Chapter 11

Kael’s POV

“Took you long enough to notice,” I whispered.

I watched the color drain from Ronan’s face, leaving him looking like the fragile, pampered prince he truly was.

 The silence in the room was deafening. It was the sound of a worldview shattering the realization that his golden life was being dismantled by someone he couldn't touch.

He stood there, chest heaving, his wolf’s scent turning sour with agitation. I almost laughed. If only he knew the depth of the rot beneath his feet.

If only he knew who was actually standing in front of him.

The “Professor Kael” the Academy admired—the intelligent scholar with perfect credentials and deep knowledge of pack history wasn’t real.

He didn’t exist. I had built him out of shadows and whispers. The qualifications were forged with high-level illusions; the background checks were intercepted and rewritten by my spirits.

 I wasn't a lecturer. I was a survivor of the Ember-Ash Massacre, the night the Bloodmoon royalty decided my pack was a "threat to stability" and burned our lands to the ground.

I didn't study for these lectures. Every morning, I used a soul-binding spell to strip information from the minds of the actual academics in the library, memorizing centuries of data in seconds. 

It was a tedious necessity, a mask I wore so I could get close enough to the crown to slip a noose around its neck.

"What do you have against me?" Ronan asked, his voice cracking. "What did I ever do to you? I was a child when my father took the throne!"

I leaned against my desk, crossing my arms. I felt the dark energy humming beneath my skin, restless and hungry. "Think about it carefully, Ronan. Look into the history books—the ones your family didn't edit. Find out on your own. It’ll be much more educational that way."

"I'm going to the authorities," he snapped, his eyes flashing blue. "I’ll tell the Headmaster. I'll tell the Council you’re intentionally failing the heir to the throne. They’ll strip you of your title and throw you in the pits!"

I let a slow, cruel smirk spread across my face. "By all means, go. Tell them that the man recommended by the High Elder—the man who has a perfect record and the highest student success rate in the Academy—is picking on you because you're 'special.' Do you think they’ll believe the brilliant professor, or the boy who has failed the same basic strategy test three times?"

I stepped closer, my voice dropping to a hiss. "Go ahead, Prince. Become the laughingstock of the pack. Show them all how weak you really are."

Ronan’s hands balled into fists, his knuckles turning white. He looked like he wanted to shift and tear my throat out, but he knew the consequences. 

To attack a faculty member without provocation would end his coronation before it began.

"I’m coming for you, Kael," he threatened, his voice thick with a promise of violence. "One way or another, I will see you crawl."

He turned on his heel and stormed out, the door slamming with enough force to rattle the windows.

The moment the lock clicked, the air in the room shifted. 

The "Professor" mask fell away, leaving only the burning hunger that had driven me for years. But today, the hunger was different. It wasn't just for blood.

"Stupid, arrogant boy," I growled, kicking the chair Ronan had been standing near.

I was shaking, not because of the confrontation but because I was frustrated. I was furious. He had interrupted the most exquisite moment I’d had in a decade. I had been seconds away from having her—Ravenna at my feet.

My magic had recognized her the moment she stepped onto the campus. The girl who should have been a corpse was walking around with a new face and a heart made of cold iron. 

I had become obsessed with the idea of her. She was the perfect weapon—damaged, vengeful, and beautiful. With her by my side, I wouldn't just ruin the Bloodmoons; I would make it a masterpiece.

But seeing her today... seeing the way she looked in that uniform, the way her eyes held a spark of the old Omega fire... it had done something to me.

I could still smell her. My cock twitched, straining against my trousers. The image of her on her knees, her blouse undone, her pale skin glowing in the dim light of my office... it was burned into my retinas.

I couldn't wait.

I quickly moved to the door and bolted it. I didn't care about the dignity of my position anymore. I stripped off my coat and threw it aside, my hands moving to my belt with a feverish desperation. 

I stepped out of my trousers. I was burning up.

I sank into my chair. I closed my eyes and let the black magic flow through me, enhancing my senses, bringing back the memory of her—her scent, her cleavage, curves and her sexy eyes. 

I could see her. I could see the way her breast rose and fell as she struggled to breathe. I could see the curve of her cleavage, the softness that Ronan had stared at like a starving man.

"Ravenna," I groaned, my hand wrapping tightly around my cock going up and down. 

I began to move, my breath hitching in my throat. Every stroke was a memory of her submission. I imagined my fingers tracing the line of her jaw, pulling her closer, forcing her to look at me while I thrust into her wet pussy deeply. 

 I wanted to see her moan my name. . I wanted to see her scream my name while I burned her past to the ground.

The heat built in my gut, dark and heavy.

"Mine," I hissed, my body tensing. "You're mine, little wolf." My cock became harder as I stroked it faster. 

The climax hit me like a wave of lightning. I gripped the edge of the desk, my back arching as I poured myself out. 

"Ravenna!"

I slumped back in the chair, my chest heaving, my sweat cooling in the quiet office. The frustration was gone for now, replaced by a cold, sharpened focus.

She was the key. And soon, I wouldn't have to rely on memories. I would have the real thing, and together, we would watch the Bloodmoon kingdom burn.