He was breathtaking.

Rose's POV

The fog clung to Raven Academy like a lover's desperate embrace, thick and unyielding under the waxing moon. The ancient stone buildings loomed over the sprawling grounds, their gargoyle sentinels etched with runes that glowed faintly in the twilight—wards against humans, against rogues, against anything that dared threaten the pack within.

This wasn't just a school; it was a fortress, a crucible where young werewolves were forged into leaders or broken into submission. Hierarchies here weren't just social—they were primal, etched into our very DNA, with alphas at the top and omegas like me scrambling at the bottom. And tonight, as the lunar pull tugged at my veins like invisible strings, I felt more broken than ever.

I, Rose Hale, second-year omega, slouched in the back row of Professor Voss's advanced lore class, my notebook a chaotic mess of half-hearted scribbles and doodles. The lecture hall was a cavernous space of polished dark wood paneling and tiered seating, lit by flickering gas lamps that cast long shadows across the room.

The air was thick with the scent of aged leather-bound books, chalk dust, and the underlying musk of a dozen young shifters fighting to keep their instincts in check. Up front, at the massive podium that looked more like a throne than a teaching stand, stood Professor Jason Voss—the man who made this class both the highlight and the terror of every student's schedule.

Gods, he was breathtaking. Even from the back, where I tried to hide in the shadows, I couldn't ignore it. Tall and imposingly broad-shouldered, with a jawline sharp enough to slice through steel and hair as black as a raven's wing, falling in controlled waves that begged to be tousled.

His silver eyes, stormy, piercing, and utterly unreadable—swept over the class like a predator scanning for weakness. He wore a fitted black shirt that hugged his muscular frame, the sleeves rolled up to reveal forearms corded with veins and faint scars from past shifts or battles.

Every guy in the academy whispered about him, their voices laced with a mix of awe and raw desire. Professor Voss wasn't just an instructor; he was the alpha of alphas, heir to the ancient Voss bloodline that had dominated these misty hills for generations. Ruthless. Coldhearted. The kind of wolf who could command a room with a single glance and leave you trembling in submission.

As class began, the murmurs died down instantly. No one dared talk over him. He paced slowly across the front of the hall, his boots echoing on the stone floor, each step deliberate and commanding. "Today," he began, his voice a deep, resonant growl that vibrated through the air and straight into my bones, "we delve deeper into the blood rites of ancient mating bonds. Not the sanitized versions you've read in your basic texts—the real ones. The ones that bind souls, shatter wills, and forge unbreakable chains."

He paused, letting his words hang heavy in the air. A few students shifted uncomfortably in their seats, the omegas like me especially, our wolves whining internally at the mention of bonds. Mating wasn't romance in our world; it was possession, raw and primal. Professor Voss turned to the massive chalkboard behind him, his back to us for a moment, and I couldn't help but notice how his shirt stretched taut over his shoulders. Whispers erupted in hushed tones around me, too low for human ears but clear as day to our enhanced senses.

"Gods, look at him," murmured Alex, a beta two seats over, his voice thick with longing. "That ass in those pants... I'd let him ruin me any day."

"Shh," hissed his friend, but with a chuckle. "You're not wrong. Voss is a walking wet dream. Those silver eyes? Imagine them staring down at you while he pins you. I'd drop to my knees in a heartbeat."

Another voice from the row behind, a gamma named Tyler, joined in. "Everyone drools over him. Untouchable alpha perfection. Bet he'd knot so hard you'd forget your own name. I heard he doesn't even date—too cold for that. But fuck, I'd beg him to thaw just for me."

I rolled my eyes, trying to focus on my notes, but heat crept up my neck. They weren't exaggerating. Professor Voss had that effect—making hearts race, pulses quicken, and fantasies run wild. Guys in the dorms traded stories late at night: how he'd once stared down a disruptive alpha student until the guy submitted without a word, or how his scent alone could make an omega go into early heat. He was the one everyone adored, everyone wanted, but no one could have. Ice personified, with a reputation for being merciless in both grading and pack disputes.

Professor Voss spun back around, chalk in hand, and began sketching a intricate diagram of a blood rite circle on the board. "The rite begins with the alpha's incision," he explained, his tone clinical yet laced with an undercurrent of intensity that made the room feel smaller, hotter. "A blade forged in lunar silver, dipped in the blood of both parties. The omega—or submissive partner—must bare their throat willingly. Submission isn't forced; it's earned. Or taken." His eyes flicked across the class, lingering on a few faces, and I swear I felt them brush over me like a physical touch. "Why lunar silver, Mr. Hale?"

A student in the front row, an alpha hopeful named Derek Hale, straightened up. "Because it amplifies the moon's pull, Professor. Binds the wolves' essences together."

Voss nodded curtly, but his lips thinned. "Partially correct. It also burns. Tests resolve. A true bond isn't painless—it's forged in agony and ecstasy." He erased a line with a swift motion, redrawing it sharper. "Miss that in your essays, and you'll fail. As some of you already have."

More whispers rippled through the back rows as he continued lecturing, diving into historical examples. "In the Voss clan's archives—my family's legacy—we have records of rites gone wrong. Bonds that drove wolves mad, turning lovers into enemies. Or worse, slaves." His voice dropped, almost seductive in its darkness. "Imagine it: your will eroded, your body craving submission to someone who owns you utterly. That's the power of a true mating rite."

"Fuck, he's so hot when he talks like that," Alex whispered again, fanning himself dramatically. "All dominant and growly. I'd let him demonstrate on me. Ruin me, Professor. Please."

Tyler snickered softly. "You're insane. But yeah... those hands? Imagine them on you. Gripping, claiming. Everyone wants Voss to ruin them. He's the alpha we all dream about."

I tuned them out, scribbling furiously, but my mind wandered. Cheating on his assignment had been the stupidest thing I'd ever done. The task was grueling: a ten-page essay dissecting these very rites, with citations from the restricted grimoires in the academy's library. I'd snuck in after curfew, heart pounding like a drum, and copied entire passages, tweaking just enough to pass them off as original work. Desperation had driven me—failing meant losing my scholarship, expulsion, a life as a rogue on the fringes of society like my low-born parents. No pack. No future. Just endless wandering, vulnerable to every predator out there.

But now, as Professor Voss paced and lectured, his presence filling the room like smoke, I wondered if he'd notice. He was too sharp, too perceptive. The way he dissected texts was the same way he'd dissect a lie—or a cheater.

He continued teaching, his voice weaving through the air like a spell. "Now, for the invocation phase," he said, leaning against the podium, arms crossed over his chest in a way that made his biceps strain against the fabric. "The alpha recites the ancient words: 'By moon and blood, I claim thee. Thy will bends to mine, thy flesh yields to my fire.' The omega responds—or doesn't. Silence can be defiance, but defiance breaks under the rite's pull."

A hand shot up from the middle row. "Professor Voss," asked a beta named Lena, her voice tentative. "What if the omega resists? Can the bond be forced?"

His silver eyes narrowed, a faint smirk playing on his lips. "Resist? In theory, yes. But the moon doesn't care for free will. The rite amplifies instincts—desire, dominance, submission. Force it too hard, and you risk shattering the soul. But in practice..." He trailed off, his gaze sweeping the room again. "Alphas like me don't ask. We take."

The class erupted in a low buzz of reactions—nervous laughs, wide-eyed stares. Alex leaned over to me this time. "See? He's basically admitting he'd ruin anyone he wants. Gods, Rylan, don't you just want him to look at you like that? Pin you down and—"

"Shut up," I hissed, my cheeks burning. But deep down, a traitorous spark ignited. Voss was untouchable, yes, but magnetic. Dangerous.

He clapped his hands once, sharp as a whip crack. "Enough. Focus. For your next assignment—due in two weeks—analyze a failed rite from the archives. Cite primary sources. No shortcuts. I can smell plagiarism from a mile away." His eyes locked on mine for a split second, or maybe I imagined it. My stomach dropped.

The bell tower tolled, signaling the end of class. Students gathered their things, filing out in a murmur of deference and lingering glances at the professor. I lingered too, shoving my books into my bag with shaking hands, hoping to slip away unnoticed amid the crowd. But as the last few stragglers left, his voice cut through the emptying hall like a blade.

"Hale. Stay."