Appetite
Wednesday. 10:47 PM. The Faculty Club.
The reception was winding down when Ariadne spotted her target.
Dean Patricia Kellerman stood near the bar, silver hair swept into an elegant chignon, her charcoal suit tailored to perfection. Sixty-three years old. Divorced twice. A woman who’d clawed her way to the top of the university hierarchy through sheer intellectual brutality and political acumen — and rumored to have a particular taste for brilliant young faculty members who caught her attention.
Untouchable. Unassailable. Used to being the hunter.
Perfect.
Ariadne had been bleeding internally since yesterday’s session with Lilly, her carefully constructed sense of superiority hemorrhaging through cracks she couldn’t seal. She needed to feed. And Patricia Kellerman looked like she’d provide exactly the kind of resistance that would make the conquest satisfying.
“Dean Kellerman,” Ariadne approached with calculated deference, letting her accent curl around the words like silk. “I don’t believe we’ve been properly introduced. Ariadne Dauphin, Algorithmic Ethics.”
Patricia turned, her smile sharp and appraising. “Dr. Dauphin, of course. Your work has been… making waves. Quite impressive for someone so young.”
The emphasis on ‘young’ was deliberate, accompanied by a visual assessment that lingered just long enough to be inappropriate. Patricia’s eyes traveled down Ariadne’s body with the confidence of someone accustomed to taking what she wanted.
“You’re very kind,” Ariadne replied, letting her voice carry just enough breathiness to seem nervous. “I hope I haven’t been too… disruptive.”
“Disruption can be useful,” Patricia stepped closer, her presence suddenly predatory. “In the right hands. You remind me of myself at your age — brilliant, ambitious, perhaps a little naive about how things really work here.”
“I’m still learning,” Ariadne said, allowing uncertainty to creep into her voice. She needed Patricia to feel in control, to believe she was the one driving this interaction.
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“I’m sure you are.” Patricia’s smile was all teeth now. “Perhaps you’d benefit from some… guidance. From someone who understands the landscape better.”
The offer hung in the air with obvious subtext. Patricia had clearly done this before — identified promising young faculty, offered mentorship that came with unspoken expectations. She was used to being the sophisticated older woman who collected beautiful protégés.
“That’s very generous,” Ariadne said, looking up at Patricia through her lashes. “I’d be grateful for any advice you could offer.”
“Grateful.” Patricia savored the word like wine. “I do appreciate gratitude in young colleagues. It’s so rare these days.”
She moved closer still, close enough that Ariadne could smell her expensive perfume, could feel the heat radiating from her body. This was a woman who’d built a career on reading people, on knowing exactly when someone was vulnerable enough to be claimed.
“My office,” Patricia said, her voice dropping to something almost intimate. “In twenty minutes. We can discuss your… trajectory… more privately.”
“Should I bring anything?” Ariadne asked, the picture of eager compliance.
Patricia’s laugh was low, predatory. “Just yourself, dear. And an open mind.”
As Ariadne nodded and moved away, she caught Patricia’s murmured words to her assistant: “Cancel my morning meetings. I have a feeling tonight might run… late.”
Twenty minutes later, Ariadne stood outside Patricia’s office door, her reflection in the dark window showing a woman who looked young, uncertain, perhaps a little overwhelmed by the attention from such a powerful figure.
But underneath the performance, she was starving.
And Patricia Kellerman was about to learn the difference between predator and apex predator.
When she knocked softly on the door, Patricia’s voice called out: “Come in, dear. And lock it behind you.”
Ariadne smiled as she turned the lock.
The hunt was about to begin in earnest.
