Mythology 101
Persephone
“And lastly… A very ominous name, Persephone Vale.”
I raise my hand for attendance and brace for the coming commentary on my unorthodox first name—even more so because this was an Ancient Mythology 101 class.
Why did I do this to myself? It’s my last semester before graduation.
“The name Persephone means, ‘The Bringer of Death,’ ‘The Destroyer of Light,’ but in Greek mythology, she’s more popularly known as the ‘Queen of the Underworld.’ Do you plan on causing trouble in my class, Miss Vale?” The professor—the infamous Professor Mavros, who ruled over his classroom like it was his own plane of oblivion—looked down over his glasses and raised a dark eyebrow at me.
I shook my head vigorously, but ironically, trouble seemed to follow me—okay, that’s a lie, I was trouble.
How did he see through me so easily? An educated guess, for sure.
“Good, because while I understand this course for many of you is a fun elective, I expect you to treat it as seriously as any other course.” As he went on to explain the syllabus and his expectations, I zoned out, studying the perfectly aged man as he paced the front of the room.
While his undeniable looks were the stuff of legend all over campus, the mysterious professor had a cold demeanor that could freeze a summer day. He walked with an air of superiority and a scowl that could turn anyone to stone. Whispers followed Mister Tall, Dark, and Single like shadows, as did a horde of pining students.
Rumors swirled about a troubled, violent past—and maybe present. No one knew the truth, but the speculation only made him more intriguing. The way his sharp gaze flickered with something unreadable at times, glimpses of tattoos beneath his ironed shirts, the faint scarring along his knuckles, and one on his chin below his lip—it all added to the enigma.
It felt a bit surreal to be in one of his classes. I had seen him around and partook in my share of admiring his god-like physique, but the feelings were superficial. Many took his classes just to gawk or experience him, like he was a creature from ancient lore. I always had a fondness for learning new things, so I decided to take something fun in my last semester.
Sue me, Dr. Mavros.
After this, I was off to grad school and needed to land a job, preferably one in my field of Sports Medicine, for experience—since degrees mean little these days.
“Your first assignment is to choose a myth that speaks to you and write your initial thoughts on its meaning through your life experiences. Think about what purpose the myth would have in daily life and what lesson it is trying to teach.”
Jotting down the assignment at the end of class, it seemed I was not lucky enough to finish my first week of the spring semester without homework. Particularly, I was hoping for less with my capstone project as well as sports schedule bogging down my free time. I wanted to enjoy my last undergrad semester with my friends before the real world became real. I was twenty-two and free as a bird to find excitement—or mischief—where I wished.
Yet, my idea of mischief was not messing around with my grades or Dr. Mavros.
After the lecture, I cautiously approached the man as if he were a hungry Minotaur. “Um, Dr. Mavros?”
He looked up from his laptop, slowly closing it before sliding off his glasses. Hazel eyes met mine—sharp, molten, and startlingly beautiful beneath thick brows etched in his face like stone. They flicked over me like a judgment, slow and deliberate, taking in more than I was ready for. The olive skin, the neat tie and black dress shirt, and the dark and slightly silver streaked hair carefully styled—it was all unfairly, irritatingly hot for a man just under 40.
“Yes?” The word was calm, clipped—but God, that voice. Low and dry, like a threat wrapped in satin.
“I just wanted to drop off the lacrosse team’s schedule.” I held out the paper like an offering. “There’ll be a few classes where I might have to leave early for away games or miss class entirely.”
He didn’t take it at first—just watched me for a beat too long. When he finally plucked it from my hand, his fingers brushed mine. A jolt, sharp and hot, shot through my wrist. He didn’t seem to notice.
Or maybe he did. It was hard to tell with his stone facade.
Sliding his glasses on again, he skimmed the page, unimpressed. “You might as well not bother coming at all those days. I’ll be marking you absent regardless.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Attendance is part of your grade,” he explained, eyes still on the page. “If you miss too many classes, you fail that portion. Simple as that.”
“I understand. I was listening today when you went over it, but these games are sanctioned by the university. This,” boldly flicking the page he held, “is weeks of notice so I can stay on top of the work.”
He finally looked at me again. Hard. That stare could’ve pinned a lesser girl to the wall. For me, it just made me dig my heels in deeper.
“Excused or not, you won’t be here while your classmates are. If I gave everyone points when they didn’t show, no one would come to class. The whole system falls apart, and besides, this isn’t a course that works well in pieces.”
I straightened, my jaw tightening. “I can keep up. I’m a senior, not some dazed freshman.”
One brow arched—just slightly. “Miss Vale, if you don’t like the rules, you’re welcome to drop the class and find a professor who will cater to your schedule.”
I took a breath, ignoring the way his voice made “Miss Vale” sound like something indecent. My pulse had no business reacting this way to someone I wanted to punch.
“Tempting, but I’m not going anywhere. I’ll take it up with the Athletic Director.”
His gaze dipped, just barely, to my lips, then back to my eyes, which narrowed at him. “You’re a stubborn one,” he murmured, tone unreadable. “Be careful with that. Stubbornness can be... misunderstood.”
Only by men who are used to not being challenged, I wanted to snap back.
Instead, I stood my ground, slapping my best fuck you smile on. “I won’t be dropping the class, Dr. Mavros.”
That earned an arrogant flicker in those deep whiskey eyes, and his lips twitched. He handed back the schedule unceremoniously. “Do what you want. My rules still stand.”
I turned to leave, feeling his eyes tracing my every movement like a predator sizing up prey. He was about to find out I was anything but prey. As my hand found the door, his voice uncoiled behind me—
“By the way,” he added with a tone of nonchalance, as if I was just an annoying little gnat, “If you’re going to keep challenging me, Miss Vale... you’d better be prepared to lose.”
Stomping around campus for the rest of the day in a haze, even a brisk workout at the campus gym and the frosty January air couldn’t cool my temper. Getting back to the apartment I shared with my bestie off-campus, she could immediately see I was in a mood, sipping on a hot bowl of ramen.
Chelsea froze, watching me pass by under her sandy blonde bangs. “Why do you look like you’re on the warpath?”
“Because I am.” I threw down my bag and opened my laptop. “One of my professors decided that away games were not an acceptable excuse to miss class. Attendance is 25% of my grade, and my GPA will not drop because Professor Mavros believes he can do whatever he wants.”
“Did you say Professor Mavros? The Prince of Darkness? Hades himself?”
I pointed at her and clicked my tongue.
“Girl, you’re taking on Mavros? You’re either brave or stupid.” Sitting next to me while I pounded out an email to the Athletic Director, her wide baby blues never left me. “What’s he like? I’ve only ever seen him around campus, not had him for class.”
After hitting send, I shook out my long chestnut hair out of its messy bun. “He’s a smug, arrogant tyrant.”
“And hot?”
“Extremely. Too bad for the sucky personality that goes along with it. No wonder he’s single. Either way, he messed with the wrong chick. If he thinks he’s going to scare me, Persephone Vale, he’s got another thing coming. I didn’t survive growing up with three protein shake guzzling men to back down from the likes of Dr. Mavros.”
The next day, an email from Mr. Keenan, the university’s Athletic Director, appeared in my inbox. He wanted to meet—apparently, Mavros had already gotten to him.
The bastard beat me to it.
A flare of irritation burned through me, but beneath it, something else sparked—a sharp, restless energy I couldn’t pin down.
Fine. If he wants to play hardball, I’ll play harder.
The door to the Athletic Director’s office clicked shut behind me after a grueling hour. I hadn’t expected a full-on interrogation about my schedule, my scholarship, or trying to reason out why Dr. Mavros was “making an example” out of me. Apparently, I wasn’t the first to complain in all the years he’d been teaching here, just the first student he expressly deemed a disturber in his Underworld.
Damn my big mouth.
Leaving the building, I was still pulling my hoodie down when I turned the corner—
—and walked straight into him.
Professor Mavros didn’t even flinch. Just as I moved to push past him, the polished toe of his shoe hooked sharply in front of my path, forcing me to halt mid-step. No hands, no effort—just that infuriating arrogance, as if he couldn’t be bothered to lift a finger to stop me.
Then he loomed over me, all dark eyes and cutting presence, close enough that I had to tilt my head back to meet his gaze. The air between us crackled—challenge and defiance, barely contained.
“Miss Vale,” he began smoothly, as if I hadn’t just body-checked him. “Productive meeting?” His body radiated heat in his expensive charcoal suit, smelling like leather and something smoky.
“I told him everything.” I imparted, crossing my arms. “About the absences, the schedule, the little power trip you’re on.”
He tilted his head. “Did you now?”
I narrowed my eyes like a cat, pairing it with a haughty smirk. “I did. And I’m happy to say that in your inbox is a formal request to allow me to make up the work during your office hours without penalty to my grade.”
His hazel eyes were ablaze to my satisfaction.
“If you didn’t know, I have a full athletic scholarship, and my father was the former football coach here before moving to the NFL. You know, Dale Vale, 12-time division champion? Has two pro-playing sons? That Dale Vale. If you don’t honor the request, then they’ll push this little matter up to the Dean.”
“Mmm.” The sound rumbled from his chest, deep and unhurried, like thunder before a storm. “You have a talent for getting attention, Miss Vale.” I didn’t miss the way his eyes tried to find the crack in my armor.
“And you have a talent for staring like it’s a full-contact sport, Professor. Should I be flattered or file a complaint?” I countered, arching a brow.
That got a ghost of a smile out of him. The dangerous kind. He leaned in just enough to make the space between us buzz. “Watch that mouth,” he whispered. “Unless you’re trying to see what else it gets you.”
My heart banged against my ribs, sharp and hot. I should have walked away, but chaos was in my blood. Instead, I smiled up at him sweetly. “Is that what you want?” I asked, voice syrupy. “I don’t get intimidated easily, Dr. Mavros.”
His jaw twitched, just slightly enough for me to know I’d landed the hit. Mavros straightened, adjusting the cuffs of his jacket with deliberate and practiced ease. “I want you to know what you’re playing with. Daddy’s name can only get you so far.”
“Daddy didn’t get me a 4.0 GPA.” I just let the silence settle before brushing past him—not touching, but close enough to feel his smoky breath.
A thoughtfulness took over his features, but I wasn’t going to stick around for this revelation to take root. As I walked down the hall, he called to me from behind, always seeming to need to get in the last word.
“See you in class, Miss Vale.”
