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The man that walked in and laid a briefcase down on the desk at the front of the classroom stole my breath. He was young, not young like I was young, but no more than two hundred, which meant he was well out of my reach but well within the bounds of personal fantasy.

He was beautiful. His body was lean and stretched a good foot above my own 5’10,’’ which made him a rare specimen, even in wolf society where males were generally taller than human men. His hair was blonde, not my usual temptation, and long with relaxed waves. And his skin, damn, his skin was golden, as if he’d spent long months under the scorching sun. I let my gaze trace the edges of his button-down shirt and wondered if he had tan lines.

I blinked and straightened up in my seat, realizing how far I’d let myself sink into fantasy. The gorgeous man was speaking now, I realized. I should listen.

“I’m Professor Xavier Davidson, but you can call me Xavier or Professor X,” he said with a devastating half grin that made me want to sigh. I was glad I hadn’t when I heard half the female population of the class do just that. “Unlike your other professors, I do not have my PhD in my field of study, but rather am an author, a journalist, a writer of all the things that flitter through my mind.” He twisted to grab a pile of paper and walked to the first aisle of students. “I teach because I love finding new voices and helping those who need to write, find their passion.”

Another class wide sigh. This time it wasn’t just the girls.

“This is your syllabus, read it over carefully. I’ve outlined each assignment for the semester and given links to excellent resources at the back. You’ll need no textbooks for this course, just an updated MLA handbook. If you don’t have one yet, the bookstore is well stocked.”

I thought of my handbook and smiled. It wasn’t new, in fact it was probably the most worn of all my books, but it was accurate and that was all that mattered. Besides, it wasn’t as if I needed it anymore. I’d been reading it since I was ten years old.

Xavier stepped up to my row and handed me a pile of syllabi to pass back. I smiled at him in what I hoped was a normal manner. His gaze skimmed over me as if I were just another student, which made my stomach sink. Maybe my application just hadn’t included a picture, I rationalized, hoping I was right.

“We’ll be starting this semester with a quick personal piece. It’s my version of the primary school All About Me lesson. Except, instead of sloppy writing and crayon drawings,” he paused for a moment to let the class titter in response, “I’m asking you to dig deep and give me something raw. A memory, a dream, a nightmare, something that affects you on a soul deep level.”

My mind began to churn out ideas that I rejected in quick succession. Xavier had read my senior project paper, he’d seen what I could do and wanted to see more. I needed to write something he’d respond to on a visceral level. I wracked my memories for something that would work… and came up with nothing.

I closed my eyes and tried to shut the scant noises of the classroom out. I remembered my high school teacher saying that the hardest part of demand writing is choosing a topic to write about. With limited time came increased stress, which either made you freeze or motivated you to think harder. I’d always responded positively, but there hadn’t ever been any real consequences of failure. I swallowed my nerves, keenly aware that this piece would be my first real-life impression on my professor. I put my pen to paper and began to write.

“Alright,” Xavier’s rumbling voice interrupted my thoughts as I poured my deepest insecurities into my writing, revealing more about myself in the short essay than I’d ever want any of the snobs here at AWA to know. “Finish up and pass them in before you go. I look forward to seeing what you’ve written.”

I blinked a few times, forcefully pushing back the emotion that wet my eyes, and quickly finished the concluding paragraph I’d been working on. I flipped through the five pages I’d hand written, seeing my fear of failure, my heartbreak at leaving home, family, and friends, and my doubt I was good enough for this opportunity on the loose leaf. I gathered my things, waited in line to use the stapler, then dropped it atop the pile and raised my head to meet Xavier’s focused gaze. His piercing blue eyes seemed to assess me in an instant before flitting away. I walked away with a renewed twist in my stomach. I wasn’t quite sure he’d been impressed by what he’d seen.

I was pushed along out of the classroom by the rush of students, all eager to change into regular clothes so they could meet for supper in the cafeteria. My kind were always game to eat as our metabolism ran higher than humans. Just the thought of food made my stomach growl. I turned towards my dorm and stopped dead as the perfect blonde from Daniella’s bitch pack stepped right in front of me and arched a pretty eyebrow.

“Oops,” her mouth formed a perfect “O” as she feigned innocence. “Am I in your way?”

I licked my lips and wondered how I’d managed to meet the single most annoying group of girls on campus so early in my stay. Unwilling to start something that might make my life worse or potentially get me kicked out of AWA, I stepped to the side to go around the girl, whose name I remembered was Seraphina. It was a pretty name, I thought wryly, wondering how her parents felt about spawning such a hateful child.

Seraphina side stepped, putting herself directly in my path again, making the group of girls behind her giggle with glee. A sinking feeling, swirling with growing anger, filled my veins as I realized that there would be no way to avoid this confrontation. I lifted my chin and let my lips turn up ever so slightly. I might not want to stir up trouble, but I wouldn’t back down from it either. People like Seraphina thought they were tough shit because of their name and wealth, not because of what really mattered, the strength of their wolf.

“Seraphina, was it?” I asked with a raised eyebrow. “I was just going over my schedule and saw the academy run is planned for this Friday.” I paused and took a step closer, positioning my body within a breath’s distance from my tormentor. “I’d love to run with you and your friends,” I cocked my head slightly to the side and drew in the scent of Seraphina’s annoyance and growing unease. “See what you’ve got.”

Seraphina opened her mouth to speak but the words she was about to say caught in her throat. With a sharp inhale, she pulled back, away from me. I hadn’t wanted to engage, but I’d needed to stand up for myself. The scent wafting through Seraphina’s expensive perfume proved me right.

I side stepped around the flustered girl, past the pack, and strode away. I’d made it less than ten feet when I heard Seraphina begin reciting statistics, personal statistics… my statistics.

“Elenora Jensen, born 1997 in Corner Brook, Newfoundland, Canada.” Seraphina looked up with a wolfish grin when I spun around and gaped at the sight of my new nemesis holding my confidential file. Seraphina scoffed at the information. “Really, Elenora?” she said my name as if it were laughable. “And Newfoundland? Are you trying to win the hick Olympics or something?” She tittered and flipped her long blonde hair over her shoulder, obviously back to her former level of confidence.

Heat suffused my cheeks and my hands balled into fists. “Give that to me, right now,” I growled, pitching my voice low as my wolf surged to the surface, called by my rising fury. I strode forward, hand outstretched to grab the file and was blocked instantly by Seraphina’s friends who grinned as they enjoyed my humiliation.

“What?” Seraphina feigned innocence. “This?” She waved the file in the air and laughed, obviously delighted with herself. “Why would I do that when it’s such a scintillating read?” She ran a coral tipped fingernail down the page, skimming over some details until her eyes lit up. “Well, isn’t this interesting.” She cocked her head to the side and studied me as I tried in vain to get around the bitch pack. “It looks like our girl Elenora is here on scholarship.” She turned her lips down prettily and made big sad eyes at me. “Are your parents poor, Elly? Is your dad like a fisherman or something? Does your mom clean other people’s houses to pay the bills?” Her derisive tone sparked both fury and twisted embarrassment in my gut, making my guilt come back to life.