Chapter One
DYLAN
"You've used half your monthly food allowance, Dyl. Do you need to tell me anything? Are you stress eating again?"
Again, he says, as if stress eating was some regular problem of mine. I looked down at my small frame, wishing I could stress eat a few pounds to soften my jagged edges. "No, Dad, I think I was buying more expensive items without realizing it. I'll cut back, I promise." My stomach gurgled, and I shoved my hand over my gut as if to muffle the sound enough so it wouldn't reach the phone receiver. The truth was, my roommate had borrowed my meal card several nights before and had yet to return it. I'd been surviving on the snacks I'd had hidden in my part of the room.
Which reminded me that I would need to find a new spot to replace the one that Sack—I still couldn't believe that was what he wanted to be called—had found, inhaling an entire pack of graham crackers in the process.
"Oh, son, don't apologize so easily, it's a sign of a weak character," my father said, his deep voice rumbling through the phone.
I sat back in my chair, producing a loud squeak and I looked around, as if I expected anyone else to be there at the Timberlake University Library at midnight on a Friday. At least that meant I could take the call from my father without stepping outside. There wasn't even a librarian around to shush me. Only a security guard who strolled through every hour or so.
I shuffled the papers in front of me on the desk as my dad began listing all the other weak signs of my character. According to him I was too quiet, too shy, not outgoing enough and generally a disappointment when compared to the long line of Smith men who had all attended law school and spent their degrees protecting my hometown of Morningwood.
For as long as Morningwood had existed, the Smith men had been in the normie courtrooms fighting for our right to stay isolated. Over the years, the reasons for that right had changed. Now, we were a privately owned natural reserve. But, when that designation expired, we'd have to find something new to keep the normies and the normie government out of our all shifter town.
Except, I wouldn't be protecting anything if I didn't find a way to pass Constitutional Law. Growing up in Morningwood meant I was less accustomed to the normie constitution. And starting with a deficit of knowledge was proving to be more difficult of an obstacle to overcome than I'd thought.
"How about your grades? I won't be seeing any more C's this go around, will I?"
I started to sigh into the phone but caught myself before my father could comment on how sighing was just another sign that I wasn't cut out for law school. "I'm trying my hardest, Dad."
"Is it your social life? Is that what's getting in the way of your studies?"
That time, I couldn't stop the squawking laugh that came out of me. Social life? He was worried that my surplus of friends was keeping me from passing? That would make sense, if I had any friends. "My social life isn't getting in the way of anything. I'm doing the best I can, Dad. If it isn't good enough for you—"
"Now, now, no need to get pissy with me Dyl. I just worry about you. Can't a father worry for his son, all alone, hours away in a normie college? No one is pressuring you to drink, are they?"
I imagined the state my dormmate, Sack, was likely in at the moment. He'd cracked open a beer that afternoon when I'd stopped for my books and to get my meal card back. My grumbling stomach was proof of how successful I'd been with that task. "No one is pressuring me to do anything." Except you. "I should really get back to studying."
"That's the spirit. I'll talk to you in the morning."
"Okay, Dad, good nigh—"
"On second thought, why don't you splurge on some good food. It's never too early to start making a good impression with your peers. Let them know that you are someone with influence and taste. Someone they should befriend."
I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes closed. "That's a good idea, Dad, I'll try."
"Son, there is no try—"
"Only do. I got it. The librarian is back, I need to get off the phone."
"Okay, okay, Dyl. Make sure you answer in the morning."
Because if I didn't, his next call would be to campus security and the call after would be to my dean. I'd already suffered the embarrassment of my RA pounding on my door at eight in the morning the one time I didn't get up early enough for my dad's morning wake up call. I knew he just worried for me. As far as I was aware, I was the only shifter student at Timberlake University, located only four hours outside of Morningwood. I knew I was the only shifter first year law student, but I was used to being the odd man out.
We said our final goodnights and I hung up. The silence of the library crept up around me like slowly rising water. Rows of tables surrounded me, all vacant. The exit and check-out desk were to my left. This late I wasn't just the only person in the study area of the library, I was the only student in this building. I shivered, though I didn't feel cold.
I looked down at my papers, remembering again that I had been about to look for a book when my dad had called.
Somehow, the stacks that surrounded the study area, stretching to the edges of the room, hadn't looked quite so menacing before our talk. I stood, determined not to let my wild imagination become any more of a burden. According to my father, it was one of the many things that held me back from becoming the true man I was supposed to be. But I couldn't help but see shadows where the automatic lights were turned off in the distance. Only my immediate vicinity was lit, but as I moved, the lights were supposed to flip on overhead.
The border of darkness reminded me of murky ocean water, of sea monsters that lurked just beyond the line of sight.
"You're being ridiculous, Dylan," I berated myself, clenching my wiry fingers into ineffectual fists. "Nothing is there, except more books. And then more books. And then the wall." I should've been ashamed, a twenty-two-year-old man still afraid of the dark. No wonder my father tracked my every movement. I clearly couldn't be trusted.
The row of constitutional law books was two stacks in. I found the right shelf and let my finger glide over the old spines searching for the one I needed on the nation's death penalty. Perhaps that was why I was so easily spooked tonight, the topic of my studies gave me the heeby jeebies. If there was one thing I was absolutely sure of when it came to being a lawyer, it was that I never wanted to be responsible for a person's life. Not when a lost case meant someone would die.
As a bald eagle shifter, I was known more for my eyesight than my sense of hearing, but I couldn't miss the distinct sound of a door creaking. I gasped, clutching the book to my front before remembering the guard was about due for another round through. He'd told me to let him know when I was done so he could lock up after me. Technically, the library didn't have hours, but during his shifts, Hank liked to lock up as soon as the last student was gone, opening the doors later to catch the early morning studiers before it was time for him to go home.
"Hey, Hank, I'm still here. Just trying to not let this freaky place make me crap myself," I said loudly as I walked back to my desk.
When I came around the bookshelf, in sight of my table, I froze. A man sat at the table across from mine, his back to me. He definitely wasn't Hank.
A ghost! I dismissed that thought in my very next breath.
There was simply something so sturdy about the man that made it absolutely clear that he was a living, breathing human. Though he was sitting, I could tell he was tall. He sat straight, his brown hair was cut short, but long enough that it had a natural wave and he wore a gray suit—odd only considering the hour.
"I, I'm sorry, I thought you were—"
The man turned, and I forgot what I'd been saying. "I thought for sure I'd be the only person here," the man replied with a tone that was rich, like boiling butter. It made my stomach tighten, the feeling traveling until it reached lower, to much more sensitive areas. "Do I know you?" he asked, his head cocked to the side.
From the front, he showed his age a little more. As he frowned over at me, the lines around his mouth and at the corner of his eyes deepened and he had gray hairs peppering his temples. Still, I wouldn't ever call the man old. Just, well-aged. He sported a light, but trimmed goatee. Though, I couldn't decide if his eyes were gray, green, or blue. Instead, they were a mixture of the three, like Spanish moss.
My fingers itched for a paintbrush and the right mixture of colors to recreate this man's likeness. He had the sort of face that belonged in the history books as the man who led an army, or a kind king who had ruled his kingdom for centuries. He'd also asked me a question, one that that I had completely forgotten as I imagined pressing brush to canvas to capture the exact right angle of his jaw.
"I'm a student here," I replied finally, my own voice sounding more like peanut brittle when compared to this man's smooth caramel.
The man smiled, and the expression took over his whole face. It wasn't just that his lips turned up in the corners, his eyes smiled at the same time. Heck, even his nose looked like it was happy. "That's great, but not my question."
I stumbled forward a few steps, feeling like a space ship from the old science fiction television show I used to watch as a child. There had never been a scarier moment than when the plucky space exploration crew was caught in a nefarious enemy's tractor beam. Except, there was nothing nefarious about this source.
As I neared, the man lifted his face, his nostrils flared as he sniffed the air between us and I froze for a second time. I dropped back, replacing the space between us that I'd stumbled through.
At home, a motion like what the man had done would've meant nothing, but that was because my home was full of people who could turn into animals. Shifters. Each shifter retained some of their animal counterpart's characteristics. For me, that meant I could spot a feather drifting through the wind from over a mile away.
But, we all had more enhanced senses than a non-shifter, a normie. Which meant if this man was attempting to smell the air between us, he was no normie.
"Are you, um, what are you…" I couldn't find the right ending to my questions. My shifter status was a carefully guarded secret. Normies weren't supposed to know about shifters. No one at my college, Sack included, had any idea I was anything other than a stuttering, bumbling law student. So, if this man wasn't a shifter and I simply stank or something like that, then I would've broken my town's most crucial law.
"Jaguar," the man replied easily. "I had no idea there was another shifter here."
"I…uh, I didn't know either. I'll have been here for a year at the end of this term." A year of long nights spent studying, early morning classes, and hoping that my roommate would stop selling drugs out of our room long enough for me to get any sleep. My stomach growled, also thanks to my roommate. I wasn't even sure what Sack studied. He wasn't in any of my law classes. He never did homework and when he wasn't partying or selling drugs to the other students in our dorm, he slept—while snoring loudly and farting so much I could hardly breathe through it.
"It's a little late, did you miss dinner?" the man asked, his eyes darting to my stomach and then back to my face. There was real concern in the older man's gaze, like he actually cared if I'd eaten recently.
"I had some fruit snacks." The moment I spoke, I wished I would've said anything other than the truth. Fruit snacks? Why didn't I just grab my blankie and wait up for Saturday morning cartoons? Anything would've been better than fruit snacks. I had a steak, rare, with horseradish sauce—extra spicy. In truth, a meal like that would've upset my tummy, but it felt grown-up. Manly.
The man just grinned. Probably because he's realized he's talking to a child.
"Well, I didn't mean to make you crap your pants. I didn't think anyone would be here and thought to get some peace and quiet."
"There isn't peace and quiet at your house?" God, why was I being so nosy? The man just said he was here for peace and quiet. That was clearly code for shut up and leave me alone. He had a paper bag in front of him that was decorated with grease spots. He crumpled the top closed, perhaps to keep in the heat.
"There is," he replied easily, rotating so that he faced me. "But right now, the sitter is there."
The sitter. That meant kids. With shifters, that likely meant a mate, or at the least, a spouse. Fantastic. Here I was getting all, let-me-paint-you-like-one-of-those-French-girls, while he had a loving partner at home. A family. "Oh? A sitter? I've done some child care work myself in the past. Nothing large scale though. Just friends of friends when I was younger." What in the ever-loving hell was I saying? Was I angling for a job? More like I was trying to cover up my initial interest with anything and those had been the first words out of my mouth.
The man smirked, but covered his mouth quickly. "You are a very honest person," he replied, making me blush. "You wear your emotions on your face." When I didn't reply he added, "What are you studying?"
"I'm going to be a lawyer."
"Well, you better get control of your expressions before law school," he joked, unrolling the bits of paper bag he'd folded shut. "Or you won't last long."
"I'm in law school."
The man closed the bag again and sat just a little straighter. "Oh." The very tips of his cheeks turned red.
"It's okay. You're right. I might not last long." If I didn't find a way to dig my Constitutional Law grade out of the hole it had sunk into then I'd be well on my way. "You seem, I mean you don't look like a student. Are you… Do you work here?"
"In this library? No. This is my first year here too." He'd slipped easily back into his casual, friendly tone. "I'm a teacher," he said cautiously, like he wasn't sure how I would respond.
I started a tally of how off-limits this man was to me. Married with children. A teacher at the school I attended. And yet, my skin still prickled with sensation, like I was being watched without my knowledge. I was aware of every motion I made, every inhale, each noisy exhale, and of just how much I moved when compared to this man's confident stillness. Was that something that would come with age? I was still waiting for the other stuff to come. The stuff that I'd been told as a child that I would get when I was older, understand when I was older. Well, I was older. And still just as confused. "I haven't seen you around. What do you teach?"
"At my last school, I taught civil procedure, evidence comparative courses along with teaching seminars on U.S. territorial possessions and civil code. Here, I teach Evidence."
"But, those are all law classes."
The man didn't reply. He just sat there, blinking while my brain caught up with the conversation.
"I guess I'll see you soon," I finally replied as my exhaustion dropped on my shoulders like a ton of bricks. I wasn't sure why this was taking so much out of me. It was as if I was watching the wall between myself and this gorgeous, self-assured man, grow larger and larger by the second. But each brick was like a weight on my shoulders, pushing me harder into the ground.
The man frowned and looked away, giving me a small moment of respite from his tractor beam eyes. "You have an expressive face."
That was the second time he'd mentioned my face and its expressions in a short amount of time. I'd always been told that I wore my heart on my sleeve. I wore everything else there too. For as shy as I was, I had no filter from my heart to my face, everything I felt was displayed in public, for all to see. Normally it didn't matter because no one generally looked my way, but now it meant this man got to watch my crazy fantasies be dashed in real time.
They weren't really fantasies though, just an initial attraction. One that I had a limited time to get over, since sometime after summer break, this man was likely to be my teacher. "I'm just…" Tired? Hungry?
Lonely?
"I'm just…" I thought to hide behind the book I'd gone to grab but realized my hands were empty. I'd left it in the stacks. "I need my book." I spun around and retreated back into the stacks. The darkness at the edge of the lit portion seemed inviting now. Moments before, I'd been frightened by what lurked there, but after making a fool of myself with very little effort on my part, I'd welcome what went bump in the night over the man who sat in the chair.
The man who wasn't sitting in the chair anymore.
The man who was right behind me.
"Oh, here it is," I said, grabbing the book and brandishing it like a shield between us. "You didn't have to come to the stacks with me. I'm not scared or anything." Smooooooooth.
The man laughed and stepped closer, prompting me to tighten my hold. "The History of the Death Penalty in America, that's some pretty spooky reading for anyone to take on this late in an empty library."
I waited a second longer for the insult, the tiny dig at my insufficient personality or comment on how weak I was, but it didn't come. "Believe me, it's not by choice. I've got this paper and I need to do well. In fact, I need to do well in the rest of the class if I don't want to disappoint my father and bring shame upon our great name."
Sympathy flashed in the man's moss green eyes. "You've got one of those, eh? Controlling?"
I nodded.
"Nosy?"
I nodded again.
"Never quite good enough for him?"
I nodded so hard my chin was going to bump a bruise into my sternum. "It sounds like you know my father."
"I know people like him. I won't bad mouth him, but, he should be proud of you. How many other students are here late on a Friday night studying for a paper?"
I knew what my father would've said to that: How many of those students are close to failing? The Morningwood Smiths don't hold themselves to the standards of the majority population. We strive to do better, work harder. That's how we stay on top.
"I should probably…" I gestured with my book back in the direction of the tables, but the man didn't step back.
"What exactly is your paper on?" he asked, leaning forward. His smell was as unique as his eye color. There was the shifter part of him that I sensed. More specifically, that my inner eagle sensed. And then there was something extra, fresh cut wood, a twisty mountain highway after a summer storm, adventure. My inner eagle stretched his wings as if waking up from a long nap. Day after day of sitting in a lecture hall for hours did little to stimulate him and these days he spent most of his time in slumber. Which was great for me controlling my animal urges, but awful when it came to finding the haste and motivation I needed to keep going. It made me tired when he was asleep. Add to that a roommate who didn't understand the meaning of the word respect and I was mostly tired all the time.
I went back to the table, fishing out the assignment handout. The man read it over once before looking at the book I had.
"Okay, I see why you went with the history angle, but it might be wiser to stick with the ethnicity angle. Here," he grabbed my arm softly and tugged me back to where we'd been in front of the bookcase. "You need this one here on capital punishment as it relates to race." He thumbed through the pages as if searching for his favorite part. "The copy I have is pretty much entirely highlighted on this page."
I made a sound like a gasp and clutched my shirt over my heart. "Highlighted? That's book abuse."
His eyes had opened wide as I'd gasped but narrowed into that full-face smile. "I should be punished severely, I know."
"Deserves a spanking for sure." Again, I tried to close my mouth before the words could find their way out, but I was too slow. Instantly, my face burned, and I was sure I was as vibrant of a red that existed before it was just called orange. I turned, my body shutting down into escape mode, and walked further into the stacks. Overhead, the lights switched on as they sensed my movements. I noticed by then that the lights over the table I'd been sitting at had turned off.
But I only cared about getting as far away from the attractive married man—teacher—that I had just jokingly threatened to spank.
"Hey," the man called out, but he was laughing so hard, the word sounded like it had three syllables at least. Heh-eh-ey. "I say strange stuff sometimes too."
"Strange?" I squeaked. I needn't had bothered running away, he only followed me. "I swear I'm not one of those freaky control freak people. Like, I don't have anyone tied up in my sex dungeon or anything. No, I mean, I don't even have a sex dungeon." Why did it sound like I was complaining about my lack of sex dungeon? I prayed for the beasts that lived in the dark edges of the library to manifest and drag me down into hell with them, but they stayed put.
"It's okay, I get it. Man, you are wound up tight. What's your name?"
"Dylan."
His face spasmed into a look I didn't understand, but the look quickly cleared. "Call me Thatcher for now."
Because later I'd be calling him professor? "That's an uncommon name." I'd known only one other person with that name, and they'd been an old family friend.
"My mom was a fan of The Iron Lady."
I smiled and nodded, hoping he wouldn't realize I had no idea who that was or what he meant.
He laughed again. At least this time I wasn't so mortified that I couldn't hear how pleasant of a noise it was. In the same way he managed to smile with his whole face, his laughs felt more like happiness packages, sent from his mouth and delivered into the world. I'd gladly accept one of his packages.
Instantly, I choked on nothing as I realized what I'd thought. For once, I'd kept the words in my head where they belonged.
"You're dangerous, Dylan," Thatcher said then, drawing my full attention back to him. What could that mean?
Me? Dangerous? I caught my hunched over reflection in the window. I always seemed to stand like I was just about to fall forward. I was small just about everywhere, except for my head. Making me look like one of those Funko Pop! Dolls.
I liked my hair, but my father would say I'd let it get too long. It was a soft blond and curled over my ears, often falling into my eyes.
"Mhm, now I know you are teasing me. I'm about as dangerous as a wet sponge."
Thatcher frowned, but it did nothing to dampen his attractiveness. If anything, it made Dylan yearn to do whatever it took to wipe that frown from his face. "I wouldn't tease you like that. Not at your expense."
That implied there was a way he would tease me. My mind took that idea and ran with it. Hell, it sprinted a whole marathon. I wasn't what anyone would call sexually experienced, but not for lack of research. I had my tried and true favorite videos. In one, the older man spent much of the time barely touching the younger until he begged for his partner to stop teasing him. But that wasn't the kind of tease that Thatcher meant, it couldn't possibly be. And if it is, he's got a wife and a kid at home! "Thanks," I mumbled. "I'll remember that when I take your class next year."
He arched a single brow and I had to turn away. How did that only make him more devastatingly handsome? Probably because now I was thinking about porn. I needed to put the kibosh on that right away. Thatcher was a shifter which meant he could sense all kinds of embarrassing non-verbal things about me. Like my arousal.
"I should probably be heading back to my dorm. If I time it right, I might even get there just as my roommate and anyone else too drunk to function has passed out."
He frowned again. He was doing that a lot. "That doesn't sound very safe. How old did you say you were?"
"Old enough to drink. So is Sack."
"Sack?" Thatcher repeated, but on his lips the name sounded even more ridiculous.
"Don't ask. He told me to call him Sack on our first day and that's just what I am going to do. Really, I'm waiting for him to fail out. He can't possibly be passing anything with as little as he talks about school. Though, if he's getting his degree in selling Adderall and weed, he's likely got a doctorate by now."
"If he is impeding your school work and your health then you should report him to the dean," Thatcher said with as near of a disapproving tone as I'd heard from him yet.
"Thanks, Dad," I quipped, regretting it in the next moment. I didn't want to think about this man and my father. I definitely didn't want to ponder how close in age they were. Or how ballistic my dad would be if I brought someone even close to Thatcher's age home. Dad was still hoping I'd have sex for the first time, suddenly present as an alpha despite every bit of evidence to the contrary and bring home an adorable wife—despite my obvious gayness—for him to be proud of.
Thatcher lifted his hands in front of his body in surrender. "Message received. You don't need me telling you what to do. You're a grown man."
I had to have imagined the dip in pitch as he said grown man with a slightly huskier tone. With the stress of school, exhaustion, and the above normal levels of testosterone that came from being a shifter man in my early twenties—albeit a shy, reserved one—I couldn't always trust my perception of events. "Don't worry. Timberlake University doesn't even have a drug selling track. I checked." I hoped my joke would smother all of the rockier feelings, but he never stopped frowning at me. "It was nice to meet you," I said, turning from Thatcher and returning to my table.
