Chapter Six

Kian’s POV

I spent an hour just talking with Luca.

It felt… surprisingly easy. Like I didn’t have to watch every single word that left my mouth, didn’t have to wonder if I was being too quiet or too much or not enough at all. He told me stories about his classes, about the ridiculous amount of memorization med school demanded, about the group of friends he’d already made here — people who apparently had zero respect for normal sleep schedules and even less for personal space. And I found myself actually laughing, really laughing, for what felt like the first time in months.

By the time I finally said goodbye and stepped back out into the cool evening air, the sun had already dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in soft shades of purple and bruised orange. 

The campus was quieter now, the crowds thinning out as students headed home or to the dorms or to whatever evening plans they had. I pulled the sleeves of my oversized hoodie down a little further, hands tucked into the pockets, and started walking toward the gate. My temporary place wasn’t far — just a twenty-minute walk if I took the main roads — but I didn’t mind. The fresh air felt good after being inside all day, and for once, my mind wasn’t spiraling quite so badly.

Then it happened.

One minute everything was fine, and the next… I felt it. That familiar, thin burning sensation right where the patch sat against my neck, just behind my ear. It wasn’t painful, exactly—more like a warning tingle that I’d learned to recognize all too well over the last two years. My stomach dropped. No. Not now.

I walked a little faster, heart starting to pick up pace. Please hold on. Just until I get back to my room. Please.

But the feeling only grew stronger, and along with it came that telltale faint warmth spreading through my chest. I knew what that meant. The patch was failing. It had reached its limit.

Panic pricked at the edges of my mind. I’d known this day was coming. The doctor — when my father had finally been forced to take me, when my presentation simply couldn’t be hidden anymore — had been very clear about it. He’d shaken his head, his expression weary and disapproving, and told my father exactly what he thought.

“These blockers aren’t meant to be used long-term. They’re dangerous, especially for someone his age going through a late presentation. His body needs to regulate naturally. He needs to experience his first heat properly so his cycle can stabilize. You cannot keep delaying it.”

But my father hadn’t listened. Of course he hadn’t. He’d simply found someone else — someone less ethical, someone who operated in the shadows where questions weren’t asked — and bought the supply he wanted. Black market injections and scent patches. Stronger than anything a doctor would ever prescribe, and far more dangerous. They didn’t just mask; they suppressed. Deep down, I knew I was playing a losing game, that every patch and every shot was only buying me a little more time before my body rebelled completely.

And tonight, it seemed, my time is almost running out again.

I stepped out from the dormitory building entrance and onto the footpath, and I could practically feel it happening. The faint, carefully suppressed scent I’d carried around like armor for two years began to seep through. Not all of it.. not yet.. but enough that I knew anyone sensitive to pheromones would catch it. 

My heart hammered against my ribs, sharp and frantic. I hunched my shoulders, pulling the hood up even though it wasn’t cold, keeping my head down. 

Don’t look at me. Don’t notice me. Please just walk past.

A small group of students walked by, two alphas and a beta, laughing about something that had happened during their afternoon lecture. As they drew near, one of the alphas paused, his head turning slightly in my direction. His nose twitched. I held my breath, every muscle in my body going rigid. His friend nudged his arm, and he blinked, shaking his head slightly before moving along, but not before his gaze lingered just a little longer than was comfortable.

I kept walking, my pace quickening, grateful beyond words that it was dark out. Streetlights cast long, uneven shadows, and most people were focused on getting where they were going rather than studying the face of someone in a hoodie. I looked down at my phone’s screen — 9:47 PM. Not too late. Not too late at all, but the campus was clearing out fast..

I needed somewhere quiet. Somewhere hidden.

I spotted a narrow pathway that cut between two buildings, leading toward a cluster of trees that usually sat empty after dark. Perfect. I ducked into it, moving quickly until I was well away from the main footpaths, the sounds of conversation and footsteps fading behind me. My hands were trembling as I reached into the inner pocket of my bag and pulled out the small foil-wrapped packet I always kept there. Just in case.

My fingers fumbled slightly in the dim light. I pressed my back against the rough brick wall of the building, eyes darting around to make sure I was truly alone. The shadows stretched long and deep here. No one. I was safe.

With a sharp intake of breath, I reached up and peeled the old patch away from my skin. It came away with a faint sticky sound, and for a heartbeat, I felt completely exposed — raw and unshielded and terrifyingly open. The scent rushed out then, sudden and sharp, even to my own senses. I cringed, hurrying to tear open the new packet and press the fresh patch into place over the exact same spot.

The relief wasn’t instant. It never was. It took a minute or two to kick in fully, to weave that thin, artificial veil back into place over my biology. But I could feel it starting to work, the faint warmth receding, the sense of being dangerously visible slowly fading. I carefully folded the used patch — dirty, spent, dangerous — and dropped it into a nearby trash bin. 

Then I turned and practically ran.

My footsteps sounded too loud on the pavement. I told myself I was being ridiculous. The fresh patch would hold. It would mask everything. But the lingering awareness that it had failed, that my secret had been hanging by a thread just minutes ago, made my skin crawl. I kept my head down, my hands buried deep in my pockets, and didn’t stop until I reached the main gate.

There were more people here — students waiting for rides, taxis slowing down to pick them up, a couple hugging goodbye near the lamppost. I slowed to a walk, forcing myself to breathe normally, to look like I belonged here. I just need a cab. Just one cab ride back to my temporary room, and then I can lock the door and breathe again.

I lifted my hand, scanning the road for an approaching vehicle, and that was when I saw them.

Or rather, him..

Standing just a short distance away, talking to someone I didn’t recognize, was River.

My heart stopped.

Oh no.

Oh shit.