Alpha’s Desire 3

To others, Damian was a psychology professor renowned for his brilliance and quiet authority. His field of expertise was perception, consciousness and cognitive control—three things that, ironically, had become a mask for his true self.

Every day, Damian walked the faculty corridors with composed steps and an expression almost devoid of emotion. Students watched him with respect—some with admiration, others with unease. In the classroom, every word he uttered sounded precise and deliberate, as if the entire world were merely a collection of concepts that could be governed by thought.

Yet beneath that calm exterior lay something far more personal: teaching was his escape. The university provided a space where he could pretend to be ordinary—a man who researched, wrote and lectured about consciousness as if he had never lost control of his own. In that room scented with paper and ink, he could forget, if only for a moment, what it truly meant to be himself.

But such calm was always an illusion. Because beneath a man's skin and breath, hot, ancient wolf blood flowed through Damian’s veins, demanding to be acknowledged.

Damian was the Alpha of the Morthalys Pack, the leader of an ancient bloodline spoken of only in legend. The world had no idea that behind the faces passing unnoticed among humans, there lived people who followed different instincts, abided by different laws and swore loyalty bound by the blood of the moon.

Damian had grown up in two worlds: the rational world of humans and the world of the pack, driven by instinct. He had learned to conceal his feelings and silence every primal urge that should have guided him. Damian had mastered the art of restraint and suppression, silencing the voice within that whispered whenever he caught the scent of blood or fear.

Beneath the surface, a wild, loyal and ever-hungry force pulsed within him, yearning for command. As an alpha male, Damian was never truly free from his pack. Even when he was standing in front of a whiteboard explaining theories of perception to his students, there was always another voice inside him—low, steady and relentless—reminding him of who he truly was.

The Morthalys Pack was not just a group of creatures bound by blood; it was a hidden kingdom—an ancient order that existed alongside the human world, protecting the balance between two realms that should never meet. Damian, with all his composure and intellect, was the axis of that fragile balance—a burden he could never lay down, not even in sleep.

Unfortunately, even the strongest Alpha was not immune to weakness. For Damian, that weakness took the form of a young woman named Zaria Rose Carrington.

From the moment he first mentioned her name in class three years ago, something had stirred inside him—faint, yet unmistakable. He tried to dismiss it, rationalising it as nothing more than a professor’s admiration for a gifted student. Yet, whenever Zaria spoke and her calm voice reached his ears, something within him trembled—a primal stirring beneath his ribs, like a beast roused from a long slumber.

Damian hated admitting it. He despised the fact that not even his most disciplined mind could drive her image away.

Damian had trained himself for years to remain unshaken and to keep the feral side buried deep beneath his calm exterior. But Zaria, she had disrupted that balance without even trying.

Now, in the quiet corridor of the faculty building, Zaria’s silhouette had just vanished around the corner. Damian stood frozen to the spot, his gaze fixed on the spot where she had disappeared.

“Is she the one, Alpha?”

A soft voice broke through Damian’s thoughts from behind him. He turned slowly to find Natalie Prescott, one of the younger lecturers from his faculty, approaching him. They met each other's gaze in silence. His eyes were calm and almost unreadable, yet they were still sharp enough to make Natalie lower her head in respect.

Natalie exhaled quietly. “Some of us have started talking, Alpha. They think—”

“Enough,” Damian interrupted quietly but firmly.

He turned away and walked down the dimly lit corridor, leaving Natalie standing alone in the fading light. He didn’t want to discuss Zaria. Not yet. Because even to himself, he still couldn’t explain why her name kept echoing in his mind.

*

Perched on the top floor of the faculty building, Damian’s office was a spacious, glass-walled room offering a sweeping view of Alyndoria city below. In the centre of the room stood a sleek black wooden desk, holding only a few files and a phone.

Damian closed the door gently and sat down; the silence wrapped around him like a shroud. His gaze drifted towards the window, unfocused.

From that height, the sky looked heavy—grey and low, as if pressing down on the world. Damian let his thoughts wander to Morthalys Palace.

The ancient stone fortress stood at the edge of the Fyren Forest, looking grand and timeless amid the fog and valleys. That was where everything had begun—the bloodline of the Morthalys Alphas had flowed unbroken through the centuries. Damian and the other high-ranking members of the pack lived there, guarding the unchanging traditions and laws: an Alpha must never falter.

Yet now, Damian felt the first fracture forming beneath that conviction—a crack born from his encounter with Zaria, which he refused to acknowledge.

His jaw tightened. He reached for his phone and dialled a number. After several rings, a voice finally answered—Caleb Monroe, Beta of the Morthalys Pack.

“How are things at the Palace?” Damian asked abruptly. “Has anything happened?”

Caleb's steady voice came through the line. “Everything is fine, Alpha. However, there is something you might need to know.”

Behind his glasses, Damian’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Those letters again?’

“Yes, Alpha.” Caleb’s tone was more cautious this time. “In the past few days, their number has increased. The council elders are pressing harder for you to choose a Luna. They’re growing restless. They fear that your continued solitude will cause an imbalance within the pack.”

For a moment, silence filled the room. Only Damian’s measured breathing could be heard, calm yet heavy. “So, they’re demanding that I take a mate?”

“Not directly,” Caleb replied. “But yes, that's what it means. They believe it’s time. You’ve delayed for too long.”

Damian leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the grey sky beyond the window. “I won’t make a choice under pressure. They should know that by now.”

“I understand, Alpha,” Caleb said quietly. “But your time is running out. The elders are planning to hold a council meeting next month. If you still haven’t decided by then, they may take matters into their own hands.”

“Take matters into their own hands,” Damian repeated under his breath, his tone sinking low. “That would mean a silent rebellion.”

This time, Caleb said nothing. He didn’t dare confirm it. Damian didn’t speak again either.

The call ended. Damian stared at the phone for a few seconds before setting it down on the desk. He lowered his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to suppress the faint turmoil rising in his chest—a flicker of emotion that had surfaced the moment the pack’s demand had brought Zaria’s name to mind.

A growl rumbled in his throat. He tried to drive away her face, her anxious gaze and her voice, but he couldn't.

In the end, Damian could only curse himself. “Damn it! She’s human.”

Yet the more he resisted, the clearer her shadow became, still haunting him.

*

Since morning, the sky had looked heavy, thick with rain that had yet to fall. The air in Zaria’s room felt damp, and a muted grey light filtered through the thin curtains. On her desk, piles of books and scattered notes lay in quiet disarray.

Zaria sat in her chair, her eyes fixed on the list of bullet points she had prepared for her first thesis consultation with Damian that afternoon. She had prepared everything she could think of: her research outline, theoretical references and a rough draft filled with scribbles and corrections. By all accounts, she was ready—almost perfectly so. Yet, for some reason, her heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

Every time she remembered Damian’s name, something inside her chest trembled—a mix of nervousness, fear, and something else she couldn’t quite name. She tried to compose herself and muttered, “It’s just a meeting. Calm down.”

Time slipped by and the sky grew darker. The campus had fallen quiet; most students had already gone home. Only a few corridor lights remained on, casting reflections on the walls and floor, which glimmered faintly in the mist.

Zaria walked briskly, trying not to let her thoughts wander. The sound of her footsteps echoed softly through the empty halls. Every now and then, she hugged the folder of documents tightly against her chest, as if it were the only thing keeping her grounded.

Upstairs, the silence was even deeper. She climbed the last few steps and gazed down the long faculty corridor. Rows of professors’ office doors lined one side while tall windows on the other side opened onto the brooding sky outside. She continued forward until a faint unease began to stir within her.

Zaria's pace slowed. She could sense it—something was there.

The air around her shifted. The temperature dropped slightly, just enough to make the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. She turned around.

Empty. Only the long corridor stretched behind her, its pale light flickering faintly across the polished floor. Yet her instincts told her that someone was there.

Zaria swallowed hard and started walking again, faster this time. The soft tap of her flat shoes echoed down the hall. After only a few steps, however, she heard another sound. Faint. Like a whisper of movement right behind her.

Zaria froze. Her heart pounded in her chest. Slowly, she turned around, scanning the far end of the corridor with her eyes. Nothing. Just her and the dim hallway.

“Hello?” Zaria whispered, breaking the silence. “Is someone there?”

There was no answer. Only the quiet hum of the lights above pressed down on her nerves. Zaria forced a nervous smile and tried to laugh at her own foolish fear.

Still, the feeling didn’t fade—the sense of being watched, followed by something unseen. It trailed her, heavy and cold, until she caught a flicker of movement behind her.

Zaria spun around instinctively. But again, there was nothing. Just a thin breeze sighing through the vents.

A chill gripped her body. Her throat went dry. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“Professor Damian, is that you?”

*