Chapter 113: Tell Me It’s My Fault

Blair pushed the bathroom door open and stepped out into the hallway.

She didn’t even have a second to register the blur of dark blue pajamas before someone crashed directly into her.

A startled squeal slipped past Blair’s lips. Her bare feet scrambled against the floor as she lost her footing. Operating on reflex, her hands flew out, gripping the soft fabric of a shirt.

It all happened in a frantic, dizzying blur. The person she grabbed onto wrapped their arms securely around her. Mid-fall, they twisted.

A dull thud echoed in the quiet hallway.

Blair gasped, squeezing her eyes shut as she braced for the impact, but the floor never came. Instead, she was pressed flush against something warm and solid. ℴ

She slowly fluttered her eyes open. She was lying flat on top of Professor Feron.

Her breath hitched sharply in her throat. Beneath the soft fabric of his pajama top, she could feel the distinct, hard definition of his abdominal muscles. He felt different from how he looked; the suits he usually wore hid a physique that was muscular and lean.

But the mortification of the situation quickly set in. Blair was dressed only in a pair of loose cotton shorts and an oversized t-shirt she assumed belonged Daemus though it was in her bag. And worse, her hips were straddling him, situated uncomfortably close to his crotch. Even through the layers of fabric, she could clearly feel his thing.... pressing against her thigh. She had seen his size before, so she couldn’t even tell if he was hard or not.

Her face flushed a brilliant shade of red. The frantic hammering of her heart synced with the steady, calm rhythm of his pulse beneath her hands.

The situation escalated from mortifying to even more inappropriate when she realized where his hands were resting. His long fingers were gripping her bare thighs.

"Professor, I’m sorry," Blair stuttered out, her voice a breathless, panicked squeak.

She immediately pushed her hands against his chest, trying to scramble backward off him. But his grip tightened on her thighs, easily holding her in place on top of him.

Blair froze. She looked down, meeting his piercing red gaze. "Please let me go," she asked quietly. "I am really sorry."

"Why are you sorry?" Jack asked, his voice a low, even hum.

Blair blinked, genuine confusion mixing with her panic.

"I was the one who ran into you," Jack pointed out smoothly. His flawless face betrayed zero emotion as he stared up at her flushed face. "Reprimand me. Curse at me for not being careful."

Blair’s jaw dropped slightly. Curse at him? She would rather jump out a window.

"I... I should’ve looked before stepping out," Blair babbled, offering the most logical excuse she could find to take the blame. "I just showered really quickly because I didn’t want to inconvenience anyone. I don’t know how many bathrooms this house has."

Jack stared at her for a long moment.

"You should cut the brown off your hair," Jack stated suddenly, changing the subject. "It’s ugly."

His hands finally fell away from her thighs.

"You can get off me now."

Blair didn’t need to be told twice. She scrambled off him as fast as her limbs would allow, hastily gathering her clothes and toiletries she had dropped in the collision. She clutched her things to her chest, her face still burning bright red.

Jack stood up. He looked down at her.

"Grow a spine if you plan on being a convincing beastwoman," Jack advised dryly. A faint, almost imperceptible smirk touched the corner of his lips. "But you’re a good actress. I’m sure you can pull it off."

Without waiting for a response, Jack turned and walked calmly down the hall toward his bedroom.

Blair stood frozen in the hallway, watching his retreating back until he disappeared behind a closed door. Her heart was still racing a mile a minute. She stared at the empty space, completely bewildered. What did he mean by that?

Unbeknownst to Blair, a pair of silver eyes had been watching the entire exchange.

From the shadows of her slightly ajar bedroom door, Clarice watched Blair hurry toward the staircase. A calculating smirk spread across the wolf beastwoman’s face.

This human girl had actually managed to bewitch someone like Jack? It made perfect sense now. It explained why Jack, a man infamous for his cynical detachment and disdain for houseguests, was so remarkably accepting of letting them stay. The Jack Feron she knew would have required weeks of persuasion. But he had let the girl stay without a second thought.

Clarice stepped back into the shadows of her room, her smirk widening. I can definitely use this to my advantage.

Downstairs, Blair reached the bottom of the steps just as Daemus stepped out of the bathroom.

He was rubbing his stomach, his expression downcast and miserable. "I only took a little sip," he muttered quietly to himself, regretting his curiosity.

But the second he spotted Blair, his face lit up with a bright smile. However, his smile faltered slightly as he noticed the brilliant red flush painting her cheeks and the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

"Are you okay?" Daemus asked, his brows furrowing in concern. "You look really flushed."

Blair forced a reassuring smile, desperately trying to calm her racing heart. "I’m fine. It’s just because I ran down the stairs."

Daemus let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "Damn, girl. You’re badly out of shape." He playfully nudged her shoulder. "We should work out together sometime."

"Okay," Blair agreed quickly, eager to escape to her room. "Goodnight."

She turned toward her bedroom door, but Daemus reached out, gently catching her arm. "Bunny, wait."

Just like Jack, he offered the glass of red liquid to her.

Blair stared at the glass, her eyes widening.

"It’ll make you smell like a beastman," Daemus explained before she could ask. He wiggled his eyebrows teasingly. "Your crush made it."