Chapter Thirty-Six: Carol's POV
"He never told me." I said softly. "When I woke up, he acted like nothing had happened. Like it was just a normal conversion, like I was overreacting."
"That's Maurice. He doesn't like people seeing him vulnerable. With you..." Paul continued, "let's just say he had his reasons for keeping it from you too. Whether those reasons were good or not."
Before I could ask what those reasons might be, Paul glanced back at the lab door.
"Look, I shouldn't be telling you this. If Hilda finds out, she won't let me off. But you looked like you needed to know." He paused. "Honestly, I think Maurice would want you to understand, though he'd never admit it. Just... be careful, okay?"
Then Paul nodded at me and went back into the lab, leaving me alone in the hallway.
I stood there for a long time, slowly digesting what I'd heard.
I didn't have class that afternoon, and before I'd even had time to think about it, I already knew I was going to see Maurice.
I wanted to understand what had really happened during the conversion, and what price he'd paid.
More than that, I wanted to know if what Leah said was true, whether he actually cared about me as a person, or if I was just a research subject with interesting blood.
Leaving the lab, I tried to recall the way to Maurice's house.
Even though my senses were much sharper than before, following those familiar scents all the way there took longer than expected.
Maurice lived in an older Seattle neighborhood, with tall cedars lining the streets, houses hidden behind well-manicured lawns and thick hedges.
I stood at his door for a long time before ringing the bell, rain hitting my jacket, wondering if this was a stupid idea.
Before I could decide, the door opened, and Maurice stood there. All the words I'd prepared completely vanished.
He looked terrible.
He was already pale, as all vampires are, but this was different.
He'd clearly fed recently, his cheeks still carrying a faint flush, probably within the last hour. But even that couldn't hide the exhaustion on his face.
He was wearing casual clothes.
This was almost as surprising as seeing his face. Maurice, who was always wrapped in three-piece suits and pristine lab coats, maintaining professional distance even in informal settings.
But today he wore soft sweatpants and a black T-shirt, looking younger and more vulnerable than I'd ever seen him.
"Carol, I didn't expect you," he said.
The words fell between us, a bit awkward.
"Paul told me what happened to you." My mouth short-circuited, forgetting all the polite phrases I'd prepared. "He said converting me nearly destroyed you, that you haven't recovered, that Hilda's afraid it might be permanent damage. Why didn't you tell me?"
Maurice looked at me, his expression unreadable behind his gold-rimmed glasses.
He didn't answer, just stepped back from the door, making space for me to enter.
His house was exactly what I expected—minimalist furniture, gray and white tones, cold and impersonal. But books were piled everywhere, medical journals on tables, an unwashed coffee cup on the kitchen counter.
I followed him into the living room. He sat on the couch, less gracefully than usual. For the first time since I'd known him, Maurice St. Claire looked fragile.
"I didn't tell you," he began, "because it had nothing to do with your recovery. The consequences of the conversion on me were my choice and my responsibility. You were dying, Carol. You were lying on that gymnasium floor, internal organs crushed, spine broken in several places. If I hadn't intervened, you would have been dead in minutes. So, please forgive me for not feeling I needed anyone's approval to save your life."
These words should have made me angry, but my attention was caught by several folders on the coffee table.
They were manila folders scattered on the glass surface.
The top one was half-open, revealing the letterhead of the North American Cross-Species Peace Council. I could see my school's name printed in black font on what looked like a report.
"What's this?" I asked, leaning closer to see better.
The folder closest to me had a label that read: "Seattle University Campus Division - Werewolf Attack Investigation - Preliminary Report."
Next to it was something like an official ID card with Maurice's photo, the kind used to access restricted files and classified information.
Maurice leaned forward, moving carefully, and gently closed the folder before I could read more.
But it was too late. What I'd seen was enough to understand what this was.
These weren't academic papers or research notes. These were official investigation files, the kind only people with specific clearance could access.
"You're not just a professor, are you?" I said slowly. "You're a council investigator. That's why you were at the gymnasium that night. You weren't passing by, you were already investigating something."
Maurice was silent for a moment, then leaned back into the couch, looking directly into my eyes.
"Yes, I work for the council," he said. "I'm a field investigator for the Pacific Northwest region, handling incidents that could threaten peace between our species. The gymnasium attack fell under my jurisdiction, which is why I could get there so quickly."
He paused, then added, "Before you ask, I didn't know you'd be there. Your presence was an accident in the investigation of suspected werewolf activity on campus."
This truth didn't shock me as much as I'd expected. Instead, it felt like everything finally made sense.
"The wolves that attacked me," I began, "weren't random, were they? Someone specifically sent them to kill me."
Maurice's expression darkened. He reached over to open one of the folders, revealing a stack of photos and printed reports.
"That's exactly what I've been investigating. The attack was too well-organized to be rogue wolves acting alone. Someone had to be orchestrating it, someone who knew your schedule."
He flipped through several pages, stopping at a blurry surveillance image showing a figure crossing campus at night. "Based on the current investigation, I believe the source is within the Carter family."
Just as I'd thought.
"But that's not all you've been investigating, is it?" I asked, recalling details I'd glimpsed in the files. "What's in those other folders?"
He took out another folder, thicker this time, and pushed it toward me. It was full of shipping manifests and photos that looked like they'd been taken with a telephoto lens.
"About a week ago, a shipment of weapons was delivered to Carter Manor. The source can be traced back to a merchant in the Andreas family."
I gasped.
The Andreas family and the Carter family had joined forces.
Simon was preparing to marry Isabella, intending to consolidate the alliance and stabilize Seattle's power structure.
But if the Carters were secretly cooperating with the Andreas family, wasn't Simon walking straight into a carefully laid trap?
"This is internal family business," Maurice continued. "According to council regulations, conflicts between werewolves are internal matters, and the council doesn't intervene unless they threaten the human world or violate established peace treaties. As an investigator, I can only gather intelligence, I can't directly interfere in family politics."
He closed the folder and set it aside. "Whatever the Carters are planning, you or Simon, or both of you, will be targets."
I sat on the couch beside him, thinking quickly.
If those wolves were sent by Isabella, if the Carter family was really conspiring with the Andreas family, then Simon's marriage might have been a trap from the start.
But how could I tell him? How could I explain that I knew about council investigations, weapon shipments, and surveillance photos?
I sat there, my thoughts in chaos, but one idea was becoming clearer: I couldn't just sit here waiting.
Whether I went to find Simon or investigated myself, I had to do something.
"There's something else you should know," he said, pulling me from my thoughts. "Over the past two weeks, four humans have disappeared in Seattle. No bodies, no evidence, except they all vanished in the evening in relatively populated areas. No clear pattern. The council suspects supernatural involvement, either vampires feeding too aggressively or werewolves losing control, but we haven't found any definitive connection."
He turned to look at me with concern. "Until we figure out what's happening, you need to be careful. Stay on campus as much as possible, don't go out alone at night, and if you notice anything unusual, report it immediately. Whatever you are now, you're not invincible."
Everything he'd told me weighed on me, so heavy I could barely breathe.
The missing people, secret alliances, assassination attempts—too much, too complicated, I didn't know where to start.
I was about to speak when the air between us changed, subtle but impossible to ignore.
Maurice became very quiet, his breathing shallow. I looked at him, his eyes slightly unfocused.
"Are you okay?" I asked, though I already knew the answer.
"You should go," he said, his voice pressed very low. "I just fed, but your proximity is... making things harder to control. The blood bond between us makes you too attractive to me. You're not safe here."
I knew I should listen, should stand up and leave before things got out of hand.
"Do you want me?" I said.
"Not as a research subject, not as your student, not as some excuse you use to rationalize everything. Do you actually want me, Maurice?"
"Yes." He said, his voice so low it was almost a whisper. "God help me, yes."
I knew I should be afraid, should remember what happened last time I was alone with him, isolated and helpless.
But I only felt an inexplicable satisfaction, a satisfaction in making this vampire who'd lived over a hundred years, this man with such strong control, lose his composure.
I stood up, leaving the couch, creating distance between us.
Maurice didn't stop me, didn't even move.
He just closed his eyes, took several deep breaths, clearly trying to calm himself down.
When he opened his eyes again, he looked more like his usual self—the professor I'd known for months, not the man who'd just admitted he wanted me.
"Thank you for telling me all this." I tried to keep my voice steady. "I'll be careful. I hope you recover soon."