Dawn broke through the canopy in slivers of pale gold, painting the forest floor in shifting patterns of light and shadow. I woke to the unfamiliar weight of an arm draped possessively across my waist, and the solid warmth of a body pressed against my back.
For one disorienting moment, I forgot where I was. Then it all came rushing back—the confession, the kiss, the terrifying surrender. Zevran Graves was curled around me, his breathing deep and even in sleep, his face peaceful in a way I had never seen it.
My first instinct was to panic. To scramble away, to put distance between us. But his arm tightened instinctively, a low, sleepy murmur rumbling in his chest. A sound of pure contentment. The movement stilled me. In the stark light of morning, the memory of last night felt like a dream. A beautiful, dangerous dream.
I lay perfectly still, listening to the birdsong and the soft crackle of the dying embers from our fire. His scent was everywhere on my clothes, in my hair, woven into the very air I breathed. It should have felt like a violation. Instead, it felt like a shield.
What had we done?
The rational part of my mind, the part that had kept me alive for years, screamed in protest. This was a catastrophic mistake. He was a Graves. I was a Silvius. Our bloodlines were sworn enemies. Our bond was a ticking time bomb that could destroy us both.
But another part, a part that had been starved and silenced for so long, felt a profound sense of… rightness. The constant, gnawing anxiety that was my constant companion had quieted. In the circle of his arms, I felt a safety I hadn't known was possible.
He stirred behind me, his breathing shifting. I felt him go still as he woke, undoubtedly processing the same reality I was. His arm didn't move away. If anything, it pulled me just a fraction closer.
"Morning," his voice was a sleep-roughened rasp against the back of my neck. It sent a shiver down my spine.
I couldn't form a reply. My throat was too tight.
He shifted, rolling me onto my back so he could look down at me. His hair was mussed, his golden eyes still heavy with sleep, but they were clear and focused. He searched my face, and I knew he was looking for regret, for panic.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly. The question was surprisingly tender.
I swallowed hard. "I don't know."
A small, understanding smile touched his lips. "Honest. I can work with that." He brushed a thumb over my cheekbone, his touch feather-light. "We don't have to figure it all out right now, Soren. We just have to get through today."
Today. The end of the exercise. The return to the academy. To the world of rules and hierarchies and prying eyes. The thought was a bucket of cold water.
"The others…" I began, my voice barely a whisper.
"Will see nothing," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument. His expression hardened into the mask of the apex Alpha I knew so well. "Nothing has changed. You are still Soren Silvius, the untouchable transfer student. I am still Zevran Graves. Our rivalry is as fierce as ever. Do you understand?"
He was giving me the script. A way to survive the return to reality. A part of me was grateful. The other part felt a strange, sharp pang of loss. Last night, in this secluded clearing, I had been just Soren. He had been just Zevran. Now, we had to put our masks back on.
I nodded, my throat tight. "I understand."
"Good." He leaned down and pressed a firm, swift kiss to my lips. It was not like the desperate, consuming kisses of the night before. This was a seal. A promise. A reminder.
Then, in a fluid motion, he was on his feet, all business, kicking dirt over the embers of our fire. "Pack your gear. We move out in ten. We need to be the first team back." He glanced at me, a glint of his old competitive fire in his eyes. "Can't have anyone thinking you've gone soft on me, Silvius."
And just like that, the Alpha was back. The moment of vulnerability was over, locked away behind a wall of duty and dominance. I pushed myself up, my body aching in unfamiliar ways, and began to pack my things with practiced efficiency.
As I rolled my bedroll, my fingers brushed against the hidden compartment in my pack. The syringes. My lifeline. I had one dose left. The thought sent a fresh wave of anxiety through me. How long would it last now? Now that he knew? Now that my body had awakened to his presence in a way it never had before?
I stole a glance at him as he shouldered his pack, his profile sharp and determined against the rising sun. He was my greatest threat and my only protector. My destined enemy and my fated anchor.
The path ahead was more dangerous than ever. But as I fell into step behind him, following him out of the clearing and back toward the world we had momentarily escaped, I realized one thing with terrifying clarity.
I was no longer walking it alone.