What the hell?

Rose's POV

Classes dragged like chains wrapped around my ankles, each period an eternity of torment. Lore—his class—was first period, and I slipped into the vast lecture hall early, claiming a seat in the very back row where the shadows pooled deepest and the air smelled faintly of dust and old parchment.

Notebook open but pen idle in my numb fingers, I stared at the blank page as the room filled with the usual pre-class bustle—students chatting in low voices, papers rustling, scents mingling in a chaotic cloud that made my head spin worse. But when the heavy door opened precisely on time and Jason stepped through, the room stilled as always—conversations dying mid-sentence, spines straightening instinctively under the invisible weight of his alpha presence, air thickening until breathing felt deliberate.

He moved with lethal, economical grace to the front podium—black shirt fitted perfectly to his broad, powerful frame, sleeves rolled high to his elbows revealing strong, scarred forearms like badges of survival and dominance earned in blood, top buttons undone just enough to reveal the strong column of his throat and the edge of an old scar disappearing beneath fabric like a secret.

He looked rested, controlled, lethally dangerous—every inch the alpha heir who commanded without ever raising his voice or baring fang. His silver eyes swept the packed hall in a slow, assessing arc—pausing on me for a fraction longer than necessary, a flicker of recognition, silent question, and something that might have been dark, heated approval passing through them like lightning in storm clouds.

My heart stuttered painfully, skipping beats before resuming its wild thunder that echoed in my ears. My wolf sat up instantly inside me, tail thumping metaphorically against my ribs with eager force, ears pricked forward, body leaning subtly toward him despite the distance and the rows of seats between us.

He began the lecture seamlessly on ancient claiming rites, voice resonant and commanding attention without effort, filling the hall like smoke. “The bond is not taken by force or coercion,” he said, pacing slowly with predatory grace that made every eye track him. “It is offered freely, willingly. And once offered—truly offered, without reservation—it reshapes everything. The giver. The receiver. The entire pack dynamic. Irrevocably. Permanently.”

His eyes found mine again deliberately on the word “reshapes,” holding for a loaded, burning second that sent heat flooding through me in a relentless wave—cheeks, throat, chest, lower until I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. I looked down quickly, pen scratching meaningless, frantic loops on the page, tearing through paper in places, but I felt his gaze linger a moment longer before moving on, as if he’d marked me across the room.

Whispers rippled through the hall immediately during the mid-lecture break, students stretching and chatting in hushed, excited tones that carried despite efforts to muffle them. “Did you see that? He looked right at Rose Kane again—twice now.”

“Yeah, lingered way too long the second time. Definitely not random.”

“Bet those private sessions are intense. She looks wrecked even in class—flushed, jumpy, like she didn’t sleep.”

“Jealous. I’d kill for even one session with him.”

By tactical shifting class on the outdoor training grounds, I was a complete, fraying mess—muscles aching deeply from last night’s enforced, agonizing stillness, thighs bruised faintly where the hard chair had bitten in for hours, mind fractured into shards of memory, anticipation, and dread.

The cold fog clung to everything, muffling sounds and curling around ankles like ghostly fingers, but not the instructor’s sharp, barking commands. He paired us for dominance resistance drills on the frost-damp mats, and my partner—an overeager beta named Marcus with a perpetual cocky smirk and wandering eyes—grinned too wide as we circled each other, his scent laced with crude interest.

“Heard Voss has you on a short leash in those private tutoring sessions,” he said, voice low but carrying in the quiet between drills, eyes gleaming as he feinted left. “Lucky you. Bet he’s teaching you more than just lore and shifting forms—bet he’s got you practicing submission up close and personal, real thorough like.”

My wolf snarled viciously inside—sudden, overwhelming fury surging hot and primal. I shifted without thinking or permission—partial form flaring in a blink, claws extending sharp and deadly, faster and more controlled than I’d ever managed in drills before. I swiped too close, too aggressively, a warning slash that whistled through the air. Marcus yelped in genuine alarm, stumbling back and nearly falling on the mat, eyes wide with shock.

“Gods, Rose! Easy! What the hell?”

The entire class paused, heads turning sharply. The instructor barked from the sidelines, “Hale! Control your shift—now! This isn’t a challenge ring!”

I shifted back fully in an instant, breathing hard through clenched teeth, fists balled at my sides, claws retracting with a painful prick. “Don’t talk about him,” I said, voice low and edged with something new—something dangerous, possessive, alpha-like that I didn’t recognize in myself and that terrified me instantly.

Marcus raised both hands in surrender, grin faltering into wary nervousness as he regained balance. “Message received. Damn. He’s really rubbing off on you already—turning our quiet little fake-beta into a fighter with teeth.”

The instructor strode over, glaring. “Kane, Marcus—focus or run laps until you drop. This is drills, not personal vendettas.”

I spent the rest of class silent and seething, muscles trembling from more than cold and exertion, wolf pacing restlessly with satisfaction at the defense but confusion at its own intensity.

The rest of the day blurred into exhausting, interminable fragments—pack history debates where I barely spoke, voice too tight to contribute without risking a crack or growl; lunch I skipped entirely, hiding in a quiet alcove behind the library to avoid more whispers and stares; whispers that followed me anyway like persistent shadows through every hallway and classroom. “Rose and Voss—think she’s his new favorite pet?” “Favorite or toy to break?” “Either way, she won’t last long looking like that—scent’s changing, mark’s obvious now.”

By late afternoon, anticipation was a living thing clawing relentlessly at my insides, a fever burning under my skin that made every minute drag eternally, every class an interminable wait filled with phantom touches and remembered praise. My wolf paced endlessly, whining with impatience, scent spiking no matter how many extra suppressants I’d swallowed in a bathroom stall between classes.

I couldn’t stay away any longer. Couldn’t pretend I wasn’t counting seconds.

6:55.

I stood outside his office door in the deserted east wing, hand raised to knock, heart thundering so violently I was sure he heard it through the thick oak—sure his alpha senses caught the frantic rhythm, the sweet, needy edge creeping traitorously into my scent despite everything I’d done to stop it.

The door opened before my knuckles touched wood.

Jason filled the frame completely, broad shoulders blocking the lamplight from within, silver eyes locking onto mine instantly with that piercing, stripping intensity that flayed every remaining defense I’d spent the day desperately rebuilding. He wore black again—fitted shirt emphasizing his powerful build, sleeves rolled high revealing strong, scarred forearms, top buttons undone exposing the strong column of his throat and the edge of an old scar disappearing beneath fabric like a promise of violence survived. He looked rested. Controlled. Lethally calm and dangerous—every inch the alpha heir who owned every room he entered.

“You’re early,” he said, voice low and resonant, a faint, dangerous curve at the corner of his mouth that sent heat spiraling through me in an instant.

I swallowed hard, throat dry as dust. “I… couldn’t wait,” I admitted, the words slipping out before I could cage them—raw, honest, humiliating in their truth.

His eyes darkened instantly, satisfaction flaring bright and hot like lightning in storm clouds. He stepped aside with deliberate slowness, gesturing me in with a tilt of his head.

“Good.”

I entered on unsteady legs, knees threatening to buckle.

The door clicked shut behind me with soft, ominous finality—like a lock sliding home on a cage I’d walked into twice now, willingly.

The room enveloped me instantly—dim lamplight casting long shadows, candles flickering, his scent thicker and heavier than memory, wrapping around me like invisible chains that tightened with every breath. The hard wooden chair waited in its exact, deliberate position. The silver ritual dagger on the desk glinted mockingly in the low light.

Jason circled me slowly, predator assessing prey that had returned not just willingly—but eagerly, early, trembling with need.

“Eager,” he murmured, stopping just behind me, breath warm against my ear, sending shivers racing down my spine. “Tell me, Rose—what did you reflect on last night? Truthfully. Every detail.”

My heart hammered harder, wolf whining high and needy. “I reflected on… the stillness,” I whispered, voice trembling. “How hard it was to hold when you watched. How it hurt—muscles burning, lungs aching for air you controlled. How every second stretched forever. And how…” I paused, cheeks burning. “How alive it made me feel. Like I was on fire inside. Like I was… seen. Really seen.”

He hummed approval, a deep rumble that vibrated through my back. “Good. And the want?” he asked softer, hand hovering near my shoulder—close enough to feel the heat. “Did it grow in the dark? Did you touch yourself thinking of my praise?”