Lucretia forces a deep, wavering breath, every nerve alight. “I spoke to Soo. She...she told me that you’re attracted to me. She said...it’s one of the strongest attractions she’s ever sensed.” Lucretia can barely get the words out, can barely breathe evenly.

Jules’s gaze changes, something powerful flashing in his eyes that she’s never seen before. He looks away, his jaw ticking. “I’m sorry. I’ve always tried to keep that to myself. But I can’t change how I feel about you.” The words are tight with contrition, rigidly contained.

And Lucretia realizes, in that moment, how tightly contained she’s kept her own feelings. Is it any wonder they’ve misread each other for so many years? She takes in his beloved face, washed in lavender. His mussed brown hair, rumpled clothing and tarnished spectacles.

“Well, you see,” Lucretia stammers, “the thing is... I feel exactly the same for you.”

Jules’s eyes widen as they meet hers.

“I’ve been in love with you for years,” Lucretia admits in an impassioned rush.

Jules pulls in a sharp breath and swallows. “Lucretia,” he says, his voice rougher than she’s ever heard it sound, “every time I see you...” He breaks off, as if the emotion is too intense to be voiced. Too long held inside, carefully guarded.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” she asks.

He gives her a rueful look. “Because I never once imagined that you could possibly feel for me what I was feeling for you.”

“Why?” Lucretia asks, stunned. “Because I was constantly feigning interest in one cursed Gardnerian suitor after another? To escape fasting?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “You just never gave any indication.”

Lucretia loosens a sigh. “If we could read affinities like Lupines and Wyverns, this would have been a lot easier.”

“What would I have read in you, Lucretia?”

“That I have loved you ever since I first laid eyes on you,” she says, her voice breaking. “You would have been swept under by an overwhelming tide.” With a trembling hand, Lucretia reaches into her tunic pocket, draws out a small vial of herbs, and sets it decidedly down on the table between them.

Jules stills, his eyes on the vial, his gaze lifting to Lucretia’s in question.

“Sanjire root,” she says as heat spreads up her neck, her voice stilted with nerves. “I’d like to stay the night. With you. Be my Xishlon’vir, Jules Kristian.”

Jules swallows as he focuses on the herbs. Unmoving. “I have nothing to offer you, Lucretia,” he says, voice low and taut with feeling. “I’m a powerless history professor in a world about to descend into chaos.”

“You could become Lupine if you want power.”

His head bobs in silent amusement. He shoots her a knowing glance. “I prefer to be the alpha of my own life. It’s a trade-off.”