The needle slid into my thigh with a practiced, silent sting. I did not flinch. Flinching was for people who could afford to show weakness. I was not one of them. The clear liquid in the syringe, my lifeline and my prison, flowed into my system. A cold wave of chemical normalcy washed through my veins. For the next twelve hours, I would be safe. For the next twelve hours, I would be Soren Silvius, the cold, untouchable Alpha student at Aethelgard Academy.
I tucked the used syringe into a hidden compartment in my duffel bag, my movements efficient and silent. The communal bathroom was empty, steam from an earlier shower clinging to the marble walls. I met my own gaze in the foggy mirror. Grey eyes, flat and hard. A sharp jaw, set in a permanent line of disdain. I looked the part. I had to.
The moment I stepped out of the dormitory, the aura of the academy hit me like a physical blow. It was a storm of competing Alpha energies, aggressive and domineering, a constant silent battle for supremacy. I squared my shoulders, pulling my own fabricated Alpha presence around me like a cloak of thorns, sharp and unapproachable. I was a rock in that storm. I had to be.
My first class was Combat Theory. I took my usual seat in the back, a strategic position that allowed me to observe everyone. My heart, a traitorous thing, gave a single hard thud against my ribs when Zevran Graves walked in.
He did not just enter a room. He commanded it. Tall, with shoulders broad enough to block out the sun, he moved with a predator's grace that was both beautiful and terrifying. His hair was the color of raven wings, and his eyes, a burning gold-flecked amber, swept over the students like a king surveying his domain. A low rumble of respect and fear followed him. He was the apex, the one every other Alpha either wanted to be or wanted to destroy.
I looked away, focusing on the scarred wooden surface of my desk. Do not look. Do not engage. Be invisible.
Professor Halward, a grizzled old Alpha with a prosthetic arm, began the lecture. "Today, we analyze the weaknesses in a dominant opponent's defense. The goal is not to match their strength, but to exploit their arrogance."
My mind, always racing, cataloged the information. It was a lesson in my own life.
"Silvius."
The sound of my name, my false name, snapped my head up. Professor Halward was staring at me. "You will be sparring with Graves. Center mat. Now."
A cold dread, sharper than any needle, pierced through the chemical calm of my suppressants. This was a test I could not afford to fail. A murmur rippled through the class. This was the matchup they had been waiting for, the mysterious undefeated transfer student versus their reigning champion.
Zevran was already on the mat, a faint mocking smile playing on his lips. "Ready to finally show me what you are made of, Silvius?" His voice was a low baritone that vibrated in my bones.
I did not answer. I took my position across from him, my body coiled tight.
The professor blew the whistle.
Zevran moved first, a blur of controlled power. I dodged, my movements economical and precise. He was all overwhelming force. I was evasion and strategy. We circled each other in a deadly dance. The class had fallen utterly silent.
He lunged again. This time, I did not dodge. I met his attack, our forearms slamming together with a crack that echoed in the silent hall. The impact jarred up my bones. His strength was immense, a tidal wave of pure Alpha energy that threatened to shatter my carefully constructed control.
His face was inches from mine. His scent, of ozone, sandalwood, and raw untamed power, invaded my senses. It was a fragrance so potent it made my head spin. My suppressants strained. The chemical wall inside me wavered.
"Fight back," he growled, his golden eyes blazing with intensity. "Stop holding back."
He shoved me back and came at me again. This time, his fist grazed my jaw. Pain, bright and hot, flared across my face. It was the spark to the tinderbox.
Something inside me snapped.
A raw, defensive energy I did not recognize surged up from my core. It was not the controlled power of an Alpha. It was something else, something wild and bright and terrifying. When he threw his next punch, I did not just block it. I moved faster than I ever had, my hand snapping out to grip his wrist, twisting him off balance with a strength that shocked us both.
For a single heart stopping second, I had him. I had used a fraction of that strange new power, and I had the great Zevran Graves at a disadvantage.
The shock in his eyes was mirrored by my own terror. What did I just do?
That split second of distraction was all he needed. With a grunt of effort, he reversed my hold, his body slamming into mine. The world tilted, and then my back hit the hard mat, the air driven from my lungs. He was on top of me in an instant, one knee pinning my leg, his full weight crushing me.
His face was above mine, his hot breath fanning my cheek. Triumph and something else, a deep unsettling curiosity, burned in his gaze. He leaned down, his mouth close to my ear.
His voice was a whisper, meant only for me, but it was the loudest thing I had ever heard.
"You are not like the others," he murmured, his nose almost brushing the skin of my neck where my scent gland lay hidden. "Your control, it is not control at all, is it? It is a cage."
My blood ran cold. The suppressants felt like water against a breaking dam. He could not know. It was impossible.
But as he pushed himself up, his golden eyes locked onto mine, I saw the truth. He did not know what I was, but he knew I was lying.
And he was going to find out why.