.
Right. Sure. Let’s go with that.
As soon as the horde of mishmash rescue hounds caught my scent, the barks turned full and deep, all sixteen of them whipping around in my direction. I stopped halfway between the roundabout and Emma, who had been crouched down dealing with one of the smallest of the lot, some fluffy white thing with cropped-tipped ears, and held up my hands. Emma glanced up, looking from her dogs to me, then stood.
“Hey,” the shifter snapped, cutting through the chaotic symphony. “That’s enough.”
In an instant, all sixteen fell silent. Some even sat, while most of the others turned tail and padded back to her.
I slipped my hands back in my pockets, appraising her. Emma Kingsley was clearly the alpha of this pack, asserting an effortless control that had all present submitting with no more than three words. She had barely even raised her voice.
Always so impressive, alpha bloodlines. They were still shifters, but something inside made them so much more. Perhaps that was why she tasted so sweet, so intoxicatingly addictive.
Emma motioned for the dogs to stay put, and they did, all eyes on her as she crossed over to me wearing a teasing grin and shoes woefully unsuited for the weather. Without so many humans to fool, both of us could finally dress down a little, unfazed by the elements.
“Did you come out here for little old me?” She tipped her head to the side, ponytail bouncing. I shot her a measured look.
“I’m afraid it’s difficult to concentrate with all this racket.” My gaze jumped from dog to dog. “What are you doing?”
“Taking the dogs for a run.”
“And you’re doing this—” I pursed my lips for a moment. “—off-leash?”
“Off grounds, too.” She crossed her arms, expression faltering, as if she had heard an accusation in my question when there wasn’t one. “Anyway, they listen to me.”
“Hmm.” That was an understatement. Innately, each canine knew to bow to Emma. Without a lick of training, she could bring them all to heel. “Do you intend to run as one of them?”
The pink in her cheeks, courtesy of the cold and the gentle wind, suddenly brightened. “Maybe. Why?”
“Can I join you?”
“Join me—for a run?” She looked me up and down quickly, from my brown boots to my dark jeans, then the thin leather jacket. “You’re not exactly dressed for it.”
“I can keep up, I assure you.” It wasn’t that I was itching for a little extra time with Solskinn’s resident wolf; I was eager to see her shift. The only way to get the full, true picture of a shifter was to experience both sides of them. Who knew what was lurking beneath the surface of that attractive exterior? Her wolf could have been her polar opposite, or, more likely, the creature would round out Emma Kingsley. At last, I might finally understand her. This vexing woman, both mouthy and subdued, part of the group yet more often a recluse. From her looks, even a bit of her temperament, Emma ought to be the cool girl, the loud, in-your-face athletic type who always roused the troops.
Instead, I’d seen a quiet but confident woman who liked to drink and knit in equal measures. She could blend in with the group. Nearly all the faculty liked her, some—James Foster—more than others. But she frequently distanced herself from her social circle and spent far more time with a vampire than her kind would approve of. A wolf without a pack. Emma was a rarity, for more reasons than one.
Maybe her wolf would clarify things, give me the whole picture.
Stretching out her right quad, Emma studied me for a long moment, eyes slightly narrowed. “You want to come for a run with me? With us?”
“Sure. Why not?” I shrugged. “Bit sick of tidying my office, really.”
False. I loved tidying.
After she’d stretched out the other leg, she retreated a few steps, still appraising me with a look that was starting to get under my skin, and then finally nodded. “Okay. You can come—as long as you don’t speak.”
My eyebrows shot up.
“I just want to run,” she insisted, “with them. Just a quiet, peaceful run. So… keep your mouth shut and you can come too.”
I drew a breath, ready to drawl something back that was bound to make her growl but then thought better of it. Instead, I pressed my lips together and nodded, though my smirk couldn’t be helped. Emma rolled her eyes and motioned for me to follow. With a sharp whistle, all the dogs flocked to her side—and we were off.
I jogged alongside her out the main gate, waving to the security apes, and took a sharp left along the wall surrounding the grounds, then into the trees, easily keeping pace but knowing full well that we both could have pushed ourselves harder. The dogs fanned out around us, keeping their distance from me while remaining in a tight radius around Emma. Clearly this wasn’t their first venture out together, running what appeared to be relatively well-kept forest paths, even with all this snow. I cast Emma a sidelong glance. How often did she go for runs in the surrounding woodland—and how often in human form?
Questions burned at the tip of my tongue. About her. About the more primal role she played with these dogs—and the one within her own wolf pack. But being out here, away from the humans who plagued my day-to-day life, felt good. The remoteness, the chill, the looming trees, the distant mountains, our brisk pace… It did wonders for my head, clearing it, silencing the thoughts, until I was just moving alongside Emma in the glow of her quiet confidence, one of the pack, going wherever she led me.
So, I kept my word. I didn’t say a thing. Not during our run, and not when I eventually tugged her off the worn trail, the snow up to our knees, and fucked her against the exposed trunk of an old rowan. The dogs busied themselves around us, digging in the snow, chasing one another, plopping down for a nap, panting, never going very far while their leader was otherwise occupied.
I said nothing as the heat of her body scorched me, invigorated me, made me feel alive. Not when she came, muffling her cries against my shoulder, and not when I did the same, my teeth in her flesh. Not after either, when I kissed her, crushing her swollen lips to mine as she fumbled to right her clothing, my hand around her throat.
I said nothing. Not on the brisk jog back, Emma’s cheeks stained red and her tread lighter. When we parted ways at the main gate, she headed for the kennel surrounded by her pack, me back to my office, alone, I still didn’t say a word.
Silently, I swallowed my disappointment at not seeing her shift, at not meeting her wolf form, because the sex and the blood and the cold air and the solitude from all but her had been enough.
More than enough.
Emma Kingsley—being with her—was more than enough.
15
Emma
After spendi
ng Christmas Eve drinking to forget, our faculty festivities the following day were just what I needed. Ordinarily, the thought of dragging myself out of bed, hungover as fuck, to attend brunch with my colleagues, even if I liked most of them, would have been my idea of hell. However, this morning’s meal with all the staff who stayed at the academy for the holiday had been, well, wonderful.
Robert and Phyllis had showered me with gifts, even though I’d told them not to, and it almost felt like I had parents all the way out here. Parents who cared about my well-being, gifting me with socks and scarves and chocolates and spools upon spools of wool. Parents who didn’t judge me for my life choices. Parents who were happy if I was happy. And maybe they’d noticed I hadn’t been all that happy leading up to the holidays, bogged down with the old familiar guilt and self-doubt. Maybe they’d realized I’d needed them, even if I was too set in my lone-wolf ways to admit it.
Beyond all that, which would have been enough for me, the kitchen had served mimosas with brunch that put everyone in a good mood. Calder had been in rare form, pleasant and jovial, chatting as though he really was that sweet, bumbling Englishman. Foster streamed Christmas classics in the auditorium, with eggnog and juleøl circulating the aisles of tipsy, noisy staffers.
Last year, only about six of the teaching staff stayed behind, but we had fourteen this year, plus nine of the support staff, six from the kitchen, and three from janitorial—and all the security squad. Sure, the vest-wearing goons refused to partake in the celebration, or smile, but they had seemed very pleased with our delivery of leftovers from dinner—ribbe, Pinekjøtt, Cornish hen, plum pudding, mini chocolate lava cakes, the works.