She guided me up the carpeted stairs. Where was Watson? It didn't matter. Here was a door that she opened, almost clumsy with eagerness. Here was the soft, cozy darkness of a bedroom, a four-poster bed draped in glossy damasks. It was as elegant and homey as the rest of the house, with a heavy, old-world glamor. A single bedside light burned gently.
“Sit, here. Stay still."
She lowered me gently onto the edge of the bed. I sat trembling, aware of my body in a way I never had been before. It felt present and urgent—not just skin and bones but desire and intention. Professor Stone stood in front of me, regal and impossible as always, looking down at me with a hard fire in her dark eyes that made my stomach tighten. I knew that hunger: I'd seen it before. Then I'd been afraid. Now I knew h
