Page 7 of Cursed by the Love Witch (A Monstrous Holiday #2)

7

THE HIGH WARLOCK

T he hours have been tortuously long.

Each lecture had gone on and on until the seventh bell chimed. The primal part of him stirred, knowing he would get another glimpse of her. It had called him a fool for not claiming her in here when they had been alone. He had to remind himself that he wasn’t a beast and that she deserved to be courted properly.

That is if she was willing to give him a chance.

The familiar faces of his introductory necromancy course file in, each seeking his validation, but he pays them little attention. He is waiting for her arrival.

A glimpse of pink hair sends blood rushing through his veins. She’s on time for once and enters his classroom dressed as she was this morning, if only a bit more wrinkled. Once she is over the threshold, her eyes find him and hold—a delicate pink breaks out along her cheeks as she walks to her desk. A growl threatens to exit his throat, but he swallows it down.

His gaze on her drops as a few students come seeking advice on enrolling in his second-year course next semester. He grows irritated even as he manages to answer their questions. As a professor, he takes his job seriously and realizes spending an entire hour staring at the pink-haired goddess that’s tempted him for years is irrational.

Even if that’s all he wants to do.

The final bell rings and everyone finds their seats. Darcee hangs her cloak off the back of her chair. Her thin white shirt perfectly highlights her frame. A few pink curls cling to her temples. Her partner is noticeably absent, as is his teaching assistant, Zander. He heard something about them accidentally ingesting a sleeping potion.

It matters little. This gives him an opportunity he would be a fool to pass up.

She folds her small hands atop the books on her desk. Her magic pulses under her ivory skin. He can see it—taste it. Its warmth radiates from her and into him. When her eyes meet his again, everything in him tightens painfully. He watches her sink her teeth into her full lower lip, and he nearly doubles over.

Discovering she had enrolled in his course had been a blessing and a curse. After watching her from afar all these years, being so close to her was a delight, even if it drove him mad simultaneously. In the beginning, he resented her for how she made him feel. Now, he sees how foolish that was.

She tempted the beast inside him, and he had pushed against it—fighting his very nature. Now, he would happily supplicate to her every whim if she merely said the word. It was a sudden revelation but no less true.

His gaze lingers on her a moment longer, delighting as her flush spreads lower across her chest. He remembers the feeling of her in his arms. Too quick—he was too quick, and like a little lamb, she had turned skittish. He will court her properly even if he must be discreet about it.

“Students,” he says, voice clear and even. “We will continue with our reanimation potions this afternoon. Working with your partner, follow the instructions in your manuals to create the brew before administering it to your subject.”

With a wave of his hand, cauldrons and supplies appear on each table. Darcee bites her lip and glances at the space beside her. He is barely able to suppress his grin. He stalks towards her slowly.

A dark-haired first-year sitting at the table beside Darcee stands.

“High Warlock, we can add Darcee to our group since her partner is absent.”

Darcee gives him a soft, grateful smile. The young warlock blushes even as the High Warlock gives a dismissive shake to his head.

“That won’t be necessary, Remus.” He can hardly believe his voice sounds clear while his blood is a raging inferno. It heats further when he stands beside Darcee at the work table.

“I will assist Miss Thistle during today’s lesson.”