The clock struck six. The first shards of grey-blue dawn filtered through the narrow gaps in the heavy curtains, striking Silas Shen's eyelids with a clinical, unforgiving chill.
He opened his eyes. For exactly three seconds, his brain remained a blank slate, a hard drive failing to boot—until a sudden, electric jolt of numbness from the nape of his neck reactivated his consciousness. The spot was no longer a silent, icy void. Instead, it felt as though a branding iron had been pressed against his soul, radiating a persistent, domineering heat that didn't belong to him.
It was the scent of sun-kissed oranges, thick and arrogant.
Silas tried to shift his body, only to realize he was pinned down with terrifying efficiency.
Hunter Huo was sprawled across the bed like a predatory golden retriever. One powerful, muscular leg was draped heavily over Silas's calves, anchoring him to the mattress. Those large hands—the ones that had gripped the sheets until the knuckles turned white the night before—were now wrapped possessively around Silas's waist. Through the thin, wrinkled fabric of his white shirt, the heat from Hunter's palms felt like it was melting Silas's skin, searing into his very nerves.
"…Hunter Huo." Silas hissed through gritted teeth. His voice was a raw, jagged rasp, so unrecognizable that he felt a momentary flick of shame.
The only response was a muffled, incoherent grunt. The golden, fuzzy head buried in the crook of Silas's neck nuzzled deeper, seeking more warmth. With his eyes still closed, Hunter's nose ghosted along Silas's collarbone, trailing upward until he reached the high collar of the shirt. He took a deep, shuddering breath, exhaling a sigh of pure, primal contentment.
A blue vein throbbed at Silas's temple. This was the pinnacle of intrusion. He snapped, his hand lashing out with surgical precision to catch Hunter's ear, giving it a sharp, agonizing twist.
"Ow! Ow, ow! God!"
Hunter bolted upright as if his tail had been stepped on. The lingering haze of sleep was instantly incinerated by the pain. Clutching his ear, he stared at Silas with a look of profound betrayal. His golden hair was a chaotic nest of static and dampness, making him look exactly like an innocent puppy who had been kicked by his master for no reason at all.
"Professor… it's the crack of dawn. Isn't that a bit… much?"
"Get. Out." Silas sat up, his fingers flying to the top button of his shirt which had been worried loose during the night. His movements were swift, bordering on frantic—a rare display of disarray for a man who lived his life by the millimeter. His face was a mask of livid iron, but without his gold-rimmed glasses to shield him, his eyes betrayed him. They were rimmed with a lingering, feverish crimson that hadn't yet faded.
Hunter watched him, his gaze darkening with a sudden, predatory focus. He didn't move. Instead, he propped himself up on his elbows, allowing the duvet to slide down and expose the lean, powerful ridges of his chest and abdomen. Across that tanned skin were several unmistakable red scratches—marks left by Silas's own fingernails when he had lost control in the dark.
"Professor, pulling up your pants and pretending you don't know me isn't a very noble habit," Hunter said, his tongue flicking over a canine tooth as a slow, wicked smirk spread across his face. "Last night… who was the one clawing at my shoulders, begging me not to leave? Who was the one whispered, 'Just this once'?"
"Shut up!" Silas grabbed the nearest pillow and slammed it into Hunter's face with enough force to kill a lesser man.
His breathing was shallow and ragged. The absurd, fragmented images of the previous night played through his mind like a corrupted film reel—the way he had allowed an Alpha's scent to saturate his bed, the way he had permitted those fangs to hover so close to his gland, and the way he had let that thick, syrupy pheromone coat his senses.
It was a disgrace. It was the total surrender of his intellect to his biology.
Silas rolled out of bed, his bare feet hitting the icy hardwood floor. He hoped the cold would snap his mind back into its frozen fortress. With his back turned to Hunter, his voice regained that razor-sharp, academic frost that kept the world at bay.
"Classmate Huo, what happened last night was a matter of 'Emergency Necessity' based on basic medical principles. Given the severity of your Rut, providing stabilization was my duty as your supervising professor. Now, put on your clothes and vacate my apartment before I decide to involve the authorities."
"Duty?" Hunter let out a dry, melodic laugh that sounded like a challenge. He hopped off the bed with a grace that shouldn't belong to someone so large, closing the distance in three long strides. Before Silas could react, Hunter had trapped him against the mahogany wardrobe, caging him between his broad chest and the cold wood.
Hunter leaned down, his lips so close to Silas's reddened ear that the heat of his breath felt like a physical touch.
"Dr. Shen, does 'teaching and nurturing' usually involve holding a student in your arms all night? Does your syllabus require letting a student leave a trail of saliva all over your scent gland?" Hunter reached out, his long finger tracing the swollen, angry red mark at the base of Silas's neck. "You're covered in my scent, Professor. If you walk out that door right now, every Alpha within a ten-mile radius will know exactly who spent the night breaking you down."
Silas spun around, his eyes flashing like frozen daggers. "Hunter Huo, do you truly believe that a temporary mark gives you leverage over me? Have you forgotten who I am? I am a Doctor of Biomedical Sciences. If I wish, I have a hundred ways to chemically purge these disgusting residues from my system within thirty minutes."
"Then try it." Hunter's smile vanished. His eyes became deep, obsidian pools of obsession. He seized Silas's wrist, forcing the professor's hand against his own chest. Beneath the skin, Hunter's heart was drumming a violent, thunderous rhythm.
"You can wash off the smell. You can neutralize the pheromones with your sprays. But you cannot wash away the fact that you went soft for me last night. Admit it, Silas—you don't just 'tolerate' my scent. You're addicted to it."
They stood locked in a silent standoff in the cramped dressing room. The air was a battlefield where cold silver fir and burning orange collided, a wordless war of temperature and will.
Finally, Silas let out a cold, sharp laugh, wrenching his hand away. "Leave. If you don't want to fail every professional course this semester, you had better pray you never cross my path outside of a lecture hall again."
Hunter watched Silas's retreating back. He didn't chase him. Instead, he reached down, picked up his discarded T-shirt, and pulled it over his head with a slow, deliberate calmness. He looked toward the door and waved, a brilliant, sunshine-filled smile returning to his face—the look of a high schooler in the throes of his first crush.
"That's not going to work, Professor. Since I've already marked you, according to my family rules, I have to take full responsibility for you. See you in the lab… Teacher Shen."
SLAM.
The front door shut with a finality that echoed through the empty apartment.
Silas collapsed against the wall, his strength finally deserting him. With trembling hands, he tore open a high-potency suppressant patch and slapped it over the burning mark on his neck, pressing down until it hurt. He closed his eyes, but all he could see was the triumphant, predatory smile of the "puppy" who had finally tasted his prize.