Understanding the Nexus

“You’ve all heard the phrase, ‘opposites attract’, right?” The tall, dark professor—Jaxn Lycidella, as evidenced by the epithet neatly scrawled on the whiteboard behind him—pacing in the front of the auditorium style classroom queries. My gaze hasn’t left him since I’d first been aware of his presence. I have to actively stop myself from drooling as he continues without waiting for an answer. “How bout, ‘Yin, yang’. Yeah? ‘What goes up, must come down’. Each of these sayings have distinctly different meanings behind them, right? But they all have one thing in common.” Professor Lycidella pauses with an oddly neat eyebrow for a guy raised as he scans the fifty-some-odd students.

I sit in the dead center of the raised seating, feeling that it has the best vantage point in the entire room. Unlike my sisters, Ami—who always choose to sit in the back—and Tre—who makes sure to sit as close to the exist as possible in order to beat the rush of students when class is dismissed—I like to make sure I can see everything. I’m generally an “overachiever” in most points-of-view. Although I’d like to think of myself as a just-the-right-amount-achiever. There’s nothing wrong with wanting to do well in whatever endeavor one encounters. Nevertheless, currently, I feel I may need to… reevaluate my decision. I’m not sure I’d be able to concentrate on the material I most assuredly need to have a grasp on, as this class is Nexian Theology, which is a core class here at Magian Academy. However much my brain continues to try and drill the point home, I’m still transfixed on the beauty of the older man standing in front of me.

Ahem. Us. The class.

Jaxn—Professor Lycidella—stands at approximately 6’7”, with skin the color of pure cacao, smooth and rich. Judging from the salt-and-pepper of his thin, freshly twisted dreads and sideburns that lead to equally neat-trimmed goatee, he’s in his late thirties, early forties. Fine as all hell, he adorns expensive black slacks that must be magia-tailored-to-fit, because they hug his ass to perfection and seem to gracefully glide against strong, muscular—I can only imagine—legs to Red-Bottom loafers. I drag my leering gaze up his thin, but obviously fit frame and land on his chest that fills out the fitted silk crêpe fabric of his button-down shirt. And is currently being blocked by his forearms, as they’re now crossed over his chest.

I frown.

I can’t decide if I’m upset about being obstructed from the view of peck heaven or delighted at the serious arm-porn that’s got me entranced.

Ahem. Sis? Tre’s amused voice filters through our sibling bond, breaking the spell I’d been under while staring at the tall drink of water. I could also feel Ami’s amusement, though I don’t dare look behind me. No matter how badly I want to glare in her direction. Treice’s interruption of my thoughts brought my eyes from the bulging veins of our older, very much unattainable¸ professor’s heated gaze. Never in my life had I ever been more glad to have darker skin, as this moment. My face burns at levels so high that I’d been red as a tomato. I swallow past the lump in my throat as I fight to keep the impassive expression both my sisters and myself have perfected over the years living with our respective clans.

Jaxn Lycidella. His eyes. I shouldn’t be able to see this distance, even with my advanced sight as a lyca shifter. But… I can. It’s as if he’s standing directly in front of me. Towering over me at my height of 5’9”. They have a unique combination of hazel-gray and an almost… opalescence quality, like the pearl of a mollusk or the horn of a unicorn. Unsure how long we’d been staring at each other, the professor is the one to break eye contact and clears this throat. Professon Lycidella doesn’t look at me again—which hurt way too much to be appropriate for a teacher-student relationship, let alone complete and utter strangers—when he speaks next. “Ms. ‘Strick’—”

”Strike.”

“Strike.”

“Strike.”

Amieka, Treice, and I automatically correct in unison. My voice even, Ami’s annoyed, and Tre’s more… playful. Even with our fathers’ all having different surnames than we do, our mother’s bloodline—the Stryk bloodline—is still rather well known. The Stryks had always been a great force of power in the mage community. And generally the main reason we’d even been admitted into Magian Academy. However, since the night of our mother’s murder during the Occult raid on our home, twelve years ago, the Stryk name had died down a bit. It’s not as if nobody hears the name anymore. It’s just not associated with us in the way it had before our fathers went their separate ways, splitting us up along with them.

“Ms. Stryk,” the hottest professor I’ve ever laid eyes on revised. “What attribute do the previously mentioned phrases, with obviously different meanings, have in common?” without needing to think too hard on it, as is my expertise and photographic memory, I confidently answer, “Balance.”

I’m sure I just imagined the upward tilt of his thick, luscious lips.

“Yes!” He states, breaking me away from falling into my own thoughts again. This has never happened to me before. It’s usually Tre that needs to be pulled back to reality with her…. Issues. Pay attention, dammit!

“Balance,” Professor Lycidella repeats as he swiftly strides to the whiteboard to write the word on the board in bold, black marker before circling it. “The Nexus is all about balance. Our very lives are all about balance! Where there’s light, there’s darkness. Where there’s right, there’s wrong. Good and evil. But the main thing is always balance.” A warm feeling fills me as my heart beats rapidly at the sight of this man’s excitement of the current subject. “We’re all taught about the Valkathran deities of each race, our own obviously more in depth than the others. However, there are those—such as yours truly—that dive deeper into the other pantheons’ histories. And there’s one thing that is standard within all doctrines. Balance.” He whispers the last word, aiding, I’d noticed, in grasping then attention of every student in the room.

Hell, even without the added attraction I seem to be imperially afflicted with, Professor Lycidella would quickly become one of my favorites just from the enthusiasm he displays for his field of study. Something I can most definitely admire in a person—hot or not. I’ve always been the type that loves to learn and throw my whole self into something I deem important enough. And it seems as though this is a man after my own heart. I shove all other thoughts to the back of my mind, determined to learn as much as I can from this man. Er… Class.

Dammit.

“During the first half this course,” the professor resumes. “We will be discussing the Nexus and how it relates to all beings of Valkathra. Mages and magian shifters aren’t the only beings that the Nexus supports, irrespective of what some groups may believe. Mystics and mundane alike benefit from the Nexus and the mana that it supplies. After the Triple Eclipse holidays, we will go over what happens when magian energy is corrupted.” Professor Lycidella says this last part in such an ominous way, it sent chills down my spine. And I’m quite possibly not the only one affected by his words of obvious caution.

After a few moments of gloomy silence, Professor Lycidella claps once—loudly—breaking the melancholy he’d very purposefully descended upon us for dramatic effect, causing a number of students to jump from the suddenness of the noise. He notices and chuckles darkly.

Oh, he likes to play. I muse with a small smirk.

“Alright. As today is the first day of the term, I’ll be generous and release you from my clutches. But be warned,” he pauses, which causes the students that had already begun gathering their belongings in preparation of leaving to also stop in their tracks. “This is not an ‘easy-A’ class. Understanding the Nexus is vital within the magian community, as she is the center of magian energy we know as mana; the lifeblood of a mage as essential as oxygen. So, come prepared when we meet again, next Monday. You may go. Ah, Ms. Stryk?” He calls before I can even attempt to escape. Shit. I knew he’d call out. At least I don’t have to wonder if he’d felt what I’d felt.

My sisters don’t even need to verify the Ms. Stryk in which he refers and happily amble out of the classroom with the rest of the class. I take my time collecting things, not looking up from my task until the last of my peers have filed out of the room. Suddenly having trouble swallowing, I peek up and notice the professor hadn’t moved from his spot leaning his ass against the front of his desk, arms crossed across his chest again. His pearly, hazel-gray eyes boring into my very being. “I don’t understand what’s happening,” I whisper, knowing that his lycan scenes would pick up every syllable. He arches and eyebrow. One that says, “get your ass over here”. The dominance I’ve felt of his wolf spirit since he’d stepped into the vicinity of my rather wide radius of scenes now oozes from him. Demanding that I obey his command. He is most definitely an Alpha.

Yum. I inwardly roll my eyes at my wolf’s input.

Now you decide to grace my consciousness with your annoying presence? I question dryly. Where the hell were you the entire time I’d been trying to pay attention to class?! You’re supposed to be my conscious. Not necessarily true, but I like to use that as a guilt trip on my wolf spirit since she’s an ass and likes to make me look like a bitch more often than not in some situations. I don’t wait for her response as I stand, grabbing my messenger bad and slinging it over my head so the strap lands on my opposite shoulder and make my way down the few steps toward the rather intimidating Alpha-male whose gaze has yet to stray from my own orbs of sapphire. The intensity of his stare seems to pull me in like I’d never felt before and my heart races at the new—and dare I add, exhilarating—sensation running through me while I close the distance between us, stopping when there’s only two feet between us.

I may be enamored by this man, but I still have enough rationality within myself to know that we should keep a safe, appropriate distance. Even with this gap he towers over me. Finally breaking eye contact yet not releasing this peculiar hold he has over me, he stares at the remaining two feet I’d left between us with a frown. I life an eyebrow in question, but don’t say anything. He’s the one that called me out. So he can be the one to start this conversation.

“Come. Here.” His voice is low; a sound so deep that it vibrates through me like being right next to the speakers at a rock concert and my core tightens. I try to swallow past the lump that’s formed in my throat, preventing me from speaking at the present moment. His Alpha energy leaving no room for dispute forces me to comply and close the last of the gap I’d tried to maintain. This close, I can hardly concentrate on anything separate from his alluring scent of red wine and chocolate. Captivated by everything about this man—this Jaxn Lycidella—I wait with bated breath for the next word he’ll utter. And I am struck stupid with what that next word is. At the same time my lycan spirit verbalizes what I was trying to ignore, so does he.

“Mate.”