Chapter 4

Chapter 4 — THE WRONG BOTTLE 

The field had emptied long after Caius left. The instructor had shouted himself hoarse, calling out commands no one dared disobey.

Caius, meanwhile, had gone straight to the office behind the training grounds. His clothes were still dusty, his hands steady when he knocked.

The coach looked up from a stack of reports, his expression already sour. “You again?”

“I came to explain,” Caius said, voice calm. “It’s not that I’m refusing to train. I just can’t shift.”

The man’s brows furrowed. “What do you mean you can’t?”

“My wolf…” Caius hesitated, searching for words that wouldn’t sound like an excuse. “It doesn’t answer me anymore. It’s been that way for a while.”

The coach leaned back in his chair, unimpressed. “You expect me to believe a Beta lost connection with his wolf? You know how that sounds, right?”

“I’m aware.”

For a long moment, the coach just stared at him, his jaw working. Then he sighed and gestured toward the window. “Fine. Until you get that thing under control, you’ll help in the Eastern Field, the storage and hydration duty. You’ll sort, label, and hand out water before every session. No excuses.”

Caius nodded once. “Understood.”

“Good,” the coach muttered. “Dismissed.”

~~~~~

That evening, Miguel stood by his open window, half-dressed, the glow of the moon throwing sharp edges across his room. The Academy’s grounds below were quiet, but his mind wasn’t.

He hadn’t forgotten the morning. Caius walking off like rules didn’t matter. Miguel’s hand tightened on the windowsill. He didn’t like the feeling the Beta gave him— that quiet look that annoyed the hell out of him.

So when night fell, he slipped out.

The pack’s borders were still active at that hour, but Miguel knew every corner of the Academy perimeter. He moved fast and silent.

By dawn, he returned carrying a small bottle wrapped in linen. The liquid was colourless and odourless. The pack witch had called it wolfbane’s reflection, harmless to most, but deadly slow for anyone whose wolf wasn’t in sync.

He kept it hidden under his jacket.

~~~~~

Morning light returned, washing the Academy grounds in a sleepy gold. The training field buzzed again, but Caius wasn’t among the runners this time. He was at the supply tent, organizing the bottles lined in crates.

Each student’s name was neatly tagged.

Miguel appeared, fresh from drills, his uniform damp with sweat. Dax was beside him, grumbling about exhaustion.

“Need water?” the student in charge asked, a nervous omega boy who had been given the duty last minute.

Miguel nodded, glancing toward Caius’s side of the tent. The Beta was working quietly, head down and expression, focused.

He pulled out the small vial from his sleeve and poured the contents into one of the bottles at the edge of the crate. His tone was low as he turned to the omega.

“That one,” Miguel said, motioning subtly toward the bottle. “Make sure Caius Varyn gets it. Understand?”

The boy hesitated. “Uh—sure.”

Miguel handed him the bottle, his gaze sharp. “Don’t forget.”

Then he walked off.

Caius didn’t look back as the he left.

The instructor’s voice carried across the field, but he didn’t stop. When he reached the edge of the training ground, he paused just to pick up a water bottle from the bench.

One of the identical ones handed out earlier before heading toward the side tent where things were stored.

He wasn’t stupid. He had noticed the quiet exchange earlier, how Miguel had spoken briefly to the supply boy, the one in charge of distributing water to the trainees. Miguel’s expression then had been too calm and the boy had looked too nervous.

So Caius had waited and watched. When the supply boy left the bottles unattended by the edge of the field, he had seen Miguel’s eyes flick toward them, then away.

That was enough.

Caius reached for one of the bottles, his fingers brushing over the cold surface. They were all identical except one. The one with a faint scuff mark near the base, the mark Miguel’s glove had made earlier when he “helped” with distribution.

Caius picked it up, turned it once in his hand, then quietly exchanged it for the one Miguel had placed beside his own bag earlier.

By the time he returned to the field, the session was ending. Sweat glistened on every student’s skin. Miguel stood with Dax, his back to the bench. When Caius passed by, Miguel’s smirk deepened.

“Thirsty?” Miguel asked smoothly, eyes glinting with mock kindness.

Caius met his gaze briefly, expression unreadable. “Always,” he said, reaching down and grabbing a random bottle.

Miguel’s smirk widened. He turned away, satisfied.

A few seconds later, while everyone dispersed, Miguel grabbed his own bottle, twisted the cap open and lifted it to his lips.

Caius didn’t look back. But as he walked away, his reflection glimmered faintly on the metal surface of the water tank, and for the briefest second, the corner of his mouth lifted.

Miguel tilted his head, drinking deeply from the bottle, letting the liquid slide down his throat. He set the bottle down and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes narrowing as a faint warmth began spreading through his chest.

At first, it was subtle like the heat from a summer sun filtered through a window but then it intensified quickly, crawling along his arms and settling uncomfortably across his torso. He blinked, trying to shake it off, but the sensation wouldn’t relent.

“Strange…” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and tense. The hall around him seemed to blur, the sounds of other students fading into a distant hum.

With a stiff movement, he excused himself, ignoring the curious glances of those around him, and made his way back to his room. The footsteps felt heavier than usual, each one dragging as the heat coursed through him.

Once inside, he shut the door firmly and leaned against it, taking a moment to steady himself. The air felt thick stifling down on his chest. Without thinking, he moved toward the bathtub, lowering himself into it with a quiet sigh, letting the cold water counteract the spreading warmth.

Miguel sat there for a long moment, hands gripping the edges of the tub, eyes fixed on the swirling water. He could feel every pulse in his body and a shiver ran down his spine.

Normally, cold water would be enough to shock the system, to dull any lingering tension but this time it did nothing. Was he on his rutting period? Cold water always helped him. But this time, it did nothing.

He gritted his teeth, exhaling sharply, letting the water lap at his skin. His hands pressed into the edge of the tub, knuckles whitening, as though the very act of holding on could anchor him. His breaths came faster and uneven, betraying the rising panic he refused to acknowledge.

“Ice…” he muttered, voice low and hoarse. The fridge seemed impossibly far, but he forced himself upright, shivering despite the heat. A block of ice in his hands did little to cool him down, he pressed it to his skin, biting down on it, teeth chattering his lips numb, but the burning sensation remained, radiating deeper than mere surface heat.

He sank to the floor, leaning against the bed, ice still clutched in one hand, a sharp, frustrated growl escaped him as he sank his teeth into the ice again, teeth scraping the cold surface. The bite did nothing, it only made him more aware of every hot sensations on his skin.

Miguel’s eyes closed, lashes damp with water. Anger, frustration, and the rare taste of fear churned together, twisting in his gut.

Miguel’s teeth clenched as a low, guttural growl rumbled in his chest, he could now fell his wolf stirring sharp and insistent, reacting to the heat that had consumed him.

The water in the bathtub had long since lost its effect; it only made the fire beneath his skin more apparent.

His breaths came fast and ragged as his wolf kept gr

owling, vibrating through him in a way that made his vision blur slightly. Then, a knock pounded on his room door.