Page 6

Chapter

Six

OWEN

It’s the third week of the semester, and with each lecture Clay has grown less and less talky and touchy. I suppose getting his wires crossed and exposing his dick to me in bed would do that.

Did I beat off to the memory of his abs, fangs, and cock? Well…that’s irrelevant.

I need to apologize for making things weird. I reread my texts, and I can see why he’d think something different than what I meant.

“Hey, can we talk?”

“Hm,” Clay says, without making eye contact.

I gulp, feeling the icy sting of his response. I look around and notice no one is within earshot. “Clay, you should know…”

He finally looks at me, those gorgeous purple eyes with a hint of red, reaching into my soul.

I’m not sure if vampire hypnotism is a thing, or if it’s a fabricated legend.

But being dick-matized—gay guys being enthralled by hot men—is so real.

And Clay, the beautiful airhead, checks off all my boxes.

He’s also a star athlete. Been there, done that, not willing to burn myself at the stake again.

I clear my throat. “There’s a quiz next week.”

“Oh?” He takes on that adorably confused expression that I’ve spotted on him during lecture. This time, however, it’s warranted— What kind of apology was that?

“Uh, thanks, I guess?”

“I mean to say…” I shift up my glasses, then play with my notebook in front of me. “I know nothing about water polo.”

“Eh? The quiz is on water polo?” He looks down and bites his lip. “I didn’t realize that was part of anatomy class,” he mutters with genuine, himbo sincerity.

I huff. “No, I mean you’re a water polo player.”

“Ah.” He smiles. “So I’ll do good on the quiz, eh?”

I shake my head. “No, forget the quiz. Well, don’t, because it’s a quarter of our grade…

just listen!” I look around and notice almost everyone has left the classroom.

“I’m sorry if I led you to believe something was happening between us.

It wasn’t my intention to come on to you.

The truth is, I don’t date water polo players.

More importantly, we’re lab partners, so we need to get along for this class. ”

He frowns and stands up, hiking his bag. “I get it. You made that very clear the other night.”

The disappointment dripping from his tone hurts my soul.

“I mean, come on,” I murmur, pulling up my own bag.

“You don’t wanna hook up with me. All I do is talk academia, ask a mountain of questions, and spend my free time going to the museum for leisure.

I certainly wouldn’t be any fun in or out of bed. ”

I chuckle out of nervousness as I all but chase him out of the room. “And more importantly, I’ll do as much of the work as I can and give you plenty of credit. I’ll be interviewing my dryad friend…well his boyfriend is my friend.”

Clay barely slows down as I ramble. “And you’ll get half the credit. We can forget about any bedroom mishaps! And while I stick to my books, you’ll have more time polo-ing in the water.”

He finally stops, and I nearly bump into him. He turns around and levels with me. His cheekbones and perfect hair make him look like he belongs in a superhero comic book. How can someone be this handsome and even consider sticking his dick anywhere near the likes of me?

“Is that really all I am to you?” he asks with a flat tone.

I fidget with my backpack straps in the hallway. “I mean, you spend time at practice, and I basically live in the library,” I say in a lower voice. Monsters mull about, paying us no mind in the hallway. “It would make life easier for both of us to stick to what we’re doing.”

He stares at me for a beat, then shrugs and looks away. “If that will make you the most comfortable.”

“Thank you, Clay. We’ll link up for another project session soon. Preferably with clothes on.” I laugh nervously, point finger guns, and step back, but he simply nods.

“Okay. But Owen?”

I catch his gaze and he looks so serious as he steps backward. “You get to decide whom you want to hook up with, and so do I.” With a wave, this gorgeous vampire turns and strolls away.

I’m left there stunned in the hallway. Among other surprises today, Clay used the word “whom” correctly.

“And so, how do you eat?”

I lean forward on my table in the dining hall, pen in hand, ready for the answer.

“With my mouth? With a fork?” Kovi sips more Ghosta Cola from his straw and giggles while his boyfriend bumps into his shoulder, quietly cracking up.

I huff. “I meant in your tree form?”

“Uh, I don’t?” Tanner can barely contain his laughter at Kovi’s answer.

“So, you don’t like, dip your roots into a pasta sauce or anything?” I try to focus on my paper while the lovebirds continue to titter.

“Dude, have you met a plant before?” Kovi asks. The pair bursts into laughter like a couple of hyena shifters. If this is what love is like, remove me from the waiting list.

Then they gaze at each other with undeniable fondness. And when I look around, I notice the red banners on each table, along with more couples sitting closely.

It’s Valentine’s Day; my perpetually single ass forgot.

I dramatically close my book, and the couple doesn’t even flinch. “Well, thank you for the information,” I say in a deadpan tone.

“We’re done already, Owen?” Kovi looks me up and down while Tanner holds him by the waist.

“I’m, um, all set,” I lie. “I need to interview other species, to be honest.”

“Are you sure we can’t help you more? You haven’t even asked about my branches.” Kovi, to his credit, seems genuinely perplexed .

Tanner meanwhile, leans into his neck. “And all the things they can do,” he purrs.

Kovi giggles, and I roll my eyes. “It’s fine. Go enjoy Valentine’s Day, you two.” I stand up. “I’m sure the Student Union is having a dance or something,” I say dolefully.

“That sounds fun!” Tanner remarks, gazing into his handsome boyfriend’s eyes.

The couple chuckles again, and Kovi says, “Later, Owen,” and then kisses Tanner.

I huff and stride for the exit. I’m happy for my closest human male friend considering all the drama that occurred last semester—and their whole lives—but that was rough.

Walking outside, I breathe in the icy sensations of the February air.

My friends reminded me of how lonely I am, so maybe taking the bus to the museum will cheer me up.

It’s three weeks into the semester and I still haven’t hooked up with a monster.

Sure, I got to see Clay’s hot ass, but I’m not interested in a surface-level connection with a dude I have nothing in common with.

Valentine’s Day is reminding me that I want someone who wants to talk to me, listen to me, and be intimate with me. Which is a lot to ask since I’m a grumpy old nerd trapped in a twenty-one-year-old body.

I make the five-minute trek to the off-campus bus stop. The sight makes me almost want to gag; not only is the bus cubicle advertising Valentine’s Day, but two harpies are making out on the bench. Feathers are flying as their wings retract and fan out repeatedly.

Okay, that’s enough, I’m out. The museum will be there in a week.

I turn and grumble, “Friggin’ hormones.”

I power-walk away, past the Lin River. I stroll near the far side of the woods where students never congregate. Despite the cold air, the long way back to my dorm sounds ideal. Streetlights guide my way through the night, and other than the occasional jogger, I’m alone.

I can tell this area doesn’t get cleaned nearly as often as it should. This is further evidenced by an old, rusty birdhouse jutting from one of the poles with a sticker on it that reads, “Creelin Cockatoos.”

“Ugh.” I don’t need to be reminded of my chaotic, sexy lab partner. So, I do what teenage boys did in high school when faced with a metal structure two feet above me— I take two quick steps and leap up. Then, my hand reaches up and I smack the sticker-faced birdhouse.

CLANG .

“Oh shit!” I swear just as the metal birdhouse falls. It turns out no one has reinforced the damn thing in decades. Fortunately, there are no witnesses around; I don’t want to be caught defacing Creelin metro area property.

Before I can properly dash away, I hear a squeaking sound. What is that?

I crouch down closer to the now-grounded, tipped-over birdhouse. The riverside area is quiet, and the squeak arises again.

Is that…mewling?

Using my phone as a flashlight, I peer inside the birdhouse. I illuminate the source of the noise and it’s…dark and hairy?

I gasp and step back, startled by the unknown. When it mewls again, I lean forward and scrutinize the inside of the house. The thing inside isn’t a bird: it’s hairy, twitching, and…

It’s a bat! Apparently, a tiny bat has made this ancient birdhouse his home.

“ Squeak !”

I crouch closer to get a better look. When I shine the light on it again, it winces .

Holy shit—it’s bleeding.

“Fuck…” I mutter. The poor thing has an injured wing. I’m no animal expert—some monsters can commune with animals, or so I’ve read—but even I know bats aren’t supposed to bleed like that. And considering how bright the blood around it is, I’d say it’s a fresh wound.

Shit, I did this?

“ Squeak .” It looks so tired, like it could die at any moment.

“No,” I whisper gravely. I stand up and look around, as if the bat ambulance will arrive.

But no, it’s a dark evening, and I’m on my own.

My breathing speeds up and I put my palms on my forehead.

The waves of anxiety threaten to drown me; I haven’t had a panic attack in years.

But now the guilt is gnawing at my chest.

Before I can collapse, I attempt to visualize the air going in and out of my lungs. My pulse pounds, so I fixate on anything I can see. The river reflects the streetlights like an orange parade of manta rays. Focus on the pretty colors…

This gets my breathing to finally slow down. I shake out my wrists, knowing the panic attack is suppressed, for now.

“ Squeak .”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” I chant, half to myself, half to the animal who can’t understand me. I peer at it again. “I’m going to…help you.”

It mewls one last time before I dash away. Tears threaten to flood my eyes, but I refuse to cry. Not out of misplaced manliness, but out of determination—I am going to help this poor defenseless creature of the night.

Thirty minutes later, I’ve returned with a backpack.

I’m huffing as I crouch down since I ran all the way to campus and back.

No one’s around, which is both good and bad—I’d love someone, anyone more experienced to help, but I don’t want any rogue creatures trying to eat it or anything.

He deserves a shot at a normal bat life, the life I’ve almost taken away.

“Please say you’re still okay,” I mutter as I unzip my bag.

He mewls, and I swear he’s being sarcastic, saying, “I can’t go anywhere, asshat,” or something to that effect.

“I’ll…take care of you. I think.” I bite my lip and put on my thick winter gloves.

Slowly, I dab his wing with a towel, soaking the blood.

Then, as gently as possible, I ease it into the tiny shoebox I’ve brought with me.

Despite my haste, I remembered to poke air holes, tape the top so it acts as a hatch, and line it with more paper towels.

This little buddy should be comfortable in the tiny makeshift bed I’ve made for him.

Well, I mean, as comfortable as one can be after having their wing severely injured by some terrible human.

“Let’s get you out of here.” I close the lid, catch my breath, and then swiftly stride back to campus.

My mind buzzes with questions. Am I allowed to have it back on campus? Will my roommate be okay with it? Most importantly, what can I do to make the little buddy okay again? He needs to take flight and be free.

I’m supposed to be a doctor-in-training. Some healer I am, I can’t even take care of an injured bat. What if he ends up…?

The very thought of him not making it sends a wave of anxiety through my bones, and I clutch the shoebox harder. My eyes prickle with the thought of death, even of an animal. I feel so guilty, and in that guilt, I’ve bonded with the little guy. I can’t go back to my room. But maybe…

I don’t even think. My feet are on autopilot, zooming me through the quad, as I try to brainstorm for any deep-seated knowledge about nocturnal animal life.

I’m not myself when I knock on the door with a shaky hand. That familiar burn of a panic attack crawls up my spine, and I once again try to focus on my breathing. Air in my lungs, my feet on the ground, I’m safe….

When the door opens, it’s like the panic attack evaporates. The face in front of me makes my heart skip a beat and my brain restart. A kindling of hope glows in my chest.

I don’t even let the dude say a word.

“I didn’t know where else to go,” I say in a pathetic whine.

Clay stares at me, his eyebrows scrunching together. “Owen?”