Werewolf and Vampire Mate [Book 1 Complete]

chapter one.

April

Neat stitches run up the length of pale cotton, connecting it to a frill of white lace. The buttons, golden and gleaming, are the centerpiece of the blouse, standing out proudly against the otherwise colorless material.

I hold it up in front of me, studying the straight seams and billowy fabric. I can picture the perfect outfit for it now: a blazer and plaid skirt with stockings and dark heels. Or, alternatively, a dress layered over the top, black loafers and gold jewelry.

In another life, I would wear one of those outfits. I would wear red lipstick, the same color as my hair, and I would let my curls fall wildly down my back even though they are eye-catching and distracting.

But this is not that life.

I fold the shirt that I lovingly created and place it back into my antique trunk of clothes that will never see the light of day. I tie my hair up in a perfect bun and find an off-white sweater from a chain brand that everyone knows and hates. It's almost Spring but the days are still cool, so I slip into trousers before I leave my dorm.

Outside, the leaves are still brown, but some flowers have started to bloom in crevices of the footpath.

It isn't far to the center of Yale University campus. Gothic architecture towers around me, with pointed arches, turrets and intricate stonework. I duck inside and am met by hardwood floors, high ceilings and large fireplaces. My peers have their heads buried in books, scattered around the various study areas. My own canvas bag is heavy with textbooks. I would rather it be filled with literature, with Brontë and Dickens and Wilde. Instead it is brimming with assigned texts on administrative law and advanced legal writing.

The large clock sitting above the fireplace tells me I'm four minutes late for the guest-speaker lecture.

"Shit."

My peers throw me sympathetic—or annoyed—looks as I hurry past and toward the lecture hall. I slip in, trying to be quiet and clearly failing when the door closes with a thud behind me.

Eyes turn to look at me, silent judgment making my head drop as I hurry forward toward one of the few seats available. I feel the burn of gazes on me, but I only look up enough to stare at my professor.

"As I was saying," Professor Marks sounds annoyed. A silver-haired, older man with perpetually narrowed eyes and a slightly condescending note to his voice. "Nik Gray has kindly agreed to speak with us about his work as a humanitarian advisor to the UN a few years ago. As a Yale Alumni, he has contributed considerably over the past decade, in many ways."

I know what that means: donations. He's not getting a library named after him for nothing.

"I hope you'll all come along for the opening of the Gray Library at the end of the week. Corporate attire," Professor Marks says strongly, eyeing a student down the front who's in sweatpants. "Please make him feel welcome."

We clap as Professor Marks steps away from the podium down at the front of the room and a younger man takes his place.

My heart trips over its usual rhythm, my breathing coming to a grinding halt.

Nik Gray is staring straight at me. It is with the kind of intensity that makes it clear there is no mistake. He does not look away, he does not sweep his gaze over the attentive crowd as would be customary. He is focused on me, like I'm the only one in the room.

Am I hallucinating right now? Am I making this up in my head?

Dressed in an expensive charcoal suit, he studies me with stormy eyes, even as he begins to speak. "It's easy to forget the privileges afforded to us in this great country." There is something sarcastic in his deep, commanding voice. A lilt like he's in on a joke we don't know about. "My time consulting with the UN reminded me of the violations of rights that occur on a daily basis overseas."