He is your professor.

Rose’s POV

I woke to warmth.

Not the fevered, consuming blaze of heat that had swallowed me whole the night before. Not the raw, desperate hunger that had made every nerve sing with need. This was something gentler, deeper—steady, grounding, alive. It cradled me like a second heartbeat, wrapping around my bones and settling into the marrow.

For a handful of suspended seconds, my mind floated in that hazy space between dreams and dawn. The heavy four-poster bed felt like a sanctuary, the thick velvet drapes still drawn against the world, the faint crackle of last night’s dying embers in the hearth the only sound besides the slow, even rhythm of breathing that wasn’t mine. Pine smoke and cold iron lingered in the air, threaded with something sweeter—my own scent, now irrevocably altered, carrying the unmistakable mark of an alpha’s claim.

Then the bond pulsed.

Low. Deep. Golden.

A living river of sensation and emotion that flowed straight from his soul into mine. And everything came rushing back in a single, breathless wave.

His voice in the firelight, rough with conviction: *“I choose you, Rose. Not as student or omega. As my mate. My equal. My forever.”* The way his silver eyes had held mine when I whispered *yes*, not under command but from the deepest part of myself. The press of his forehead to mine as the bond snapped into place, bright and unbreakable, flooding me with his pride, his protectiveness, his love—so vast it had stolen the air from my lungs.

My chest tightened so sharply I almost gasped aloud.

Jason’s arm was a heavy, living weight around my waist, his palm resting low on my stomach as if even in sleep he was guarding something sacred. His fingers flexed faintly, instinctively possessive, the calluses from years of tactical training rough against my skin through the thin sheet. His scent enveloped me completely—smoke from the hearth, sharp pine from the forest beyond the academy walls, and that underlying note of cold iron that spoke of unyielding strength.

*Alpha.*

The word echoed in my mind like a bell tolling through sacred halls.

*Mine.*

The bond answered instantly with another slow, reassuring pulse, warm as sunlight on winter stone. It carried fragments of his sleeping contentment: the deep satisfaction of a wolf who had finally claimed his true mate, the quiet pride that swelled in his chest every time his subconscious brushed against the faint new fullness low in my belly.

But beneath that golden warmth, guilt crept in.

Sharp. Cold. Merciless. Like frost spreading across glass.

*He is your professor.*

The thought sliced through me like a blade fresh from the whetstone.

*You are his student.*

The warmth dimmed, not vanishing but retreating, leaving hollow places that ached. I stared at the gray stone ceiling, dawn’s first pale fingers just beginning to brush the edges of the heavy curtains. The room was still steeped in night’s shadows, quiet except for his breathing—slow, even, deep. Peaceful.

He looked younger when he slept. The hard lines of his face softened, the perpetual furrow between his brows eased. Less carved from granite, less the unyielding Professor Voss who commanded lecture halls with a single raised hand. A faint scar traced the ridge of his collarbone, rising and falling with each exhale—a reminder of some past battle or challenge he had never spoken of. Something in my chest twisted painfully at the sight.

*What have I done?*

The academy’s rules were carved into every cornerstone, recited in every orientation, drilled into every student from the first day: *Faculty and students shall maintain professional boundaries. Bonds, claims, and intimate relations between instructors and enrollees are strictly forbidden. Violations shall result in immediate dismissal for the student and revocation of tenure, title, and privileges for the faculty member.*

Last night we hadn’t merely crossed a line.

We had burned it to ash.

My wolf stirred inside me, lazy and content, stretching luxuriously in the golden light of the bond. She felt no shame. Only rightness. Security. The deep, bone-settling knowledge that she had found her other half. She sent me a gentle image: two wolves curled together beneath an ancient oak, silver and russet fur intertwined, tails curled protectively over one another.

*Home,* she seemed to say. *Safe. Claimed. Whole.*

And that terrified me more than anything.

Because my human heart knew better. Knew the cost.

Jason shifted slightly behind me, his nose brushing the nape of my neck in his sleep. He inhaled slowly, deliberately, as if even unconscious he was cataloging the subtle shift in my scent—the new layers of pine and iron now woven permanently into my own sweetness. A low, rumbling sound vibrated from his chest. Not a growl. Recognition. Contentment. The sound of an alpha whose mate was exactly where she belonged.

My throat tightened until swallowing hurt.

*If he wakes…*

The thought was worse than the guilt.

Because if those silver eyes opened and fixed on me with the same fierce tenderness they had held last night—*“You are mine to cherish, Rose. Not to hide. Never to hide.”*—I would not leave. I would stay. I would crawl back into his arms and let the world burn around us.

And if I stayed, there would be no taking it back.

The board would convene within hours. Investigations. Hearings. Whispers in every corridor. Students gawking. Faculty colleagues turning away. He could lose his position, his research grants, the respect he had spent decades earning. All because of me.

My chest ached with a pain that had nothing to do with the claiming bite still throbbing faintly at my throat.

The bond pulsed again—confused this time, a questioning ripple. My wolf lifted her head inside me, ears pricked, sensing the sudden storm in my emotions.

*No,* she protested, sending a wave of warmth and certainty. *Stay. He needs us. We need him.*

But guilt was louder. Guilt and fear and the crushing weight of consequence.

Carefully—agonizingly slowly—I began to lift his arm from my waist. The limb was heavy with sleep, dense muscle and bone. His fingers tightened instinctively, curling as if to pull me back. My breath caught in my throat. I froze, heart hammering so loudly I was certain it would wake him.

One heartbeat. Two. Three.

He didn’t stir.

I eased away inch by torturous inch, sliding across the rumpled sheets that still carried the mingled scent of us. The loss of contact struck like stepping barefoot onto frozen stone after hours by the fire. The bond stretched—not snapping, never that—but thinning, straining, a golden thread pulled taut across distance. I felt his sleeping awareness flicker, a faint frown creasing his brow even in repose.

I stood beside the bed for a long, trembling moment, bare feet chilled on the ancient flagstones. He remained still, face turned toward the empty space I had occupied, one hand now reaching across the mattress as though searching. The sight cracked something deep inside my ribs.

*This is the right thing,* I told myself, the words hollow even in my own mind. *This protects him.*

My hands shook as I gathered my discarded clothes from the floor. Each movement felt like betrayal. The soft wool of my academy skirt, the crisp white blouse, the high-collared jacket that suddenly felt like armor I didn’t deserve. The floor was ice beneath my soles. The room—once a cocoon of firelight and whispered vows—now felt cavernous, exposed, every shadow accusing.

I dressed without allowing myself to look at him. If I looked, I would stay. When my fingers reached the zipper of the high collar, they trembled so badly I had to grip the fabric with both hands. The claiming bite at the junction of my neck and shoulder burned faintly, a warm, living brand. Visible. Permanent. Proof that could not be hidden forever.

I zipped the collar as high as it would go, the fabric rasping against the sensitive mark like sandpaper over an open wound. Armor. Distance. A lie I would wear until I figured out how to breathe again.

I stepped toward the heavy oak door.

The bond tugged—gentle but insistent. A feeling more than words: *Where are you going, little one?*

My wolf whined softly inside me, uneasy, pacing in tight circles.

Jason shifted again in his sleep, his hand sliding further across the empty sheets, fingers flexing once more.

My chest cracked wide open.

I almost turned back. Almost crossed the room in three strides. Almost climbed into the bed and pressed my face into the curve of his shoulder and whispered every fear until they dissolved against his skin.

Instead, I opened the door.

The hinges whispered like a secret.

I slipped through and pulled it shut behind me.

The soft click echoed like a gunshot in the silent corridor.