02
River's POV
Oh, Lunar goddess, help me.
The silent prayer slipped through my mind as I stared at the massive structure rising before me. Calling it a building would be an insult; it didn't even begin to describe it.
This was a fortress — ancient yet flawlessly preserved, its dark stone walls swallowing the last of the evening light as if polished for the sole purpose of intimidation.
As expected of the national elite's Alpha–only academy, the scent in the air was overwhelming. Sharp. Earthy. Thick with dominance that clawed at my lungs, confirming everything they said about this place.
Towers stretched high into a mist-laced sky, their spires piercing the clouds like spears aimed at the heavens. Everything about it—its size, its silence, its suffocating presence—was designed to make anyone standing outside feel small.
The campus walls were built to remind everyone that only Alphas deserved to walk through them.
And I should fit right in. After all, that's what I've been trained to be.
An Alpha.
Perfect. Controlled. Untouchable. Even if I'm none of those things.
Cold dread washed through me as the realization sank in.
This was it.
My doom wasn't coming. It was already here. Maybe days away. Maybe hours.
Still, I had no choice.
I'd promised her.
My mother's voice echoed in my head, soft yet steady, the way it always was when she tried to mask fear with love. "Keep your head down, River. Don't draw attention to yourself and surely you'll survive."
"Welcome to Stormridge Academy." The voice was low, rough and lined with authority, dragging me from my spiraling thoughts.
I turned toward the sound. A man stood by the towering gate — not young, not old — dressed in a dark uniform that matched the color of the walls. His sharp eyes flicked over me like he could peel layers off my skin just by looking.
The silver insignia on his chest marked him as a Watcher. One of those who guarded the Academy's borders — enforcing the rules, sniffing out weakness, and reporting anything suspicious.
I merely gave a curt nod, unsure what reply was expected, but knowing any sign of nervousness was a liability. The man gave me a proper once over, before stretching out his hand, "Drop your bag."
Holy fuck. My stomach dropped instantly.
For a heartbeat, I didn't move. Then forcing a breath through my nose, I unclipped the strap from my shoulder and handed it over as casually as I could.
My fingers trembled anyway as the bag landed with a dull thud against his palm. He didn't notice the twitch in my jaw — or maybe he did and didn't care.
Goddess, the suppressants. My pulse started racing so hard I felt it in my throat, each beat louder, faster, until it felt like my heart was trying to claw its way out of my chest. I had carefully wrapped and buried them deep in the hidden compartment of the bag but gods, what if he found them? What if he opened it?
The watcher crouched slightly, unzipped the top pocket, and began to rummage through— clothes, towel, the academy's admission document — his gloved hand moving with practiced indifference.
I tried to breathe evenly, but every second stretched thin like wire. Sweat prickled my neck, slipping down between my shoulder blades.
His gloved hands paused.
My heart slammed hard against my chest, so loud I swore he could hear it.
The man lifted his head, eyes locking on mine. His expression was unreadable like a predator sniffing at prey.
My throat closed.
This is it. This is where they find out.
He gave a soft grunt, zipped the bag back up, and shoved it toward me."You're clear," he said simply.
That was too close. Way too close.
A short shaky sound escaped from my lips that I quickly masked by clearing my throat. The goddess must be at work right now. Yes. She was definitely staring down at me with a knowing look.
Realizing I was still standing there like an idiot, I snatched the bag quickly and slung it over my shoulder, forcing out a shaky "Thank you, sir."
He grunted, uninterested. "Registration building's that way." He pointed down a long cobblestone path that split through a courtyard filled with banners and statues of past Alphas. "Report there. Don't wander. The Alphas here don't take kindly to lost puppies."
"Understood," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady. I turned from him and started down the path he pointed to which seemed to stretch endlessly.
Is something happening today? Of course not—it was evening. Most students were probably already at dinner or settled in their dorms. There was no single student in sight.
Cobblestone and shadow weaved together under my boots, the fortress swallowing sound; even my footsteps seemed muted beneath the weight of its silence.
The registration building came into view finally— an old hall with iron-framed doors and banners flapping lazily above them.
Inside, the air smelled faintly of parchment and metal polish. A woman sat behind a desk, tapping away at a holo-screen, her expression the kind that said she'd seen far too many students already today.
"Next," she said without looking up. "Your name?"
"River Ashford." I stepped forward, sliding my document across the desk.
She scanned it with a flick of her wrist and finally met my eyes. Her irises glowed faintly — Beta, definitely. "New intake. Hm"
The hum wasn't exactly welcoming. She pulled a small white card from the drawer beside her and swiped it through a scanner before handing it over along with a slim digital wristband.
"Building three. Room sixty-one," she said. "Your schedule will sync once you activate the band. Make sure to keep it on you at all times. You lose it, you sleep outside. Curfew's at midnight. Don't test it."
I nodded, murmured a thanks, and stepped aside before anyone behind me could complain.
"Welcome to Stormridge," she said, already turning to the next student.
I slipped the band onto my wrist, feeling the slight buzz as it synced, and made my way out again.
The corridor outside led into another courtyard. Lines of dorm buildings rose around it, the scent of too many Alphas thick in the air — musk, sweat, arrogance. My nose stung, and I pressed my lips together to keep from grimacing.
Building Three stood at the far end. I climbed the stone steps, glancing down at the card in my hand.
Room 91.
At least, that's what I thought it said as I couldn't remember what the administrator said anymore. The font was tiny, and my nerves were still buzzing from earlier.
I followed the hallway numbers up until I found the one that matched the smudged print on my card — a sleek black door with a silver handle. Sliding the card through the scanner, I heard the soft click of the lock releasing.
Relief flooded me. Finally.
I stepped inside.
The room was bigger than I expected — a large bed which was neatly tucked in sat under a window, the deep orange glow of sunset pouring through half-open blinds. The faint scent of cedarwood and something darker — sharper — hung in the air. I tossed my bag on the nearest bed, rolling my shoulders to ease the tension.
Then, from somewhere inside the room, I heard water running.
A shower. Someone was here.
I froze.
Before I could even think of calling out, the sound stopped, followed by the rustle of fabric and the squeak of hinges.
And then he walked out.
Steam curled out from behind him as the bathroom door swung open, and every coherent thought I had left evaporated.
He was tall — easily over six feet — with a body that looked carved, all sculpted muscle and wet skin glistening under the slant of sunlight. A white towel hung low on his hips, droplets of water sliding down his chest, tracing the edges of his tattooed arms.
His hair was damp, dark at the roots and swept back, and when his gaze finally met mine — piercing green orbs that could cut through glass — I forgot how to breathe.
Oh no.
It was small at first — the hitch of breath, the tightening in my stomach — then the warmth spreading beneath my skin, crawling up my neck. My scent glands pulsed once, hard, like my body couldn't help itself.
The faintest trace of sweetness broke into the air before I could stop it. Not enough for him to notice — the suppressants still held strong — but my blood reacted anyway.
My heartbeat stuttered. I tried to look away. I couldn't.
He frowned slightly, brows knitting as if trying to place me. "Who the hell are you?"
I opened my mouth, but words wouldn't come out. I just kept staring at him, wishing by the Lunar goddess he would touch me and quench the fire that was burning in my veins.
His gaze sharpened, irritation flickering across his face. "Are you lost or just stupid? I asked you a question."
My throat went dry. "Erm..I—I thought this was—uh—room ninety-one?"
"It's sixty-one, genius." He grabbed a shirt from the chair nearby, dragging it over his head with an effortless grace that somehow made it worse. "Yours is two doors down. Now scram before I decide you're trying to creep."
Heat flooded my face. "Right—sorry. My mistake."
I stumbled backward, nearly tripping over my own bag, muttering another apology as I fumbled for the door.
He didn't reply. Didn't even look at me. Just rubbed a towel through his hair, muscles flexing beneath the fabric as he turned away.
I slipped out and leaned against the wall the moment the door shut behind me, chest heaving like I'd just run a mile.
Holy hell.
I pressed my palm to my chest, feeling the faint, traitorous thrum beneath my skin.
Suppressants or not, that man's presence was lethal.
I glanced back at the number etched on my card — and sure enough, under better light, the truth stared right back at me.
Room 61.
I dragged a hand down my face. "Perfect start, River. Real smooth."
Then, tightening my grip on the bag, I pushed off the wall and kept walking.