No touching until I say, little one.

**That Evening – The Dorm**

Dinner in the vast oak-beamed hall was its own special kind of torture, the kind that clawed at every heightened sense the bond had sharpened in me overnight. Long trestle tables groaned under platters of roasted spiced chicken glistening with herbs, buttered root vegetables steaming in earthen bowls, and fresh-baked rye bread still warm from the ovens—the scents thick and savory, normally comforting but tonight clashing violently with the rose-pine-iron cocktail bleeding from my skin despite two fresh applications of Lila’s strongest blockers.

I pushed bites around my plate with my fork, the metal scraping obnoxiously against porcelain, while Lila chattered nonstop beside me about anything but the obvious: Shifting Theory midterms looming like storm clouds, the brutal new tactical obstacle course that had left half the alphas bruised and boasting in the corridors, the latest ridiculous rumor about Dean Hargrove’s secret delta lover sneaking through the southern gates after curfew. Her voice was a deliberate shield, bright and steady, but I caught the worried glances she shot me every few minutes, her hand brushing mine under the table in silent support.

Across the echoing expanse of the hall, at the long alpha tables where silver goblets caught torchlight like blades, Marcus kept glancing over from his pack’s bench. His broad shoulders strained against his uniform tunic, dark hair falling over one eye as he leaned back, nostrils flaring every few heartbeats. The bond reacted instantly each time—Jason’s possessiveness surging through me like molten iron in my veins, a deep, protective growl vibrating in my bones even though he was somewhere across campus in his office: *Mine. Touch her and lose the hand, pup.* When our eyes finally locked across the sea of students, Marcus didn’t just lift his goblet in that slow, mocking toast like before.

This time his lips curved into a full, predatory smirk, and he mouthed two words I couldn’t hear but felt in my gut—*Changed scent*—before winking and turning back to his laughing packmates. One of them, a beta girl from my Lore section, leaned over to whisper something that made the whole group erupt in low chuckles, eyes flicking my way. Heat flooded my cheeks, the claiming bite pulsing hot under my collar like a second heartbeat in time with my rising panic.

A nearby omega friend from Shifting Theory leaned in innocently, fork paused mid-air. “Rose, you okay? You smell… different tonight. Sweeter, almost. Like you finally ditched those awful suppressants. Found someone worth the risk?” Her voice was light, curious, but it landed like a stone in still water, ripples of potential gossip already spreading.

I forced a shaky laugh, shoving a piece of chicken into my mouth to buy time. “Just… new lotion from the market stalls. Lila’s idea. Burns a bit going on.” The lie tasted bitter, and Lila kicked me gently under the table, her eyes saying *hold it together*.

By the time we escaped back to our room, the sun had long dipped below the western spires, painting the sky in bruised purples and golds that filtered through our window like accusations. Lila fell asleep quickly after lights-out, curled on her side with earbuds in, soft instrumental lute music drifting out like a distant lullaby meant to soothe restless wolves. I lay in the dark for what felt like hours, the narrow bed creaking every time I shifted, moonlight spilling across my sheets in cool silver rivers that made every shadow look like the curve of Jason’s broad shoulders, the sharp line of his jaw.

My body hummed with the denied need from earlier, the guilt and the ache braided into something unbearable, a knot low in my belly and between my thighs that throbbed in rhythm with the bite on my throat. The clock on the dresser ticked mercilessly toward 7pm—only two hours left now—each second stretching the bond tighter, like invisible fingers tracing down my spine, whispering *soon, little one*.

My fingers drifted down before conscious thought could stop them, slipping under the waistband of my thin sleep shorts and into the soaked heat of my panties. The claiming bite flared white-hot the instant my fingertips brushed my swollen, aching clit, a jolt so sharp I had to bite down hard on my pillow to muffle the whimper that tore from my throat. Slick flooded my thighs instantly, hot and copious, the scent of rose and honey and him thickening the air until I could taste it on every ragged breath. Memories crashed over me in merciless, vivid color, each one sharper than the last because of the fresh bond amplifying them like a lens held to firelight.

Last night—gods, was it only last night?—his office had smelled of aged leather and hearth smoke, firelight flickering across bare skin as he had me bent over the heavy oak desk, my skirt rucked up around my waist, panties ripped clean off and dangling from one ankle like a conquered flag. “Look at you,” he’d growled, voice wrecked with lust and something far deeper, far more reverent, his callused palm smoothing up the back of my thigh.

Two thick fingers had plunged inside me without warning, scissoring, stretching, curling ruthlessly against that spot that made stars explode behind my eyelids and my knees buckle. “Dripping for your alpha already, little omega. So greedy. This tight little cunt is clenching like it was made for my knot—gonna stretch you so full you forget every rule that says we can’t have this.” I had pushed back against him shamelessly, hips rolling, voice breaking on pleas. “Please, Jason—Alpha—need your knot. Need you to breed me deep. Fill me up—give me your pups, mark me so no one else can ever touch what’s yours.”

He had flipped me onto my back then with effortless strength, silver eyes glowing molten as he sank into me in one slow, relentless thrust that stole my breath and made me sob with the perfect burn of it. “That’s my good girl. Take every inch. Take what’s yours—every thick, throbbing inch of your alpha’s cock.” The stretch had been exquisite fire, burning so perfectly I saw galaxies. When his knot began to swell—thick, burning, *perfect*—locking us together so deep I felt him in my soul, he had leaned down, teeth grazing my throat, and bitten. The white-hot snap of the bond had crashed through us as he came in hot, endless pulses, voice hoarse and reverent against my skin: “Mine. Gonna keep you swollen and marked and dripping me for the rest of our lives. Everyone will know who bred their perfect omega. Who owns this throat. This cunt. This heart. Say it, Rose—tell me who you belong to.”

The memory slammed into me like a physical blow, hips rocking desperately against my hand, two fingers plunging deep into my soaked heat trying in vain to mimic the impossible stretch of his knot. I circled my clit faster, slick coating my thighs, the sheets, the air thick and heady with us. My free hand flew to the bite, pressing hard, chasing the phantom feel of his teeth sinking in, the way his knot had pulsed and locked and *claimed*. I was so close—right there—teetering on the edge with his name a broken prayer on my lips, body arching off the bed—

*No touching until I say, little one.*

The alpha command rang through the bond like a steel bell tolling in my skull—clear, absolute, laced with velvet authority as if he stood at the foot of my bed, silver eyes dark and knowing. My body obeyed instantly, every muscle locking, pleasure shattering into frustrated agony. I yanked my hand away as if burned, curling into a tight, trembling ball on my side, thighs pressed together against the aching emptiness, body shaking with unspent need and fresh, hot tears soaking the pillow beneath my cheek. A broken sob escaped despite my efforts to muffle it, the bond humming warmer in response, patient and golden, wrapping around my fractured heart like a gentle hand that refused to let go no matter how hard I pushed.

“Stay away,” I whispered brokenly into the darkness, voice raw and small, barely louder than the lute music drifting from Lila’s earbuds. “Leave me alone… please, Jason. I can’t ruin you. I won’t be the reason they take everything from you—your title, your students, your legacy…”

But the bond only answered with a soft, velvet caress across my senses, carrying his scent—rich coffee and woodsmoke and *home*—and a single, knowing promise that settled deep in my bones like embers banked for the night: *7pm, little omega. My office. Doors locked. Wards humming. I’ll be waiting. Breathe for me until then. You’re mine to steady.*

I knew it was true, down to the marrow of my trembling bones. At 7pm I would walk through that door—heart hammering like war drums, Lore notes clutched like flimsy armor against my chest, high collar adjusted one last time to hide the bite that still throbbed in rhythm with my pulse.

I would sit across from him at that scarred oak desk, pretend the air wasn’t thick enough to choke on with our mingled scents and the memory of his knot locking us as one, and try to argue about bond law while my body screamed to climb into his lap instead. But the bond knew better.

My wolf knew better—she was already dreaming of the moment the wards sealed us in privacy, Professor Voss melting back into Jason, my alpha, my mate, the man who had weighed every consequence and still chosen me with his teeth and his knot and his unbreakable heart.

I was still terrified, still whispering desperate mantras that grew weaker with every passing minute, still trying to protect him with distance and denial. But the golden thread between us was stronger than academy stone, stronger than fear, stronger than the ancient rules carved into thousand-year-old walls that had witnessed countless doomed loves before ours.

The moonlight filtered through the half-drawn curtain, cool and silver like his eyes, painting every shadow in the room with the curve of his shoulder, the line of his jaw, the promise of what waited at 7pm. Somewhere across the moonlit grounds, in his quiet office lit by hearthfire and scattered with those preemptive documents, I felt him smile through the bond—small, knowing, unbreakable. Another whisper drifted across the distance, warm as his palm on my cheek had been: *Together, little one. Always.*

And despite the guilt still clawing at my ribs like thorns, despite the fear of ruin and whispers and hearings, the raw, aching, thoroughly claimed part of me that had begged to be bred and bared her throat for his bite answered with a soft, hopeful whine that vibrated straight through my chest and into the bond.

*Together.*

I closed my eyes, tears drying on my lashes, body still throbbing with unfulfilled need, heart already halfway across the academy grounds to the alpha I couldn’t stay away from—no matter how hard I tried. The clock ticked onward. 7pm was coming, inevitable as the moon’s pull on the tide. And I would be there.