The cafeteria hummed with its usual midday chaos. Corvin Eldritch sat at his usual table, Lucian to his left, Orion to his right, not eating. His eyes swept the room in slow, methodical passes.
"You’ve been staring at that door for ten minutes," Lucian said, spearing a potato. "Either you’re expecting an invasion or you’re waiting for a certain silver-haired prince."
Corvin didn’t respond.
"He’s not wrong," Orion added quietly. "Is this still about the blood?"
"It’s about everything." Corvin’s voice was low. "The blood. The scent. The way Thornridge reacted to him. The way Soren’s been acting ever since. I have questions."
"Then corner him after class. That’s what you usually do."
"With Thorne Astrlyn, usual methods won’t work. He’s skittish, defensive, and surrounded by his roommates." Corvin finally picked up his fork. "Patience, Lucian."
"Tried it once. Didn’t care for it."
Across the cafeteria, Killian was also not eating. His dark eyes were fixed on Corvin with an intensity that bordered on painful a hunger that had nothing to do with food. Beside him, Draven Grimscar(he was the guy he had sex with last time), sat close enough that their thighs pressed together, his hand tracing patterns up Killian’s leg.
"You’re staring again," Draven murmured. "At Eldritch. Always Eldritch."
"He’s worth staring at."
"I’m right here, you know." Draven’s hand crept higher. "And I’m far more willing."
Killian finally looked at him. Draven was attractive enough broad shoulders, a mean smile, brutish confidence. He wasn’t Corvin. But he was available, and his hands knew what Killian liked.
"Later," Killian said. "I have something I need you to do first."
Nyra walked into the cafeteria with her shoulders squared, flanked by Finn, Marek, and Jasper.
"Names are up," Finn announced as they joined the food line. "Pairings for the sparring matches."
"And?" Nyra’s stomach tightened.
"Some Alpha from the northern packs. At least it’s not Brock again."
"Small mercies," she muttered.
They’d barely sat down when a shadow fell across their table a nervous-looking student she didn’t recognize.
"Prince Thorne? Miss Valeria requests your presence. She says it’s urgent."
Nyra’s spoon stopped halfway to her mouth.
"What does she want?" Finn asked, his grin fading.
"I don’t know, sir. She just said to fetch Prince Thorne immediately."
"This is a bad idea," Finn said as Nyra stood. "You know that, right?"
"Probably."
"And you’re going anyway?"
"I don’t think I have a choice." She pulled her arm free gently. "Save my food."
"That’s what people say right before they’re never seen again," Jasper murmured without looking up from his book.
Nyra walked out, and the eyes of three factions followed her: Corvin, with calculation. Killian, with hatred. And Xavier, with a lazy smile that didn’t meet his eyes.
Valeria’s office was elegant, intimidating, and cold. She sat behind her desk like a queen on a throne.
"Prince Thorne. Thank you for coming so quickly." She gestured to the chair. "Please. Sit."
"I’ll stand, thank you." Nyra kept her voice even Thorne’s arrogant drawl. "What is this about?"
Valeria’s smile tightened. She rose and walked around the desk. "I’ll be direct. Stay away from Soren Thornridge."
Nyra blinked. "I’m sorry?"
"Whatever little friendship you think you’re building end it. He is my Alpha. He has been for years. A scrawny first-year who can’t throw a punch has no place in his world."
"He’s my trainer. Assigned by the proctor."
"I’ve already spoken with the training coordinator. We can have your assignment changed. Soren doesn’t need to waste his time on someone like you."
Someone like you. The words hit harder than they should have. Nyra thought of Soren’s voice in the dark, calling her weakling.
She thought of her brother. Of the promise she’d made.
"No."
Valeria’s eyebrows rose. "Excuse me?"
"I said no." Nyra met the lecturer’s eyes. "If Soren wants to stop training me, he can tell me himself. Until then, I’m not going anywhere."
Silence. Then Valeria laughed sharp, brittle, devoid of humor.
"You think he cares about you?" She stepped closer, her smile gone. "Soren Thornridge doesn’t care about anyone. He tolerates me because I’m useful. He trains you because he was ordered to. The moment you become inconvenient, he’ll discard you like everyone else." Her voice dropped. "You’re nothing to him, little prince."
Nyra held her ground, heart hammering. "Then you have nothing to worry about, do you?"
Valeria’s face went very still. Beneath the mask of beauty was something ugly wounded, desperate, utterly without mercy.
"You’ve just drawn the battle line, Prince Thorne. I hope you’re ready for what comes next. Now get out."
Nyra walked out with her head high. She made it halfway down the empty hallway before her knees gave out. She slumped against the cold stone wall and let out the breath she’d been holding.
"Did I really just stand up to Valeria Morvane?"
She crouched lower, wrapping her arms around her knees.
"I just want to train. I just want to get strong. I want to avenge my brother and let him finally rest in peace. That’s all I want."
She stayed there for a long moment, forehead pressed to her knees. Then she pushed herself up, wiped her eyes, and started walking.
The empty classroom was dark except for moonlight cutting through the high windows. Killian had Draven pressed against the professor’s desk, their mouths moving with desperation rather than gentleness.
"Killian—" Draven’s head fell back as Killian’s mouth moved to his throat. "Did you only bring me here for this?"
"No." Killian pulled back to meet Draven’s eyes. "I need you to do something for me. In the sparring match."
Draven’s breathing was ragged. "Anything."
Killian leaned in, lips brushing Draven’s ear, and whispered.
When he finished, he cupped Draven’s jaw and kissed him slowly, thoroughly, a reward.
"Anything for you," Draven breathed.
"I know you do."
Killian pulled out a small vial of lubricant, uncorked it with his teeth, and bent Draven over the desk. Their moans filled the empty room as their skins were slapping each other violently.
Night had fallen when Nyra reached Soren’s suite. He’d sent word during dinner: training tonight. No explanation. No apology for the night before.
She knocked. No answer.
She knocked again. "Soren? It’s Thorne."
Nothing. She pushed the door open it was never locked. The suite was empty.
"Hello?" She stepped inside. "I got your message."
Silence. She walked deeper into the room. The door to his private quarters stood slightly ajar. Curiosity pulled at her like a hook.
She pushed it open.
The bedroom was unexpected tapestries in black and deep navy, a massive ceremonial sword hung above the bed, a obsidian wolf sculptor on the bedside table. The bed was enormous, draped in dark furs. She found herself drawn toward it.
She didn’t hear the water running. She didn’t hear it stop. She didn’t hear the bathroom door open.
"What are you doing in my room?"
She spun too fast, her feet tangling in the fur throw and her balance shattered.
Soren stood in the bathroom doorway wearing nothing but a towel slung low around his hips. Water beaded on his shoulders, tracing silver paths down his chest. His dark hair was wet, pushed back from his face.
His eyes fixed on her with an expression she couldn’t read.
She opened her mouth. No sound came out. She pitched backward.
Soren moved fast, reaching for her arm. But his bare foot skidded on the wet stone, and suddenly he was falling too, his weight carrying them both onto the bed.
The impact knocked the air from her lungs. Soren landed on top of her, one hand braced beside her head, his hips slotted between her thighs.
The towel didn’t survive the fall.
Nyra felt it go the brush of fabric, the terrible, unmistakable press of bare skin against her trousers. Her mind went completely blank.
Soren stared down at her. She stared up at him. Neither of them breathed.
His cock was hard and hot between her legs, separated only by thin fabric, her mind was blank not registering anything.
Soren didn’t move. His chest pressed against hers with every ragged breath.
They continue staring each other.