The suppressants held, but only just. For three days, I moved through Aethelgard like a ghost, clinging to the shadows. I skipped meals, arriving at the dining hall only when it was nearly empty. I sat in the farthest corner of the library, my back to a wall. Every glimpse of black hair in a crowd made my heart stutter. I was a mouse trying to avoid a hawk.
It was a losing battle. In Elite Alpha Dynamics, Professor Halward announced a week-long survival exercise in the Blackwood, the ancient, mist-shrouded forest that bordered the academy. Teams of two.
My blood ran cold before he even pulled out the roster.
"Team Seven," Halward's voice boomed. "Zevran Graves and Soren Silvius."
A few snickers rippled through the room. It was no accident. The professor was pitting the two of us against each other again, a living lesson in conflict resolution under pressure. I felt the weight of Zevran's gaze from across the room. I refused to meet it.
Two days in the woods. Two days with him. No walls. No escape. It was my worst nightmare.
The next morning, we assembled at the forest's edge. The air was cold and thick with the scent of pine and damp earth. Students checked their gear, their voices a loud, excited hum. I stood apart, my pack too light. It held only the barest essentials and two extra syringes, hidden in a false bottom. Two. It should have been enough. It didn't feel like it would be.
Zevran approached. He was dressed in practical, dark outdoor gear that did nothing to diminish his imposing presence. He stopped a few feet away, his eyes scanning my tense posture.
"Ready, partner?" he asked, the word laced with dark amusement.
"No," I said, the truth slipping out before I could stop it.
His smile was sharp. "Good. Fear keeps you sharp."
He thought it was fear of the forest, of the exercise. He had no idea. The real fear was standing right in front of him.
We moved into the trees, the canopy swallowing the sunlight. The sounds of the other teams faded quickly, leaving only the crunch of our boots and the whisper of the wind. I stayed a few steps behind him, letting him lead. For hours, we didn't speak. He was efficient, competent, reading the land with an innate sense I could only fake.
As dusk began to bleed into the sky, he found a small clearing by a stream. "We'll camp here."
I nodded, dropping my pack. My muscles ached with a tension that had nothing to do with the hike. The distance from the academy, the isolation it was stripping away my sense of security. The chemical barrier inside me felt thin, porous.
I was gathering firewood when I felt it. A familiar, creeping heat in my veins. A dull throb starting behind my eyes. No. Not now.
It was too early. The suppressant shouldn't be wearing off for another five hours. The stress, his constant, overwhelming presence it was accelerating the metabolism of the drug. It was burning through my system faster than it could handle.
I stumbled back to the camp, my arms full of sticks. Zevran was building a fire, his movements sure and steady. He glanced up as I approached, and his hands stilled.
"You look pale, Silvius."
"I'm fine," I bit out, my voice tighter than I intended. I dropped the wood and turned away, pretending to adjust my bedroll. My hands were shaking. The heat was spreading, a slow fire igniting under my skin. I could feel a fine sheen of sweat on my brow.
The scent of the pine, the clean water, the smoke from the fire he was lighting it all seemed sharper, more vibrant. And underneath it all, beginning to bleed through the chemical mask, was the faint, sweet trace of my own Omega scent.
I heard him stand. His footsteps were quiet on the soft earth. "You're not fine."
"I said I'm—"
His hand closed on my shoulder, spinning me around. The contact was electric. A jolt shot through me, and a soft, pathetic sound caught in my throat. His eyes widened, his grip tightening.
His nostrils flared.
He was so close. The fire cast dancing shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp planes of his cheeks, the intensity in his eyes. He was searching my face, his gaze dropping to my lips, then back to my eyes. The air between us crackled.
He leaned in, his head dipping toward my neck. I was frozen, trapped by the instinct to flee and a deeper, more terrifying instinct to yield.
He inhaled deeply, a long, deliberate pull of air.
And he went utterly still.
The entire forest seemed to hold its breath. The playful curiosity was gone from his expression, replaced by a stunned, primal recognition. The knowledge he had been hunting for was now laid bare, not in a fight, but in a single, betraying scent.
When he spoke, his voice was a low, ragged rumble, filled with a kind of awe and possessiveness that made my knees weak.
"Gods," he breathed, his hot whisper searing the skin of my throat. "It's you."