Page 7 of The Fae's Gamble

The entire room was a dark green color and smelled like ink and tobacco. There were no windows, but the soft, tinted glow of a banker’s lamp illuminated the space. Fern spotted an immaculate tea set on a rolling cart, its polish silver shining in the warm light. It looked like it was the only thing that had been cleaned recently.

Dr. Welsh moved behind his desk and sat down, adjusting his jacket as he did so. He didn’t look at her as he fixed his glasses and started examining a folio in front of him.

“Take a seat, Ms. McEwan.” Dr. Welsh’s voice was quiet, but it left no room for argument. Fern nearly tripped over her own feet to obey him. As she stepped over a pile of British Almanacs, something else stuck out to her about the tiny room. It differed from the rest of the department because of the sheer number of artifacts in it.

While the rest of the hallways seemed to only hold the odd statue and the cast-offs of a small city library, this room looked like the basement hovel of the British Museum.

I wonder if everything here is stolen too. Fern chuckled to herself as she sat down, narrowly avoiding what looked like an ancient quiver. Her hands fidgeted in her lap as she waited for Dr. Welsh to speak.

She couldn’t stop herself from staring. Everything about him seemed perfectly at home in the university environment, but his eyes were downright feral. He was only reading something in a notebook, but Fern was waiting for him to pounce.

A minute passed. She was about to interrupt and ask why he wanted to speak to her, but he seemed to read Fern’s mind. Dr. Welsh looked up, meeting her eyes for the first time.

Everything in her world stopped.

Fern’s breath caught in her throat as her stomach dropped to her feet. She gripped the arm of the chair tighter and tried to keep some of the shock off her face. All she could see was the intensity behind his gaze, as he stared right back at her, equally affected. She could’ve sworn that in the low light, his eyes flashed gold.

Everything in Dr. Welsh tensed as all of his poise vanished. If Fern thought he had looked like he was a predator before, it was nothing compared to the way he stared at her now. His nostrils flared, and one hand went to grip his cane, now resting against the side of his chair.

Fern was a second away from calling out for Mara, and Dr. Welsh’s entire demeanor shifted again. The golden light in his eyes went out, and he regarded Fern with the cool, dismissive attitude of a supervisor. It was enough to give her whiplash.

“Ms. McEwan…”

“Please, call me Fern.” Fern forced a smile, trying to diffuse the tension in the room with an overly polite corporate attitude. Dr. Welsh raised a brow in response.

“Fern.” It was the first time he said her name aloud, and the slightest hint of a smile crossed his brooding face. Fern immediately regretted that she insisted he use it. He said it with a low, possessive tone, like he was tasting something decadent, and her thighs clenched.

You seriously cannot be such a cliché! She tried to get a handle on her racing pheromones. If this is your supervisor, it is not the time to play ‘hot for teacher.’

“You know,” Dr. Welsh leaned back in his chair and pulled a pipe out of his desk drawer, “in most magical societies, it’s considered very dangerous to give out your first name.” He lit the pipe and smoked it, an unmistakable challenge in his eyes.

“Well,” Fern sat up straighter, “technically speaking, it’s your true name you shouldn’t give out. For all you know, I haven’t given that to you.”

“Haven’t you, though?” He blew a perfect smoke ring and looked back at the file on his desk. Calum looked at Fern with either terrifying undivided attention or borderline nonchalance. There was no in between.

“Perhaps I have,” she bit back, “but I can’t see how that’s relevant.”

“Can’t you?” He chuckled, picking up the folder. “You’re here to study… Yes, magical societies, is it?”

“I should hope you know that, seeing as you accepted my application, and that puts me under your guidance.” She regretted her word choice, and her body flushed at the idea of what being under a man like Dr. Welsh would be like.

“So it does. Yes, magical societies—”

“Ancient magical societies,” Fern cut him off, her controlling nature rising to the surface. If it was a challenge he wanted, it would be a challenge he’d get. “I’m only interested in the magical communities that no longer exist on Earth. My specialty is determining which mythologies and places ever existed and which were fabricated, Calum.” She raised a brow and mimicked his expression. His smirk widened.

“Your thoughts on the Greeks, then?” He was testing her, and she knew it.

“True, but the Olympians abandoned their presence here around 1673 CE.”

“Avalon?”

“True.”

He inhaled deeply from his pipe, exhaling smoke as he murmured, “What of Scotland? Her magic and creatures?”

“Myth.” Fern rolled her eyes. “There’s no evidence of Scotland’s mythologies prior to the Battle of Culloden. The stories are likely constructed as a way of survival to combat the British occupation.”

Calum’s face slowly contorted, his smile widening. There was nothing friendly about it, all teeth and savagery, as his eyes flashed gold again. He sat up straighter and leaned across his desk. The air around them came alive, like it was buzzing with static electricity. He stood up to his full height, his fingers flexing over the head of his cane.