Kait Ballenger - Midnight Hunter

When he met her gaze, his breath and pulse stopped. Just stopped. As if he’d died for a moment, because he swore he saw a hint of hurt in her eyes, and fuck if he could have that. The mere thought that she might want him, too, killed him. He tore his eyes away. Damn, he was a fool. He was imagining things.

She unzipped her plaid backpack, reached inside and removed a paper, then slammed it onto the wooden surface in front of him. When she spoke, her words dripped with venom. “That’s the midterm you so graciously gave me extra time on, Dr. Grey. I’m sorry it wasn’t in by the beginning of class and that I was late to your lecture, but I thought I was doing something that would be of particular interest to you. But you know, I wouldn’t want anyone to think I’m attracted to you or your hunky nerd charm or anything, like every other female in your classes. I wouldn’t want to feed your enormous ego.”

For a long moment he was at a loss for words. He wasn’t sure which surprised him the most. The fact that she had just called him a “hunky nerd,” that she was clearly implying a good chunk of the female student body was attracted to him—both of which were certainly news to him—or the fact that she had the balls to tell him he had a big ego. Did he have a big ego? He supposed most academics did like to hear the sound of their own voices, but he’d never really thought of himself like that.

She reached into her backpack again and pulled out a large mason jar. It landed on his desk with an audible thump. A large tarantula flexed its legs against the walls of the glass. “I’ll go ahead and give this to you. Consider it a witch’s version of an apple, Professor.” She turned to leave.

“What is this?” he asked.

She glanced over her shoulder as she opened the door. “If I have to spell it out for you, maybe you’re not as good a hunter as I thought.”

His eyes widened as he examined the spider. “Is this your familiar?”

She closed the door again and turned back around. “Don’t you think that’s a little too personal a question, Dr. Grey? You wouldn’t want to cross a professional line, but for your information, no, that is not my familiar. My familiar is a massive, overweight ball of fur who likes to lick his own balls.”

He stared at her. He wasn’t sure what the hell she meant by that.

“This is someone else’s familiar,” she continued. “I don’t know whose, but I was rudely awakened by the feeling of its legs trying to pry open my mouth last night.” She shivered. “So I thought it might interest you that someone was trying to use me as a receptacle for their black magic.”

Adjusting his glasses so they sat correctly on the bridge of his nose, he examined the familiar writhing inside the glass. The last time he’d seen one of these so-called “gifts” from the devil, he’d been in the middle of his training with the Execution Underground just after he’d finished his PhD. That particular familiar was a toad, and the warlock it belonged to had been detained for allegedly using black magic to evade the cops in order to continue running a successful drug business. The warlock’s drug trade had resulted in loads of humans becoming addicted to a type of cheap cocaine, which had been mixed with something that caused a flesh-eating virus. The Execution Underground refused to tolerate any supernaturals that hurt humans.

He extended his hand. “Will you sit down, please?” He continued to examine the familiar as she sat in the chair in front of his desk. “Do you have any idea who sent this to you or why?”

“No,” she said. “Not a clue.”

He looked up from the familiar then to watch her face. Damn, she was gorgeous. Hunky nerd? He couldn’t get past the fact that she really thought of him that way. He always thought of himself as just a nerd, plain and simple. God help him. “I’ll help you , if you help me .” He said it before he could stop himself. He had decided working with her was stupid, yet here he was, making the offer, anyway. That was exactly what the problem was: she muddled his decision making. But he couldn’t bring himself to turn her away when she so clearly needed protection. He wasn’t the type of man to do that. She may have been a witch and he a witch hunter, but regardless, he would not stand by while any woman, witch or not, was attacked. He would figure out how to control his inappropriate feelings.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Who says I need your help?”

“Why else would you bring this to me? Last night you wanted nothing to do with helping me, but I figure from the way you shivered at the thought of this tarantula possessing you that you’re either extremely afraid of spiders or afraid of someone using you for black magic against your will, and that seems like something that a normal person would want help from a witch hunter for.”

“You’re intuitive. It’s kind of disgusting.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “But you’re right. It’s both. I just don’t like admitting I’m afraid of anything.”

One side of his mouth lifted into a half grin. He wasn’t surprised by that. She didn’t seem like the type to want to flaunt any weakness. Everything about her, even down to her sexy punk-rock appearance, screamed strength and resilience, and an assurance in her own self that only came from a person owning up to who they really were and not giving a shit what anyone thought. That was part of what drew him to her. “Arachnophobia is common, and as for someone trying to possess you with their familiar, I would be scared, too, and I’m not easily scared.” He smiled fully this time. “I’ll help protect you from whoever is after you, if you help me with my case.” He held out his hand. “Deal?”

She stared at his hand but didn’t take it. “I don’t know, Dr. Grey. I wouldn’t want to jeopardize your career by getting too personal.”

As intuitive as she seemed to think he was, he couldn’t quite understand the emotion behind her voice. “We’ll be professional colleagues outside of the classroom, but when we’re here on campus, you’re still my student and I’m still your professor. We can maintain a distance we’re both comfortable with. You can call me Shane when we’re alone and Dr. Grey otherwise, if that makes you feel better.”

“And you’ll stop calling me Ms. Sanders when other students aren’t around, right?”

He nodded.

She reached out and took his hand. The feel of the soft skin of her palm against his jolted electric desire through him until he was certain his cock would break free of his jeans and push against the underside of his desk at any moment.

“We’ll have to experiment with different distances to determine what we’re comfortable with, Shane ,” she said, emphasizing his name.

He gave a single nod. If he moved another muscle, he might pull her across his desk until she straddled him in his executive chair. Experiment with different distances? That sounded like some sort of naughty invitation, but he knew better. She’d made it clear she wasn’t interested when she’d said he had a big ego.

Hadn’t she?

* * *

VERA RELEASED DR. GREY’S, er, Shane’s hand like it was on fire. Never in her life would she have said a handshake could be sexy, but somehow that one managed to be. And really? Had she really said that cheesy-ass line about experimenting with distance? Gosh, she hoped it hadn’t sounded as desperately horny out loud as it did now in her head.

It was bad enough that she was as stereotypically attracted to him as any other girl in his classes, but even worse that she continued to be even after he had made it clear he wanted to maintain a professional distance from her. Besides, they couldn’t be more opposite. Handsome business-casual professor. Gothed-out strip-club bartender. Professor. Student. Hunter. Witch. Intelligent PhD. Barely passing grades for a bachelor’s she would probably never earn if she kept going at this rate. The list went on and on.