Page 103 of Nocturne

She nods. “As okay as one could be right now.”

Before I can ask her anything else, I see her frowning. I follow the direction of her gaze, and it lands on a small group of students standing outside my classroom. They are murmuring amongst themselves, not getting inside the room.

“What’s wrong, people?”

All of them look at me, different reactions panning on their faces. But one stands out the most. Fear.

That makes me frown as I peek into the classroom. And try as I might, I cannot stop the shock and instant carnal desire when I see Zagan sitting in one of the first chairs in nonchalant elegance.

I haven’t seen him around the university ever since my ankle and hip healed. Even if a certain part of me was bummed by it, I was mostly thankful that I wouldn’t have to be under his scrutiny. But looking at him here, his right ankle crossed over his other knee, a streak of his dark hair falling on his forehead while his dark suit hugs his muscular frame like sin, I forgot what it is to breathe. Some of the students who were gutsy enough to walk in and seat themselves couldn’t help but stare at him.

It is human nature to have a morbid interest in anything that scares us. And they are looking at the beast of a man whose scars shine under the sunlight streaming from the window, his majesticness that cannot be contained in the room. Someone who screams danger from a mile ahead.

As if feeling my stare on him, Zagan turns, giving me his transfixing eyes that pin me to the spot. I hear students around me gasp. I see them fidgeting and hiding, but I also see the female students being drawn to him. It is very normal for thekids to be drawn towards a bad boy. Little do they know that the man is no bad boy but a devil who wears his skin with pride.

And I do not like the pang of something sharp and green sludging through me when I notice that he is receiving more attention from the girls. I can almost see the sexual desires painted on their faces.

“Get inside,”

They do, albeit reluctantly and looking at me in question. I’m not going to let them see that I have no clue what this man is doing in my classroom.

No. He has no power here. This is my classroom, and as long as he sits in one of those chairs, for all intents and purposes, he is a student.Mystudent.

“Good luck getting through the day,” Ivy chuckles in my ear before she saunters off.

If I could’ve, I would’ve glared at her. But every speck of energy inside me is required to take my eyes off those magnetic ones that want to pull me in.

“Good morning, everyone,” I say, my voice steady despite the way my body hums with awareness of him.

I set my materials down on the desk and force myself to look away from him. I can’t get distracted. I take my job seriously, no matter if I have to do it even in the presence of an imposing oaf.

I notice the students giving Zagan a wide berth as they take their seats. I shake my head slightly, understanding their fear but also angered that they would judge him without any reason. If hewanted to do some harm, I don’t think he would be sitting this calm.

Humans and their imminent need to judge, categorise and gossip about people is as exhausting as it is irritating.

“Today, we’ll be diving into CRISPR-Cas9 gene editing and its applications in human genetics,” I continue, my tone commanding as I take my place at the front of the room. “CRISPR is a game-changer. It allows us to target and modify specific genes within living organisms with unparalleled precision.”

I know my students. I know that once I dive into the lesson that will help in their research, I will have their rapt attention. And I need them to look at me and not at Zagan.

Despite the limited time we have spent in each other’s company, I understood that he doesn’t like attention. No one would when they receive it for the wrong reasons. I don’t want these kids looking at his scars and peeking at his tattoos, categorising him as a thug and condemning him the way he doesn’t deserve.

Zagan might be a tyrant and occasional jerk, but he doesn’t deserve more scrutiny than he already gets from people wherever he goes.

I try to focus on the lesson, but every time I move, I can feel his eyes tracking me. My skin tingles and I’m acutely aware of the heat pooling in my stomach, a warmth I don’t want to acknowledge. Not here. Not in front of my students.

I point at the complex structure of the CRISPR-Cas9 system on the smartboard, the intricate diagrams swirling with labelled components that would overwhelm anyone unprepared for the depth of the topic. But not my students.

“At its core, CRISPR-Cas9 has two main components,” I say, trying to ignore the way his gaze feels like it’s peeling away the layers of my composure. “The Cas9 protein, which acts as a highly specialised molecular scissor, cutting the double-stranded DNA at a precise target site. But here’s the catch,” I pause, letting the room settle into attentive silence, “it doesn’t act alone.”

I take a steadying breath and continue.

I stride toward the board, circling a specific region in the diagram with a red laser pointer. “The guide RNA,” I explain, “is what makes this system revolutionary. It’s programmed with a sequence complementary to the target DNA. When the Cas9 and guide RNA form a complex, they operate with precision on an unparalleled scale—surgical, deliberate.”

I’m aware of the students’ eyes on me, but I can’t help but feel Zagan’s attention like a heavy weight on my back. My mind flickers back to last night, to the dream I had about him—aboutus.Why do I remember this one in such vivid detail? Like it has really happened? The feel of those bands of steel gripping me in my most sensitive areas. His tongue, diving into me, exploring regions no one ever did. His hands around my neck as he growledmine.

I shake my head, fighting to focus. I can’t think about that. Not now. Not here.

I glance at the rows of faces, gauging their comprehension. They’re keeping up, as they should. Still, I decide to push them further.

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