Into The Dragon's World - Brittany White Page 0,2

herself. All the other women on campus kept him at arm’s length, but not me. Oh, no. Not Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, who was taught to be nice to everybody. She’d seen the way most people avoided him and felt sorry for him. If she had known that a cup of coffee and a smile would have landed her in this mess, she would have run the other way screaming.

The worst part was that nobody believed her. The campus wanted to keep everything hush-hush because he was one of their most valued professors (translation: he had friends with deep pockets who donated generously). She couldn’t go to the police because nothing had technically happened yet. Just because she was creeped out beyond belief didn’t mean that what he was doing was a crime.

Everything in her wanted to confront him, to cut him down with words and make him feel like the piece of shit he was. She’d almost done just that earlier in the day. He’d followed her around campus and finally surprised her while she was in the part of the library called the “Tomb.” Located in the sub-basement of the library, it was claustrophobic and dimly lit, with low ceilings and the constant scent of decay and mold. Casey had always half-suspected that Stephen King had designed the place.

She was searching for a few journals for her upcoming thesis when Evan came up from behind her. She could hear him sniffing her hair. Startled, she jumped away from him, trying to get some distance between them. “What are you doing?” she asked, more angry than afraid.

“A little birdie told me you were down here,” he said and half-smiled. In any other universe, he would have been a decent-looking guy. He had dark eyes and hair, and his skin was a light olive tone that made him look perpetually tan. He should have had coeds fighting over him, honestly.

But everybody seemed to have gotten the memo that Casey had missed. Stay away from the whack-job or else.

“Well, I’m leaving.” She could find her journals another day. Just being so close to him in the darkened stacks made her skin crawl. “Have a nice—”

He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. “I want to talk to you.”

Something in his eyes changed, a subtle shift that was almost bestial. His breathing grew harsher, sounding almost like a growl. Casey winced at his grip on her arm. “Let me go!”

He laughed, and the sound was inhuman. The lower part of his face seemed to be stretching outward, creating a muzzle. His mouth was full of jagged, yellowed fangs.

A shifter, she realized. And a bear shifter at that.

Evan rose to his full height in bear form, towering over Casey. His head brushed the ceiling even as he leaned forward, snuffling her hair and throat with his cold, wet nose. His breath was hot and foul as he huffed into her ear. She could hear his thoughts in her mind. I will have you. Stop running.

Casey ripped her arm free of his grip, shredding her sweater on the black claws erupting from his nails, and ran for the stairs. She was almost to the subway station when she realized he wasn’t following her. Once she’d caught her breath, she realized that she was more enraged than she was afraid. How dare that piece of shit think he could control her that way!

I’ll be damned if I let him get to me, she thought as the subway slowed and she stood up. Not him. Not anybody.

3

Casey

“Oh, my God!” Jasmine met Casey at the doors of Paradigm and wrapped her in a hug. “Are you okay? Do you want to go to the hospital?”

“I’m fine,” Casey said. “Did you change your hair? It looks fantastic.”

Jasmine rolled her eyes and shook her head. She had been Casey’s best friend for the last four years, ever since they’d met in an Advanced Calculus class. She was as sleek and elegant as Casey was awkward. When Jasmine confessed to her that she was actually a panther shifter, Casey hadn’t been surprised. Jazzy had the sleekness and grace of a big cat. She had been the first shifter Casey had ever known. Coming from a farming community in upstate New York, she hadn’t had much experience with that kind of diversity.

“Sweetie,” Jasmine said, picking at the shreds of clothing to peek at the wounds beneath. “Forget about my hair. You’re bleeding.”

“He did more damage to my sweater than me, the bastard.”