Couldn’t wait any longer.

Rose’s POV

The corridor swallowed me again.

Cold stone, moonlight in pale bars, my boots echoing too loud—like every step announced my unraveling to the empty halls. I walked faster, arms wrapped tight around myself, but nothing stopped the trembling. Not the chill. Not the distance. Not the frantic chant in my head: *control yourself, control yourself, control yourself*.

My wolf wouldn’t listen. It was awake—fully awake—and pacing with eager, impatient energy, tail thumping against my ribs, nose lifted to catch the lingering trace of his scent on my skin. Pine. Smoke. Winter steel. Jason. And now, beneath it all, the unmistakable musk of my own release—slick and sweet, clinging to my thighs, soaking through fabric. Proof. Evidence. Shame.

I pressed a shaking hand between my legs, over the jeans, feeling the damp heat there. A fresh wave of slick pulsed at the memory of his fingers—circling, pressing, commanding my orgasm with nothing more than touch and words. My clit throbbed in aftershocks, sensitive and swollen, every step rubbing the seam of my jeans against it until I had to bite back a whimper.

The omega wing door creaked open under my palm. Lavender and damp stone greeted me, but even that familiar scent couldn’t mask what I carried now. I reeked of sex. Of submission. Of him.

My room was dark, cold, the window fogged thick with frost. I locked the door and slid down it again—knees to chest, forehead pressed hard to them as if I could crush the want out of me by force.

It didn’t work.

I could still feel his hand inside my jeans, fingers rubbing my clit through soaked cotton until I broke. Could still hear his voice—rough with restraint: *Come for me. Now.* The way my body had obeyed instantly, arching, moaning, coming undone completely under his command. The way he’d drawn it out, gentle circles through the aftershocks until I was sobbing, oversensitive, wrung out.

Tears came again—hot, silent, soaking my jacket. I let them fall. Crying felt honest. More honest than pretending I wasn’t already his.

My wolf whined—soft, needy, pleading. It wanted to go back. Wanted to crawl to his door on hands and knees. Wanted to bare everything and beg for the rest of what he’d promised: *all of me—inside you, filling you completely.*

I pressed both hands between my legs, over the jeans, pressing hard against the throbbing ache. Not to come again. Just to feel the pressure. Just to remember.

“Stop,” I whispered to the darkness. “He’s reshaping you. Breaking you open. This is what he does. This is punishment.”

But it didn’t feel like punishment anymore. It felt like claiming.

I stripped with shaking hands—jacket, shirt, jeans, everything tossed into the corner like contaminated evidence. My skin was flushed, fever-hot, nipples tight and aching from his earlier touch, clit swollen and sensitive. Slick coated my thighs, cool now in the air, the scent of my release thick and undeniable. I touched myself lightly—fingers sliding through the mess he’d made of me—and my wolf rumbled deep approval, a pleased sound that made my knees buckle.

I crawled into bed naked this time, blanket pulled over my head like a child hiding from monsters. But the monster was inside me now—pacing, hungry, waiting.

Sleep didn’t come.

Every time I drifted, I felt his fingers again—circling my clit, pressing, commanding. Heard his voice: *Good girl.* Felt the orgasm crash through me again in memory, sharp and blinding. My hips rocked against nothing, seeking friction I denied myself.

I didn’t touch myself properly. Not tonight. I couldn’t bear giving him that victory again.

But gods, I wanted to.

Dawn came gray and merciless. Fog thicker than ever. Bells tolling like judgment.

I dressed the same—shirt buttoned to the throat, jacket zipped high, braid tighter than yesterday, pulling until my scalp stung and my eyes watered. Armor. Lies. I took six suppressants this time—six bitter pills, choking them down dry in the bathroom mirror while staring at the faint red marks on my shoulders, the flush still staining my chest, the way my nipples pressed visibly against the shirt no matter how I adjusted.

Breakfast was hell.

The whispers had grown into open stares.

“Sixth night.”

“Voss is keeping her all night now.”

“Look at her—scent’s screaming omega in heat. Suppressants are completely gone.”

“She’s walking like she’s been fucked.”

I kept my head down, tray untouched, coffee scalding my tongue. Lila tried to sit again, concern and something like fear in her eyes, but I stood abruptly and left before she could speak.

An alpha from tactical shifting—tall, broad, scent heavy with interest—followed me out of the dining hall. He caught my arm in the corridor.

“Kane,” he said, voice low, nostrils flaring. “You smell—”

I yanked my arm free, wolf snarling before I could stop it. “Don’t.”

He raised both hands, eyes wide. “Easy. Just—”

“Touch me again and I’ll break your wrist,” I said, voice low and dangerous—something new, something Jason had woken in me.

He backed off, wary.

Classes were torture.

Lore first—his class.

I took the back row again, hood up, notebook closed. When he entered, the room stilled. My wolf sat up instantly, tail thumping, ears pricked forward, body leaning toward him despite every effort to stay still. My clit throbbed at the mere sight of him, slick gathering fresh.

He lectured on claiming rites—final rites this time. “The true claiming,” he said, voice low and steady, “is not the bite. It is the moment the omega chooses to take the alpha inside her body, to accept his knot, to be filled and marked from within. That is when the bond locks. That is when reshaping becomes permanent.”

His eyes found mine on *filled and marked from within*. Held. Pierced.

I looked down, heart hammering, slick soaking through completely now. I could feel it—warm, wet, undeniable—pooling beneath me on the chair.

Break whispers were vicious.

“She’s definitely in heat.”

“Look at her—eyes blown, scent flooding the room.”

“Voss is going to claim her. Mark my words.”

Tactical shifting was impossible. My partial shifts were wild—claws too long, eyes flashing silver, growls slipping free. The instructor pulled me aside again.

“Kane, you’re a liability. Sit out or leave.”

I left.

The day dragged—every minute a countdown. Whispers followed me everywhere. My scent was uncontrollable now; I could smell it myself—sweet, needy, omega in full bloom. Alphas lingered in hallways, nostrils flaring. Betas stared. Even omegas gave me wide berth.

By evening, I was fraying completely—skin too tight, pulse too fast, wolf pacing frantically, whining high and desperate, clit throbbing with every step.

6:40.

I couldn’t wait any longer.

I stood outside his door, hand raised, heart thundering so violently I was sure he heard it through the wood—sure he smelled the desperate, heat-soaked spike in my scent the moment I approached.

The door opened before I could knock.