The whisper hung in the air between us, a ghost that refused to fade. It's a cage.
Zevran pushed himself off me, his weight leaving a phantom pressure on my chest. The classroom remained silent, the other students staring with a mixture of awe and confusion. They had seen the fight, but they hadn't heard the words. They didn't know my world had just tilted on its axis.
"An impressive display of reactive technique from Silvius," Professor Halward's voice cut through the tension, his tone laced with a hint of surprise. "And a reminder from Graves that overconfidence is a weakness. Back to your seats."
The spell broke. The class erupted into murmurs. I got to my feet, my body humming with a strange, residual energy and a deep, chilling fear. I could not look at Zevran. I kept my head down and walked back to my desk, my movements stiff. I felt his gaze on me the entire way, a physical weight between my shoulder blades.
The rest of the class was a blur. The professor's voice was a distant drone. My mind was a frantic, screaming loop. He knows. He doesn't know what, but he knows. He smelled it. He felt it. The suppressants are failing. I am failing.
The moment the dismissal bell rang, I was the first one out the door, moving with a speed that bordered on panic. I needed to get to my dorm. I needed another dose. The twelve-hour safety window was a lie. Zevran Graves was a variable the suppressants had not been designed to handle.
I weaved through the crowded stone corridors, my heart hammering against my ribs. The grand, gothic arches of Aethelgard seemed to close in on me, the towering windows casting long, judgmental shadows.
"Silvius."
The voice, low and unmistakable, came from behind me. I froze mid-step, my blood turning to ice. I considered pretending I had not heard and continuing to walk. But that would be cowardice, and an Alpha was never a coward. It was part of the mask.
I turned slowly. Zevran stood a few feet away, his arms crossed over his broad chest. He had washed up, but a faint sheen of sweat still clung to his temple. His golden eyes were narrowed, analytical.
"You left in a hurry," he stated, his tone neutral.
"I have studies," I replied, my own voice carefully flat, devoid of the tremor I felt inside.
He took a step closer, and the space between us seemed to shrink. The hallway was emptying, but a few students lingered, casting curious glances our way. He ignored them completely, his focus entirely on me.
"Your fighting style is... unusual for an Alpha from the northern provinces," he said, his head tilted. "It's reactive. Defensive. Almost like you're used to protecting something. Or hiding something."
Every word was a carefully placed needle, probing for a weakness. I forced my expression to remain impassive, a sheet of ice. "I find efficiency more valuable than brute force. It was a lesson you seemed to need a reminder of."
A faint, dangerous smile touched his lips. He was enjoying this. "Is that what that was? A lesson?" He took another step, now well within my personal space. I had to tilt my head back slightly to maintain eye contact, a fact that sent a fresh jolt of alarm through me. Submission.
His scent washed over me again, stronger now without the sweat and dust of the combat hall. Ozone and sandalwood. It was a clean, powerful scent that should have repelled me. Instead, it called to something deep and hidden within my core. My Omega instincts, usually a muffled whisper beneath the chemicals, stirred like a sleeping beast.
I took a half-step back, my shoulder blades brushing against the cold stone wall. Nowhere left to run.
His eyes tracked the minute movement, and his smile widened. He leaned in, his voice dropping so only I could hear. "You flinch away from a direct challenge now? After you almost had me on the mat? That doesn't make sense, Silvius." His gaze dropped to the side of my neck, and I had to fight the insane urge to cover it with my hand. "Unless the cage door just rattled."
My breath hitched. It was a barely audible sound, but he heard it. His eyes snapped back to mine, and in their depths, the curiosity bled into something hotter, something possessive and sure.
He knew.
He might not have the word for it, but he knew the truth was buried right here, in the frantic pulse at my throat and the scent I was desperately trying to hide.
"Stay away from me, Graves," I whispered, the command sounding weak and shaky even to my own ears.
He raised a single, infuriating brow. He didn't move back. Instead, he lifted his hand and, with a deliberate slowness that felt like a brand, brushed a nonexistent piece of lint from the shoulder of my uniform.
"Or what?" he murmured, his fingers lingering for a moment too long, the heat of his touch searing through the fabric. "What will you do, Soren?"
The use of my first name was a violation, an intimacy I had not granted him. It shattered the last of my composure. I shoved past him, my shoulder connecting with his hard chest. He didn't try to stop me. He just let out a low, soft chuckle that followed me down the hall.
I all but ran to the sanctuary of my dorm room, locking the door behind me with trembling hands. I fumbled for the hidden syringe, my vision blurring with unshed tears of frustration and terror.
As the cold liquid flooded my system, I slumped against the door, sliding to the floor. The chemical calm descended, but it felt thinner than ever before. It felt fragile.
Zevran Graves was not just a rival. He was a predator who had caught the scent of his prey. And he would not stop until the cage was broken open.