The Professor's Mate Clause novel Chapter 9

CHAPTER 9

FREYA’S POV

A knock on the door makes me jump. “Freya? You okay in there?”

Adrian. Of course.

“Fine.” I call back. My voice sounds steady. Good.

“Can I come in?”

“No.”

“I brought food. You need to eat.”

“I am not hungry.”

“You have not eaten since before the wedding. That was eight hours ago.” He pauses. “I am leaving a tray outside the door. Please eat something.”

Footsteps retreating. I wait a few minutes then crack the door open. A tray sits on the floor. Soup. Bread. Water. Simple food.

My stomach growls. Betrays me.

I grab the tray and bring it inside. Lock the door again. Sit on the bed and eat mechanically. The soup is good. Warm. Probably homemade. Of course Adrian can cook. Of course he is perfect at everything.

I hate him.

No. I do not hate him. I want to hate him but I cannot. Because part of me understands. Part of me knows he was just keeping a promise. Doing what he thought was right.

But the other part feels betrayed. Used. Like I am just another obligation to check off his list.

I finish the food and set the tray aside. Lie back on the bed and stare at the ceiling. The mattress is too soft. The room is too quiet. Everything feels wrong.

Sleep will not come. I am exhausted but my brain will not shut off. Every time I close my eyes I see wolves. Blood. Adrian’s glowing eyes.

Hours pass. The clock on the nightstand says three in the morning. I have been lying here for four hours.

A sound makes me freeze. Footsteps in the hallway. Slow. Deliberate. They stop outside my door.

I hold my breath and wait.

Nothing happens. No knock. No voice. Just silence.

But I can feel someone on the other side of the door. Can feel eyes watching even though that makes no

sense.

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“Adrian?” I call softly.

“Yeah.” His voice is rough. Tired. “Sorry. Did I wake you?”

“I was not sleeping.”

“Me neither.”

We are silent. Just a door between us. I should tell him to go away. Should say something mean or cold to push him away.

Instead I ask, “Why are you standing outside my door?”

“Making sure you are safe.”

“From what? We are on the top floor of a secure building.”

“From nightmares. From fear. From feeling alone.” He pauses. “From yourself.”

The words hit harder than they should. Because he is right. I do feel alone. I do feel scared. And I do want someone to tell me everything will be okay even if it is a lie.

“You cannot stand out there all night.”

“Watch me.”

“Adrian that is ridiculous.”

“So is thinking I could sleep knowing you are upset and hurting and I cannot do anything to help.” His voice gets quieter. “This is killing me Freya. Being this close to you and not being able to comfort you. Not being able to fix this.”

“You cannot fix this. No one can.”

“I can try.”

I get up and walk to the door. Press my palm against the wood. On the other side I hear him shift. Moving closer.

“Are you touching the door?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

His hand is probably right where mine is. Just inches apart. A door between us but somehow it feels like

less.

“This does not mean I forgive you.”

“I know.”

“And it does not mean I trust you.”

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“I know that too.”

“I just…” I do not know how to finish that sentence. Do not know what I am trying to say.

“You do not have to say anything. I will be here. As long as you need. Even if you never forgive me.” He sounds broken. “Because you are my mate. And I will spend the rest of my life protecting you whether you want me to or not.”

“That is a long time to waste on someone who does not want you.”

“You are not a waste. And someday you will see that this is real. That what I feel for you has nothing to do with promises or obligations.”

Silence falls again. But it feels different now. Less heavy. Less awful.

“Goodnight Adrian.”

“Goodnight Freya.”

I hear him slide down to sit on the floor. Leaning against the door. He is really going to stay there all night.

Part of me wants to open the door. Wants to let him in. Wants to feel less alone.

But I cannot. Not yet. Not until I figure out what is real and what is just the bond pulling at me.

So I go back to the bed. Lie down. Close my eyes.

And somehow with Adrian on the other side of the door I finally fall asleep.

The dreams come but they are strange. Fragmented. I am running but I cannot see my body. Just trees blurring past. Wind in my face. The feeling of freedom. Of power. Of something wild trying to break free inside me.

Then the dream shifts. I am standing in a clearing. The moon is full overhead. Someone is calling my name but I cannot see who. The voice is familiar. Safe. It pulls at something deep in my chest.

I try to run toward it but my legs will not move. I am stuck. Frozen. Watching the moon get brighter and brighter until it burns.

I wake up gasping.

Sunlight streams through the windows. My heart pounds against my ribs. The dream felt so real. So intense. But already the details are fading. Slipping away like water through my fingers.

I sit up and rub my face. My body aches. Muscles sore like I actually was running. But that is impossible. I was asleep. Just dreaming.

The clock says eight in the morning. I slept maybe four hours. Better than nothing.

My throat feels dry. I need water. Maybe food. Anything to ground myself back in reality.

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I get up and walk to the door. Press my ear against it. Silence. Maybe Adrian gave up and went to his own room. Maybe he realized how ridiculous it was to camp outside my door all night.

I unlock the door slowly. Quietly. Open it just a crack.

Adrian is still there.

He sits on the floor leaning against the doorframe. His head tilted back against the wall. Eyes closed. Asleep.

He stayed. Actually stayed.

I open the door wider and just look at him. Really look at him for the first time without anger or fear clouding everything.

His shirt is wrinkled. The top three buttons undone. The fabric has ridden up slightly showing a strip of skin above his pants. Tan. Smooth. The definition of muscles even relaxed.

My eyes travel up. His arms are crossed over his chest. Even through the shirt I can see the shape of them. Strong. Powerful. The kind of arms that could break someone in half or hold someone safe.

His face is softer in sleep. The hard edges gone. His jaw is covered in stubble. Dark hair falls across his

forehead. He looks younger like this. Less dangerous. Almost… vulnerable.

I should not be staring. Should not be noticing the way his chest rises and falls with each breath. Should

not be thinking about what those muscles look like without the shirt in the way.

But I cannot help it. Cannot stop myself from admiring the way he looks. The raw strength. The power barely contained even while he sleeps.

This is the man who tore apart three wolves with his bare hands. Who shifted into something inhuman.

Who could kill without hesitation.

But he is also the man who stayed outside my door all night because he thought I might need him. Who brought me food. Who promised to protect me even if I hate him forever.

I do not understand him. Do not understand any of this.

My hand moves before I can stop it. Reaches out toward his face. I want to touch him. Want to know if his skin is as warm as it looks. Want to see if touching him feels different now that I know the truth.

My fingers are inches from his jaw when his eyes open.

Blue. Impossibly blue. Staring right at me.

I freeze. Hand still outstretched. Caught.

“Freya.” His voice is rough from sleep. Deep. It does something to my stomach. Makes it flip.

“You stayed.” The words come out breathless. Stupid. Of course he stayed. I can see that he stayed.

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“I told you I would.” He does not move. Does not pull away from my hand still hovering near his face. “Did you sleep?”

“A little. You?”

“Enough.” His eyes search my face. Looking for something. “Bad dreams?”

“Strange ones.” I finally drop my hand. Step back. Put distance between us. “You should go to your room. Get real sleep. In a bed.”

“I am fine here.”

“Adrian you cannot just camp outside my door forever.”

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