Page 9 of My Professor is a Demon

The simple promise, offered without demand for explanation or reciprocal revelation, touched something deep within me. I’d never known trust that hadn’t come with conditions.

"Thank you," I said, the words inadequate for what I felt.

We walked in companionable silence until the lights of the dormitories came into view. Before we reached the building, Charlotte stopped, turning to face me in the gentle summer darkness.

"When you're ready to tell me," she said softly, "I'll be ready to listen."

Then she stretched up on tiptoes and, before I could react, pressed a quick kiss to my cheek. Her lips left a burning imprint on my skin, her supernatural signature briefly merging with mine in a way that sent shockwaves through my carefully constructed barriers.

"Goodnight, Professor," she said, sunny smile returning as she bounced away toward the doors, leaving me standing speechless in her wake.

I touched my cheek where her lips had been, feeling the lingering connection between us. In that brief contact, I'd sensed something impossible. Something I missed during the overwhelming experience at the eastern quadrant—her energy signature wasn't merely compatible with mine; it was complementary, as if designed specifically to balance the chaos of my demonic nature.

Whatever Charlotte Evers was, she was far more than the human graduate student she appeared to be. And my growingfeelings for her were far more dangerous than she could possibly understand.

***

I glared at the midnight darkness outside my apartment window, willing the shadows to reveal their secrets. Three sleepless nights spent monitoring the eastern quadrant from a distance had yielded disturbing patterns but no clear answers. The corruption in the ley lines was spreading, creating subtle disharmonies that intensified supernatural tensions throughout Midnight Creek.

More concerning was Hell's unusual silence. Vorthazul should have demanded progress reports on my investigation of Charlotte Evers. Instead, nothing—no communication, no demonic visitations. Such restraint was uncharacteristic and deeply suspicious.

Charlotte. Even thinking her name sent a pulse through my energy field. Since our expedition, since she'd glimpsed my true nature and responded with acceptance rather than fear, I'd been fighting a losing battle against my growing attachment to her.

My phone buzzed with a message. I expected one of the other professors or the dean with some tiresome update. Instead, I found Charlotte's name on the screen:

Found something in today's readings. Energy signature doesn't match natural patterns. Can we meet? Important. - CE

I should discourage further contact. The wisest course would be to create distance, protect her through separation rather than continued interaction.

Instead, I typed:My office. 30 minutes.

Her response came immediately:On my way. Bringing coffee and those chocolate croissants you pretend not to like.

I smiled despite myself. Her uncanny ability to notice details about me—preferences I thought I'd kept hidden—was both disconcerting and strangely warming.

When she arrived exactly twenty-seven minutes later, her cheeks were flushed from hurrying across campus, blonde curls escaping their confinement as usual. She carried the promised coffee and pastries, along with a messenger bag bulging with research materials.

Tonight, she wore a pale blue dress that ended mid-thigh, the color matching her eyes and highlighting the creamy skin of her legs. I found my gaze following the line of her thigh as she moved around my office.

"You won't believe what I found," she announced without preamble, setting everything down on my desk. "The energy signatures in the eastern quadrant—they're not random corruption. They're a message."

I raised an eyebrow, intrigued despite my caution. "A message? From whom to whom?"

"That's the fascinating part." She pulled out sheaves of printouts, spreading them across my desk with characteristic enthusiasm. "When I converted the energy pattern disruptions into visual wavelengths, this appeared."

She pointed to a series of geometric patterns that seemed vaguely familiar, though I couldn't immediately place them. "These symbols aren't in any conventional magical taxonomy, but they appear in boundary mythology—stories about entities that maintain separation between supernatural realms."

"Boundary entities?" I asked, a cold suspicion forming. "Like dimensional guardians?"

"Exactly!" She beamed at me, clearly delighted I'd made the connection. "According to obscure texts in the restricted section, they once maintained balance between realms, preventing any single supernatural power from dominating across dimensions."

Including Hell, I thought but didn't say. If boundary entities were involved, the situation was even more complex than I'd feared.

She leaned over the desk, tracing the patterns with her finger, completely absorbed in the discovery. The position caused her dress to pull tight across her hips, outlining the gentle curve that my hands itched to follow. A strand of golden hair fell forward, brushing against the graceful column of her neck, drawing my attention to the pulse point visible beneath her delicate skin. My enhanced senses could detect its quickened rhythm, matching my own increasing pulse.

"These symbols," Charlotte said, "they're not creating corruption—they're a warning about it. Almost like... a call for help."

"Or a test," I murmured, pieces falling into place.

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