Changed scent.

Rose’s POV

The moment the heavy oak door of Jason’s office clicked shut behind me, the academy’s evening hush wrapped around me like a living thing—cool stone corridors breathing out centuries of secrets, torchlight flickering in iron sconces that cast dancing shadows across arched ceilings carved with ancient runes of pack law and claiming rites.

My boots met the flagstones with deliberate softness, each step echoing just enough to remind me I was still here, still solid, not some ghost fleeing into the night. The hood of my uniform jacket stayed pulled low, but I refused to hunch. Shoulders back. Chin lifted. The high collar grazed the fresh claiming bite at my throat, sending a warm, secret spark through the bond—pine smoke and cold iron threading through my veins like liquid starlight.

The golden tether hummed steadily at my back, alive and aware. I felt Jason inside his office still, the faint rustle of parchment as he straightened the leather folder, the low crackle of the dying fire, the quiet exhale of a man who had just rewritten both our futures with teeth and vows and unbreakable precedent. *Ten minutes, little one,* his voice brushed through the bond, velvet-rough and laced with that unshakeable alpha certainty that made my wolf sigh in quiet contentment. *Breathe. I’m right behind you. Aligned.*

I breathed.

The spiral staircase down from the faculty tower smelled of cool night stone, distant hearth smoke from the lower halls, and the faint, sweet tang of night-blooming nightshade drifting in from the training fields. My thighs still carried that deep, delicious ache—the echo of being held so perfectly full, locked in place while the bond sealed itself deeper than any document ever could. Every downward step sent a faint, private pulse through my core, a reminder of his claim still warm inside me, magic and flesh intertwined. The changed scent clung to me now like a second skin: wild rose and warm honey braided irrevocably with pine smoke and cold iron. No blocker in the world could fully hide it anymore. It rolled off me in soft waves, announcing to anyone with sharp enough senses exactly what had happened in that warded room.

At the base of the tower, the main cloister opened wide—moonlit quadrangles framed by ivy-heavy arches, the fountain at its center gurgling softly under silver light. Two delta girls hurried past with satchels of scrolls, their conversation cutting off mid-laugh as my scent brushed them. One’s nostrils flared; her eyes widened for half a heartbeat before she elbowed her friend and they both ducked their heads, hurrying faster. I kept walking, heart steady, but the bond carried Jason’s low, reassuring growl: *Let them scent it. Sovereign. Not scandal.*

Past the library arches, candlelight still glowed from tall windows where late scholars bent over tomes. A cluster of four seniors lingered near the entrance—two alphas, two betas, voices low and urgent. One tall alpha from Tactical Studies, broad-shouldered with a scar across his jaw, lifted his head sharply. His nostrils flared wide. “Gods, that’s… Voss? And the little Lore omega? Smells like they just—” His packmate shushed him, but the words floated after me anyway: “Changed scent. Strong. You think the board knows yet?” I didn’t flinch. My wolf lifted her head inside me, russet ears pricked, tail high with quiet pride. *Ours,* she rumbled, voice warm and certain. *Let them talk. We are claimed.*

The training fields lay empty now, practice blades racked in neat rows, the grass still carrying the faint metallic tang of oiled steel and sweat. Moonlight silvered the obstacle course, turning ropes and walls into stark, watchful silhouettes. An owl called somewhere in the distance—sharp, haunting—and the bond tugged gently, warm and patient. I felt Jason moving now, his steady boots echoing on the same stones I had just left. Not rushing. Not hiding. Professor Voss on his evening constitutional, nothing more. The image anchored me more firmly than any command.

By the time I reached the omega dormitory wing, the subtle shift in the air had grown unmistakable. Conversations in the long, lantern-lit corridor dipped half a note. Laughter thinned to curious murmurs. Three omegas near the stairwell paused mid-gossip, noses lifting instinctively before they remembered academy etiquette and looked away too quickly. One of them—a quiet beta with silver-rimmed glasses—whispered something that made the others glance back at me, eyes wide. I kept my gaze forward, pulse kicking once, hard, but steady. My wolf brushed her flank against Jason’s silver presence through the bond: *Steady. We walk tall.*

Lila was waiting exactly where I knew she would be—leaning against the stone arch of our shared room door, arms crossed, dark braid draped over one shoulder like a banner of readiness. Her citrus-cedar scent sharpened the instant she caught mine, surprise flashing across her face before melting into fierce, sisterly protectiveness.

“Okay,” she said slowly, pushing off the wall and stepping into my path. “Either you rolled around in a bonfire of pine logs and iron filings, or you finally stopped running and did the reckless, beautiful, terrifying thing.” Her voice was low, meant only for me, but the corridor had ears tonight.

My throat tightened, but I met her eyes without flinching. “I did.”

The door clicked shut behind us with soft finality. Silence swallowed the small room—the narrow beds with their crisp linens, the single arched window overlooking the dark training fields, the faint floral notes of our shared lotions on the dresser. My scent bloomed instantly, filling every corner: rose-pine-iron, deep and layered and impossible to ignore. Lila’s nostrils flared again. She crossed the room in three quick strides and pulled me into a tight hug that smelled of loyalty and home and the sharp herbal edge of her own emergency blockers.

“Gods, Rose,” she whispered against my hair, voice cracking just a little. “The mark. Let me see.”

I tugged my collar down two careful inches. The claiming bite glowed faintly under the lantern light—two perfect crescents, still pink at the edges, the skin around it shimmering with the faint golden thread of the bond’s magic. Sacred. Not shameful. Lila’s breath left her in a sharp, reverent exhale. She didn’t pull away. Instead, her fingers hovered, then gently traced the edge, careful as if touching something holy.

“You didn’t just let him claim you,” she breathed. “He *did* claim you. And you let him. For him? For *you*?”

“For us,” I corrected softly. The bond pulsed warm in agreement, carrying a flash of Jason’s silver wolf standing guard at the edge of my mind, ears pricked, tail draped protectively. *Yes,* it seemed to say. *Us.*

Lila stepped back, but only far enough to study my face. Her eyes were sharp, assessing, the same look she gave before a Shifting Theory practical where one wrong move could mean disaster. “Do you have any idea what this means? Faculty alphas aren’t supposed to form sovereign bonds with students. The board’s charter explicitly calls it ‘destabilizing to hierarchy.’ They’ve dissolved lesser bonds for less. If Marcus catches even a whisper—”

“He already has,” I interrupted gently, sinking onto the edge of my bed. The mattress dipped familiarly under my weight. “He mouthed ‘changed scent’ at dinner with that predatory little smirk of his. And the beta girl in Shifting Theory asked if I’d ditched the suppressants. Said I smelled ‘sweeter. Like I’d found someone worth the risk.’”

Lila swore under her breath—a colorful southern-pack oath that would have made our old instructors blush—and began pacing the narrow strip between beds. “Fine. Great. We’re past subtlety. Tell me everything. Not the… intimate parts. The *important* parts. What did he say about the board? About your family? About *tomorrow*?”

I reached inside my jacket and pulled out the leather folder, still warm from Jason’s hands. The parchment inside crinkled as I opened it on the bed between us. “He had this ready before I even walked in. Consent forms dated to the exact second the bond snapped into place last night—witnessed by his wolf’s memory, sealed with his blood. Statements from Councilor Elara—blood-oath that she owes him her life from that northern pass winter campaign. Dean Hargrove’s quiet favor to bury any anonymous scent complaints. Professor Thorne swearing the Wednesday sessions are purely academic—Lore paper gaps only the department head could fix after hours. Precedent citations from sovereign bonds three centuries older than the academy charter. Yellowed edges and everything.”

Lila dropped onto the bed beside me, eyes widening as she flipped through the pages. Her fingers traced the rust-colored sigils, the ironclad phrasing. “Voss doesn’t half-measure. Ever. My grandmother used to tell stories about those old rites—stronger than stone, older than any council law. If he’s got Elara and Hargrove…” She looked up, voice softening. “You trust him that much? With everything? Your name, your future, your little sister’s alliances back home?”

The question landed like a stone in still water. I thought of the office—the way his forehead had rested against mine, the steady thrum of the bond when he said *I won’t deny you*. “Yes,” I answered, no tremor, no doubt. “He said if the board calls him, he stands as my mate. Hand in hand in the assembly hall, marks on full display. No reducing me to ‘temptation.’ If they force exile, we go north together. His land in the border packs—untouched forest, a cabin where the pines sing at night, room for pups with my stubborn russet curls and his silver eyes learning to shift under moonlight.”

Lila’s expression softened, but her practical edge stayed sharp. She reached for the violet suppressor vial on the dresser, uncorking it and dabbing fresh drops behind my ears, at my wrists, along the column of my throat with efficient care. The sharp burn of crushed nightshade and wintermint bloomed, blurring the richer edges of our scent just enough. “You’re glowing, Rose. Not just the bond—you. Like you finally decided the world doesn’t get to tell you who you’re allowed to love. But we move smart. Whispers are already circling. I overheard Marcus’s pack laughing in the dining hall about an ‘omega who smells like she finally got claimed by power.’ If he connects the dots before Jason’s allies lock everything down…”

“He won’t,” I said, surprising myself with the steel in my voice. I squeezed her hand. “Jason’s faced worse than a jealous alpha pup and a council in crimson robes. Border skirmishes. Outnumbered, half-frozen. He pulled Elara’s whole unit out alive. That’s the kind of alpha who plans for war and wins it. And tonight, after the bond settled and he told me the plans while we were still… connected… it stopped feeling like ruin. It felt like dawn. Like building something real.”

Lila pulled me into another hug, tighter this time. “Then hold that. Tomorrow breakfast will be loud. Marcus might test the edges in the corridor. The board might send the first raven. But you walk in with that mark under your collar and that folder in your heart. And if anyone asks—Lila Kane stands with you. Sisters first. Always. I’ll brew extra blockers at dawn. Spread a rumor that you’re just testing a new Lore thesis on ancient rites. Alibi ready.”

We sat like that for long minutes, the room filling with the distant hoot of the owl and faint laughter drifting from lower dorms. My body still carried the night’s echoes—the deep soreness between my thighs, the phantom warmth where the bond had locked us soul-deep—but it no longer felt like something to bury. It felt like armor. Like home.

Later, when Lila finally curled up with her earbuds and the soft strum of lute strings, I lay in the dark. Moonlight painted silver rivers across my bed. The bond tugged gently—warm, patient—carrying the faint rustle of Jason settling into his quarters, the creak of his chair, the quiet satisfaction of a warrior who had chosen and would choose again.

*Sleep, little one,* his voice caressed through the golden thread, soft as lips against the claiming bite. *Tomorrow we plan more. But tonight… you are safe. You are mine. We are together.*

My wolf answered with a contented purr, curling tighter around his silver shadow. *Together.*

I closed my eyes, tears drying on my lashes—not fear this time, but the sheer, grounding weight of belief finally taking root. The academy might wake sharper-eyed and louder-tongued. Marcus might circle closer. The board might stir in its crimson chambers.

But I would wake claimed. Marked. Aligned.

And for the first time, the word *together* tasted like the beginning of everything we would win.