He's... intense.

Rose’s POV

Dawn came gray and reluctant, fog pressing thick against the narrow window like a living thing trying to creep inside and smother the last scraps of my resolve. The academy bells tolled low and mournful, vibrating through the stone walls and into my bones like a summons I couldn’t ignore. I dragged myself up slowly, body stiff and aching from the hard chair’s memory imprinted deep in my muscles—thighs bruised faintly where the unyielding wood had bitten in, lower back screaming in protest with every shift. My head pounded from lack of real sleep, eyes gritty and burning, temples throbbing in time with my still-racing pulse.

I dressed mechanically in the dim, cold light filtering through the fog—fresh white shirt buttoned all the way to my throat to hide any lingering flush or mark, academy jacket zipped to my chin like additional armor against prying eyes, hair yanked back into a tight, severe braid that pulled painfully at my scalp like self-inflicted punishment.

Anything to feel armored again. Anything to rebuild the walls he’d cracked wide open last night. Anything to hide the faint red mark blooming on my jaw that refused to fade completely, the subtle, treacherous sweetness creeping into my scent that I prayed—desperately—that the double dose of suppressants I’d swallowed this morning would still mask from sharper alpha noses.

Breakfast was a blur of overwhelming noise and scents I couldn’t stomach. The dining hall was packed as always—alphas dominating the long central tables with booming laughter and boasts of last night's moon runs, betas clustered in animated, overlapping groups trading gossip and notes with easy camaraderie, omegas like me relegated to the smaller, shadowed tables along the edges where we could watch the hierarchy play out without being watched too closely—or so we told ourselves.

I sat alone at the very end of one such table, picking mechanically at bland oatmeal that tasted like wet paper, black coffee bitter and scalding on my tongue but necessary to chase the lingering fog from my mind and body. Whispers floated around me like insidious smoke—always whispers in the dining hall, the currency of information, rumor, and subtle power plays—but today they felt sharper, more pointed, slicing through the haze in my head like knives seeking the weak spots they sensed but couldn’t name.

“Did you see Rose last night? Coming from the east wing again? That’s the second time this week—she’s definitely getting special treatment from someone high up.”

“Private tutoring with Voss. Lucky bitch—or unlucky. He’s brutal in those sessions, they say. Makes you earn every minute with blood, sweat, or tears.”

“Brutal? Gods, I’d take brutal from him any day. Those silver eyes when he stares you down in class? That voice, low and cold? I heard he made one alpha transfer last year just by staring too long—no growl needed.”

“Cry or something else? Bet it’s more than tutoring. No one gets that much of Voss’s time without… paying for it somehow. Look at her—she’s flushed even now, eyes too bright. And that mark on her jaw—”

Heat flooded my cheeks and throat at the last whisper, my hand instinctively rising halfway to cover the spot before I forced it back down to grip my spoon until the metal groaned. My wolf bristled viciously at every crude word—hackles raised to full height, a low, warning growl building deep in my chest that I swallowed with effort, tasting copper from biting my tongue too hard.

Possessive and fiercely protective in a way that terrified me more than the whispers themselves. Jason wasn’t mine to defend or claim. He was the academy’s untouchable alpha heir, the living fantasy every wolf—male, female, alpha, beta, omega—dreamed of serving, of pleasing, of merely surviving in his presence without breaking. And yet the thought of their jealous, crude fantasies brushing against what I’d experienced—what was mine alone to endure, to process, to burn from—made my skin crawl, my fingers tighten until the spoon bent with a soft, audible creak.

A shadow fell across my table, blocking the weak morning light slanting through high stained-glass windows. I looked up warily to see Lila, another omega from my year—petite and blonde, always nervous around alphas but bold and gossipy with fellow omegas—sliding into the seat across from me with her tray of sliced fruit and plain yogurt. Her eyes were wide with curiosity, scent laced with anxiety, envy, and a hint of genuine concern that made my wolf pause its growling long enough to assess.

“Rose,” she whispered, leaning in close enough that her voice wouldn’t carry far over the hall’s din, fork pausing halfway to her mouth as she studied my face. “Is it true? You’re really getting private lessons with Professor Voss? Twice now? Everyone’s talking about it.”

I forced a neutral, bored expression, stirring my oatmeal into gray, unappetizing mush to avoid meeting her gaze directly. “It’s tutoring. For lore class. I… fell behind on an assignment. That’s all.”

Lila’s eyes widened further, yogurt completely forgotten as she leaned even closer, voice dropping to an excited, conspiratorial hush. “Fell behind? Rose, everyone falls behind in his class—it’s literally designed that way to weed out the weak. But private sessions? Gods, that’s… huge. Dangerous. No omega gets that kind of one-on-one attention from an alpha like him without it meaning something big. What’s he like? Up close, I mean. Does he… does he growl when you get answers wrong? Touch you to correct posture or breathing? I heard he can make you submit with just a look—no command needed, just that stare until your wolf rolls over.”

Heat flooded my cheeks and throat in a burning wave at the vivid memories—his thumb beneath my chin tipping my face up forcefully, his unrelenting presence pressing until I burned from the inside out, his voice demanding words of surrender that tasted like truth and shame. My wolf rumbled warningly deep inside, urging me to snap at her, to bare teeth and claim the experience as off-limits, private, sacred in its terror. “He’s… intense,” I managed finally, voice tighter than I wanted, words clipped. “Very focused on the material. It’s just lessons. Academic. Nothing more.”

Lila wasn’t buying it—she leaned even closer, eyes gleaming with insatiable curiosity, voice barely a breath now. “Nothing more? Come on, Rose, don’t lie to me—we’re both omegas here, we know how this world works. You come back looking… wrecked every time. Flushed like you’ve been running for hours. Eyes too bright, like you’re fevered. And that mark on your jaw—” She reached out suddenly as if to touch it gently, fingers hovering inches away.

I jerked back instinctively, hand flying up to cover the spot protectively, heart pounding hard enough to echo in my ears. “It’s nothing,” I said sharply—too sharply, voice cracking on the edge of a growl. Heads turned at nearby tables, curious eyes flicking our way before returning to their trays. I lowered my voice, but the edge remained razor-sharp. “Just… a bruise from tactical drills yesterday. Leave it alone, Lila. Please.”

Lila pulled back slowly, hurt flickering briefly in her wide blue eyes, but curiosity and concern won out in the end. She lowered her voice further, glancing around before speaking. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to push. Just… be careful, okay? Really careful. Voss doesn’t do anything without cold, calculated reason. And omegas who get too close to alphas like him… they don’t come back the same. Some disappear quietly into compounds for ‘protection.’ Some break completely and transfer out. Some… change in ways the pack doesn’t forgive, ways that mark them forever. You’re already different today—I can smell it on you, even through the suppressants. Sweeter. Needier.”

Her words lingered like a chilling warning as she gathered her tray and left with a worried glance back, joining another group of omegas who immediately leaned in for details, their whispers starting anew. I pushed my own tray away violently, appetite completely gone, my wolf snarling internally at the implication—at the idea that I was already changed, already marked in ways they could sense but not fully name, already on a path that led to breaking or worse. I stood abruptly, tray clattering, and fled the hall before more eyes turned my way.