Chapter Twenty Five

Azpen's voice was soft and Elowyn was confused.

“You alright? Heard something.”

She took a deep breath, then another. The scent should be fading... right?

She rose and opened the door a crack. Azpen stood there, arms crossed, but his face unreadable.

Elowyn was trying to sound tough.

“Dropped my brush. Sorry.”

Azpen clearly wasn't buying it.

“Baron says you’re the scent but now, you're a storm."

“Then don’t stand so close.” Elowyn replied quietly.

There was a pause.

Then, Azpen gave a faint smirk, paused and stepped back.

“Try not to shake the entire building next time.”

She shut the door softly.

Behind it, her knees buckled, and she pressed her forehead to the floor, whispering to herself.

“Just a little longer... just a little longer.... Holy Moon, I'm safe.”

★★★

★★★

He stood still.

The corridor was dim, the air thick, and something... shifted.

Not a sound.

Not a movement.

Just—scent.

At first, it was barely noticeable. But Azpen wasn’t like the other cadets. His nose had been trained through years of lineage-scouting, Alpha-taming, and battlefield prediction.

He knew what a lie smelled like.

This? This wasn’t a lie.

This was instincts gone rogue.

He inhaled sharply.

There it was again—Elyan Froste. Fully.

But not just Elyan.

Not just male.

Azpen frowned.

It was faint. Like something that had been suppressed, then unleashed, then shoved back down again.

Azpen shrugged and went back into the room.

★★★

★★★

He watched Baron pace like a man unraveling.

“You need to say it out loud, Baron.”

“Say what? That someone smells like all my instincts are failing at once? My scenting's so bad.”

Azpen tilted his head. That’s what he wanted to hear.

AZPEN: (quietly)

“No, I'm confused, too. He seems normal when I went back there. His purifying herb is affecting his aura.”

Baron looked up, eyes sharp.

Azpen folded his arms.

★★★

★★★

Baron’s footsteps were too heavy for someone trying not to storm.

The dorm was mostly quiet, save for the occasional clatter of boys horsing around in their other rooms.

But the lingering scent—his headache—had led him here.

Room 3B3. Elyan Froste.

He stopped.

He could hear rustling inside. Quick. Frantic. Like someone hiding something.

He knocked. Once.

Didn’t wait and snapped.

“Open the door.”

A pause. Then the slow creak of a hinge.

Elowyn stood there—tension in her shoulders, eyes too alert, knuckles pale.

Baron's green eyes were stone cold when Elowyn looked up into them while he spoke and now, she had to look down.

“You were in my room.”

"I didn’t. I was—I was looking for the rope.”

“Oh, you mean the one we use to beat your weak little ass?”

He stepped forward. She flinched just slightly.

“You want to avoid punishment, but you like the bread, don’t you?”

He studied her. Every tick. Every breath.

Then—he winced. Stepped back, like the air had punched him.

“Gods, what the hell is that scent on you?” Baron's voice came low and harsh.

Elowyn’s eyes widened.

Baron turned away slightly, squeezing the bridge of his nose. His voice came out rough, not angry—disturbed.

“It’s—throwing me off. Like it’s crawling into my brain and cracking it open.”

He looked at her again. Really looked.

Her lips were dry. Her eyes glassy.

Her hands, shaking slightly—like she’d just done something urgent.

He stepped forward again, slower this time.

BARON (quiet, low):

“Why are you taking those herbs, Elyan?”

“I—I’m not—”

Baron cut in, dangerously calm.

“I smelled you. Then I didn’t. Then I smelled you again. It’s changing. You’re making me mad.”

He leaned in.

Eyes locked on hers. A flicker of recognition—something deep.

"I do not want to smell that ever again. I'm warning you. If you play your trick again, I swear, I'll break your arms.... I'm watching you."

Then—he turned, leaving her standing there breathless.

But before he reached the door, he muttered without looking back:

“If you don’t want someone like me finding out…

You’d better start doing better.”

And he left, not knowing whether to be angrier at the cadet or at himself.

★★★

★★★

The door shut behind him with a loud click, but Baron didn’t move.

He stood there—stone-still, pulse racing in his throat like a war drum.

His breath came uneven, and not because of exhaustion.

It was the scent.

It stuck to his skin like glue.

Clung to his thoughts like a curse.

Too light to be Alpha. Too refined for Beta.

It didn’t make sense.

That cadet was just Elyan Froste. A weakling.

An irritation.

A stick.

Then why did Baron feel like he'd been branded by him?

He tore off his singlet, flinging it onto the bed, and ran both hands through his hair.

The back of his neck prickled. His senses were on edge. His skin buzzed.

He could still taste the damn scent.

Baron muttered under his breath, looking like a caged animal.

“This isn’t normal…”

It wasn’t.

"Alphas' noses don't get overwhelmed like this unless something is wrong." Azpen helped him explain.

Azpen looked up.

“You alright? You look like you fought three scents and lost.”

Baron growled low, just enough to warn.

He wasn’t in the mood.

“I can’t get the smell off. It’s... it’s in my fucking head. It's on my skin. Fuck. I don't know what to do.”

He grabbed the waistband of his trousers and yanked it off sniffing.

Still there.

Sweet. Bitter. Sharp. Abnormal. Heat-slicked.

Like a drop of sugar on burning coals.

Azpen straightened, eyes narrowing thoughtfully.

“You sure it’s just scent?”

Baron froze.

The room felt smaller.

He turned away sharply, trying to shake the thought.

He wasn’t reacting.

He wasn’t.

Was he?

He remembered Elyan, sitting on the floor. Pale. Shaky.

Looking up at them with that guilt-ridden, soft-eyed face.

Baron’s heart gave a traitorous beat.

No.

He couldn’t afford this.

“His herb is affecting me”

He didn’t know.

He hated not knowing.

He walked to the open window and breathed in deep, trying to clear his senses.

The cool air helped. A little.

But the scent still lingered.

Everywhere.

In his room.

In his damn lungs.

Then—a little noise from the next room.

Something crashing. A shuffle. Elowyn's room.

Baron’s body snapped tight like a bowstring.

He turned to Azpen.

Azpen was already listening, nose twitching.

“He’s rattled.”

Baron didn’t respond.

He just stood there. Staring at the wall.

His fists clenched by his sides.

And for the first time in a long while—

He felt dangerously unsure of himself.