Page 4 of Dark Embers

“ Wyatt and Esther Young are the most notable example of this,” she continued. “In 1943, the two were hiking the Appalachian Mountains in search of weres who might be in hiding so that they could help them transition back to life among humans.

“It is reported that they got separated, both tailing different trails, when Esther slipped and nearly fell off a cliffside. Wyatt was on the other side of the mountain and couldn’t possibly have heard her cry for help. And yet, not only did he immediately sense that his mate was in danger, he instinctively knew where to find her and how to get to her.”

I was so engaged in the lecture that I barely registered a hand shooting up to my right in my peripheral vision.

“Yes, Amelia?” Mrs. Sharp asked.

“So, how does that work?” Amelia asked. “Is that sense sort of like visions for mer seers? Do they see what’s happening to their mate?

Mrs. Sharp pursed her lips, shook her head, and stepped out from behind her desk. “No, it sounds like it’s less a mystical experience and more of a chemical experience. When a shifter imprints on someone, they become so finely tuned to their mate’s pheromone signature that they can sense it even overgreat distances. Wyatt could sense the fear that Esther was excreting, and his instincts followed her scent to her location.”

“Does that mean he could smell her?” Amelia prompted.

“Yes and no,” Mrs. Sharp replied, seeming so invested in the topic that she didn’t notice Jackson passing notes with another were.

I wanted to wad up a sheet of paper and throw it at his head. How could anyone not find this information fascinating? But I didn’t need any more of a reputation than I already had, and it wasn’t like I had any paper, anyway.

“From what we’ve studied, the imprinted shifter isn’t aware of an actual odor,” Mrs. Sharp continued. “Many shifter species have experienced smelling fear, and it does have a distinct scent to it—just like lust.

“But in a situation like this, the fear in the pheromone signature bypasses the olfactory center of the brain and is detected directly by the amygdala—the part of the brain related to primitive instincts, such as fight-or-flight.

“Oftentimes, the imprinted partner isn’t aware of the trigger for what it is—a sign that their mate is in danger. They simply experience severe anxiety and an impulse to follow the signature, only recognizing the danger when they find their mate.”

“Sounds like it sucks to imprint on someone,” Jackson snickered under his breath, and I rolled my eyes in irritation.

“Thank you for your opinion, Mr. Hughes,” Mrs. Sharp said pointedly at him. “You and Mr. Black have just earned yourselves weekend detention.”

Jackson and the boy next to him groaned and folded their armsindignantly as snickers rose from the rest of the class. I smirked, spitefully pleased that Mrs. Sharp wasn’t as oblivious to their antics as she appeared to be. She was proving to be just as sharp as her last name implied.

The bell rang, announcing the end of the period, and I took my time gathering my things to let the other students file out so that I could have a moment alone with our teacher.

While I waited, I recognized Adina’s form walking slowly past me out of the corner of my eye—she intentionally went out of her way to go up my aisle—but I just kept my gaze forward at the whiteboard, forcing a smug smirk across my lips.

You’re not going to rile me, bitch. You don’t exist to me.

Maybe if I told myself that enough times, it would become reality. Or, at the very least, her and her friends’ presence wouldn’t phase me anymore.

When the last student exited the room, I shouldered my laptop bag and strode up to Mrs. Sharp.

“Mrs. Sharp?” I asked in my sweetest, most authority-placating tone. “I have a question about the imprint assignment.”

She looked up from her desk and smiled at me. “Yes? What do you need help with, dear?”

I cleared my throat softly to gather my courage. “Actually, I was hoping I might be able to write my paper on you and Mr. Sharp.”

Pink bloomed on her cheeks, and she nervously tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she looked away. “Oh, I’m flattered, but the assignment is to identify a famous imprinted shifter in history. And, well, I’m not famous.”

“I don’t know about that,” I hedged, batting my lashes. “You’rethe first non-shifter to teach at a shifter school. You’re at least well-known in the shifter community, and if you’re not a famous historical figure presently, you certainly will be in the future.”

She blushed even brighter, blinking several times more than necessary. “Who’s to say?”

I could feel I was close to getting a yes, so I laid the flattery on thicker. “Also, I find this topic really fascinating, and I would very much enjoy learning directly from you what it’s like to be in this kind of bond. I’d be honored if you’d let me interview you.”

She giggled then, and I knew I’d won her over. “Well, I suppose it couldn’t hurt. But I’ll expect your paper to be excellent.”

“Of course!” I gushed, sincerely promising to do my best on this assignment—to her and to myself.

“Alright, then,” she said, attempting to school her humility that was bordering on embarrassment. “Come by my office after classes today, and I’ll be happy to answer any questions you have.”

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