No hiding.

Rose’s POV

“Take off your jacket,” he said, his tone even, as if commenting on the weather.

The words landed like a quiet detonation in the hushed sanctuary of his office.

My chest tightened so violently I felt the ache radiate into my throat, a sudden vise squeezing the breath from my lungs until spots danced at the edges of my vision. The room, already shrouded in the dim amber glow of a single desk lamp and the restless flicker of candles in wrought-iron sconces, seemed to contract around us like a living thing.

Towering bookshelves loomed on every wall, groaning under the weight of centuries-old tomes bound in cracked leather, their spines etched with runes and titles in forgotten tongues—histories of pack wars, rituals of dominance, treatises on the unbreakable laws of alpha and omega.

The massive oak desk dominated the center, scarred from years of use, its surface cluttered with silver instruments, ritual daggers that caught the light like bared fangs, and a single wolf pelt draped over one corner like a trophy. Shadows writhed across the walls, elongated claws reaching for me as the candle flames wavered in an unseen draft, as if the room itself anticipated what was coming.

“Why?” The question burst out before I could cage it, small and defiant, laced with a tremor that betrayed the storm raging inside me.

Jason’s silver eyes lifted slowly from the leather-bound book he’d been holding—though I suspected he hadn’t read a single word—pinning me with a gaze that was neither angry nor amused. It was dissecting. Clinical. As if I were a rare, flawed artifact he’d decided to unravel thread by thread, exposing every hidden fracture. The intensity of it made my skin prickle with heat, a flush crawling up my neck despite the chill seeping through the ancient stone floors beneath the thick Persian rug. “Because I told you to.”

Four words. Delivered without volume, without overt menace. Just unyielding, absolute certainty—the kind that reshaped reality around it, brooking no argument, no delay, no mercy.

My wolf stirred deep in my core, a low tremor rippling beneath my ribs like the first rumble of distant thunder. It didn’t snarl in outright rebellion or cower in full submission. It paused. Listened intently. Recognized the timbre of an alpha whose voice alone could bend the will of lesser wolves, whose command resonated on a primal frequency that demanded obedience as naturally as the moon pulled the tides.

I hated that it listened. Hated the traitorous curl of curiosity threading through its energy, the way it perked up with wary intrigue rather than recoiled in fear. My suppressants had dulled it for years, buried it under layers of chemical restraint, but here, in this room thick with his scent, it was waking. Stretching. Testing the chains.

My fingers fumbled to the zipper of my academy jacket, clumsy with a mix of reluctance and the fine, uncontrollable shake I couldn’t suppress. The metal teeth parted with a slow, rasping zipper sound that echoed obscenely loud in the oppressive hush, each tooth a small surrender.

Cool air rushed in to kiss the thin cotton of my shirt as I shrugged the jacket off my shoulders, the heavy fabric sliding down my arms like a reluctant confession, pooling weight in my hands. Goosebumps erupted in its wake, sharpening my awareness of every newly exposed inch—the delicate line of my collarbone, the subtle curve of my shoulders, the way the shirt now clung slightly to my skin from the nervous sheen of sweat building along my spine and between my breasts.

Jason watched every second of it with unwavering focus.

Not with overt, crude hunger. Not leering like the lesser alphas in the halls who sniffed too close.

He was cataloguing. Memorizing. His silver gaze traced the path of the falling jacket, the accelerated rise and fall of my chest as I breathed too shallowly, the faint flush staining my cheeks and throat, the microscopic tremor in my lower lip.

When I hesitated, clutching the folded jacket like a flimsy shield against his scrutiny, unsure where to place it without seeming defiant, he inclined his head with lazy precision toward the low mahogany side table beside his high-backed leather chair. “There. Neatly.”

I laid it down with deliberate, exaggerated care, smoothing the folds as if mishandling it might invite immediate correction—as if every object in this room was now evidence in a trial where I was both defendant and witness.

He didn’t speak again until I straightened, bare-armed and feeling already stripped to the bone.

“Better,” he murmured, the single word laced with a faint, velvety approval that sent an unwelcome spark skittering through my veins, igniting nerves I wished would stay dormant. “Now the shoes.”

My breath caught audibly this time, a sharp, betraying inhale that hung in the air like an admission. “Jason—”

His name tasted foreign and far too intimate on my tongue, like speaking a forbidden incantation in this sealed space where titles were armor and familiarity was danger.

He didn’t correct me. Didn’t smile. He simply waited, one dark brow arching in mild, inexorable expectation—a silent reminder that time was his to command, not mine. The silence stretched, thick and patient, merciless as a predator toying with cornered prey, letting the weight of anticipation crush me slowly.

My wolf whined softly internally—a confused, pleading sound that echoed my own inner turmoil. It urged obedience, sensing the overwhelming pull of his alpha presence, while my human mind scrambled desperately for footing, for some scrap of control in this spiraling loss.

I toed off my boots slowly, deliberately, first the left, then the right. The thick Persian rug swallowed the soft thuds completely, but the sudden loss of height left me diminished, smaller in his towering shadow. Bare feet sank into the ancient wool, grounding me physically yet making me feel utterly unmoored—vulnerable in a primal, instinctual way that went far beyond mere skin, as if I’d surrendered the last physical barrier between me and the earth’s cold, unforgiving judgment.

He noticed—of course he noticed every infinitesimal shift—the way my posture adjusted instinctively, the subtle curl of my toes against the rug for balance. The corner of his mouth curved, not quite a full smile, more a predator’s quiet acknowledgment of weakness spotted and filed away. “Good,” he said quietly, voice a low rumble that vibrated through the floor into my soles. “You’re learning quickly that hesitation costs far more than obedience. It invites… correction. And I do not enjoy repeating myself.”

The word “correction” lingered like smoke, heavy with dark implication, sending a fresh, electric shiver racing down my spine and pooling as heat low in my belly. My heartbeat accelerated into a frantic gallop, thump-thump-thump, a relentless drum echoing in my ears, loud enough that I was certain his enhanced alpha senses caught every erratic, betraying beat.

My wolf paced restlessly now, its energy coiling tighter and tighter—a volatile mix of lingering defiance and burgeoning intrigue that made my muscles ache with barely restrained tension, every fiber screaming to either bolt or bare my throat.

Jason moved then, slow and deliberate, beginning another predatory circle around me. This time his path narrowed dangerously; the sleeve of his rolled-up black shirt brushed my upper arm as he passed behind me—a deliberate whisper of fabric against skin, a ghost of contact that ignited nerves like sparks scattering on dry tinder. My breath stuttered sharply, chest rising in a helpless gasp.

“Stand straight,” he murmured from directly behind me, his voice a low, intimate rumble close to my ear, breath warm and deliberate against the fine hairs at my nape, stirring them like a lover’s secret. “Shoulders back—further. Chin level, not defiant, not submissive. Hands loose at your sides. No clenching. No hiding.”

I obeyed before conscious thought fully caught up, spine lengthening involuntarily until my back arched slightly, shoulders rolling back until my chest pushed forward in unmistakable presentation. The posture felt utterly unnatural—too open, too displayed, like a deliberate offering laid upon an ancient altar—but I held it rigidly, muscles trembling faintly with the sustained effort, sweat prickling anew along my hairline.

His footsteps paused directly at my back. I could feel the radiant heat of him like a wall, mere inches away, his alpha presence pressing against my senses with tangible force, making the fine hairs on my arms stand on end.

“Breathe,” he commanded softly, the word a velvet order.

I hadn’t realized I’d stopped again—lungs frozen in anticipation.

Air rushed in, shaky and far too audible in the hush. I hated that he heard it—that he knew exactly how thoroughly he unraveled me.

“Again. Slower. Deeper. Count it in your head—four in, hold four, four out.”

I forced a deeper inhale, chest expanding until the shirt pulled taut, then a controlled hold, then a measured exhale. My wolf settled fractionally under the enforced rhythm, soothed by the structure despite itself, its pacing slowing to a watchful, almost hypnotic prowl.

He completed his circle at last, coming around to face me once more, stopping just inside the boundary of personal space—so close that the heat radiating from his broad chest warmed the air between us. Close enough that I had to tilt my head slightly upward to maintain eye contact. Close enough that his scent enveloped me completely, drowning my senses—sharp pine from the surrounding academy forests, lingering smoke from the hearth, cold winter steel honed to lethal perfection, underscored by that deeper, primal musk of unchecked alpha dominance that made my head spin and my knees weaken.

“Lesson one,” he said, voice low and almost conversational, yet laced with unbreakable steel beneath the calm. “Stillness.”