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"Can I ask you something?" she says suddenly, breaking the silence.
"Of course."
"How long have you been a shifter? Were you born this way?"
I smile, grateful for her curiosity. It's a good sign - she's trying to understand rather than simply fear.
"I was born this way," I explain. "It's genetic for us. I've been shifting since I was a teenager."
Sarah nods, processing this information. "And the others at the party? Are they all shifters too?"
"Many of them are, yes. But not all. Jenna, for instance, is human. In our pack, we welcome both shifters and humans."
I watch as Sarah absorbs this, her brow furrowing slightly in thought. My wolf is restless, urging me to move closer, to touch her, to claim her as ours. But I hold back, knowing she needs time and space to process.
"Thank you for telling me," Sarah says finally, offering me a small smile. "And for being so patient with my reaction."
The sight of her smile, small as it is, makes my heart soar. "Thank you for listening," I reply. "And for giving me a chance to explain."
As we make our way back to the celebration, Sarah seems more at ease. Our conversation flows naturally, touching on lighter topics – her studies, my research, our shared passion for education.
"I never thought I'd say this to a shifter," Sarah admits with a small laugh, "but I'm glad you were here tonight, Dr. Morgan. Thank you for... well, everything."
I nod, satisfied that I've been able to see to her comfort. "I'm glad I could help, Ms. Mitchell. And please, when we're not in class, you can call me Lucas."
She smiles, a genuine one this time that reaches her eyes. "Then I insist you call me Sarah."
As we rejoin the party, I notice Ryan and Jenna making their way to a beautifully decorated table. The cake-cutting ceremony is about to begin.
Sarah glances at her watch. "Oh, I should go congratulate them before I leave. I have an early start tomorrow." She turns to me, her blue eyes soft in the fairy lights. "Thank you again, Lucas. I'll see you in class?"
She gives me one last smile before making her way through the crowd towards the happy couple. I watch her go, my eyes tracking her movement. My wolf paces restlessly within me, agitated by the increasing distance between us and Sarah. It doesn't like watching her walk away, not one bit. The urge to chase after her, to keep her close, is almost overwhelming.
And that's when I know with absolute certainty.
Sarah Mitchell is my mate.
Chapter 3
Sarah
I take a deep breath, my hand hovering over the polished wood of Dr. Morgan's office door. The brass nameplate gleams in the afternoon light filtering through the hallway window, a stark reminder of the line I'm about to cross. Not physically, but emotionally. This meeting is supposed to be about my research project, but my heart thunders in my chest as if I'm about to step into the lion's den.
Or should I say, the wolf's den?
I shake my head, trying to dispel the thought. Dr. Morgan isn't just a wolf. He's my professor, a respected academic. And I'm here for purely professional reasons.
Right?
Before I can second-guess myself further, I knock.
"Come in," his deep voice calls from within.
The scent hits me first – old books, leather, and something uniquely... him. It's a warm, spicy aroma that makes my skin tingle. I force myself to focus on the room instead. Bookshelves line the walls, crammed with texts ranging from educational theory to what looks like ancient mythology.
And there he is, rising from his chair as I enter. Dr. Lucas Morgan, all six-plus feet of brooding intensity and barely contained power. His silver-streaked dark hair is slightly tousled, as if he's been running his hands through it. Those piercing grey eyes lock onto mine, and for a moment, I forget how to breathe.
"Ms. Mitchell," he says, his voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through me. "Please, have a seat."
