Bound To The Professor Alpha Who Wants Me Gone

I practically sprinted out of the Northwood Library. My wet boots hit the polished stone floors in a frantic, heavy rhythm. The massive iron gates slammed shut behind me. The loud metallic clang echoed down the dark corridor, but it was easily drowned out by the violent roaring in my ears.

My left shoulder throbbed with a dull, vicious ache. The fabric of my uniform jacket was torn and stiff with dried blood. I ignored the pain. I ignored the stinging cuts on my hands. I could only focus on the lingering, phantom heat pressed against my waist.

The memory of Kael Draven's teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of my neck sent a fresh wave of fire rushing straight to my core. The mate bond was a terrifying, feral thing. It demanded submission. It demanded that I crawl back into the dark and beg him to hold me again.

He wanted me gone. He thought fear would break me. He believed sending me into the Restricted Archives would force me to pack my bags and run back to the human world.

He was wrong.

I reached my dorm room and shoved the door open. The calming scent of sea salt and lavender washed over me. Marina was sitting on her bed. She took one look at my pale face, my torn clothes, and the blood seeping through my shirt. Her teal eyes widened in sheer panic.

She rushed over, her iridescent scales flashing in the blue light of her pearl lamps. She reached for my injured shoulder. I stepped back, waving off her frantic questions with a shake of my head.

"I am fine, Marina," I rasped, my throat still raw from the dust of the archives. "I just need ink. And a lot of parchment."

I did not have time to bleed. I did not have time to be terrified. I had an essay to write.

I sat down at my small wooden desk. The glowing blue pearl rested right beside my inkwell, casting a steady light across the wood. I opened the surviving, dust-covered grimoire I had managed to snatch from the floor of the cursed library.

I dipped my silver-nibbed quill into the dark ink. My fingers flew across the blank parchment. I wrote with a manic, furious energy. Every stroke of the pen, every complex legal analysis of the First Era bloodlines, was fueled by pure, unadulterated spite. My hand cramped. My vision blurred. The hours ticked by, the moon sinking low outside our window. I refused to stop. I refused to let Kael Draven win.

The sun finally crested the horizon, casting a pale, gray morning light through the dorm room window.

I dropped my quill. I blew gently on the final page to dry the wet ink. Fifteen pages. A flawless, heavily researched analysis of supernatural history. I rolled the thick, heavy parchment together and tied it tight with a dark velvet ribbon. I was exhausted. My body felt like it had been hit by a freight train, but a fierce, burning triumph swelled in my chest.

I gathered my bag and walked out of the dorm, leaving a sleeping Marina behind.

The morning air in the courtyard was biting and frigid. The grand stone square was bustling with elite students heading to their early lectures. I kept my head down, clutching the rolled parchment to my chest like a physical shield. My destination was Professor Draven's office in the faculty wing. I was going to drop this essay right onto his polished mahogany desk and watch his arrogant face fall.

A massive shadow suddenly fell over me, blocking out the pale morning sun.

The foul smell of wet dog and raw, spoiled meat hit my senses. I stopped dead in my tracks. A giant figure stood directly in my path.

It was Thane.

The Werebear was a literal mountain of muscle and cruelty. He wore a smug, vicious grin that exposed a set of dangerously sharp canines. Two of Seraphina's other loyal lackeys flanked him on either side. Their eyes glowed a predatory, sickly yellow in the daylight.

"Where are you rushing off to, little human?" Thane rumbled. His voice sounded like heavy rocks grinding together.

I tried to step around him. He shifted his massive bulk, intentionally blocking my path again. Before I could react, he reached out with terrifying speed and snatched the rolled parchment right from my grip.

"Give that back," I demanded. My voice remained remarkably steady despite the cold terror suddenly gripping my throat.

"It looks heavy," Thane mocked, tossing my fifteen-page essay casually from hand to hand. "You look tired, transfer. Let me help you lighten the load."

He reached into the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out a small glass vial. The liquid sloshing inside glowed a toxic, violent green. He popped the cork with his thick thumb.

My heart dropped into my stomach. I lunged forward to grab my work.

Thane moved faster. He poured the glowing green liquid directly onto the center of the rolled parchment.

A horrific, loud hissing sound filled the courtyard. The smell of burning paper and noxious chemicals burned my nose. The acid ate through the thick parchment in mere seconds. It melted the leather binding, dissolving my all-night effort into a smoking, blackened pile of ash that fell onto the stone floor.

I stared at the ruined ashes. My chest tightened so painfully I could hardly breathe. Everything I had fought for in the dark was gone.

Thane laughed a deep, cruel sound that echoed off the stone walls. He reached out and grabbed my left wrist. His massive fingers wrapped around my delicate bones with crushing, unnatural force.

He squeezed.

Pain flared up my arm, sharp and agonizing. I gasped out loud, trying desperately to yank my arm away, but his grip was like a steel vice.

"Seraphina sends her regards," Thane whispered, leaning in so his foul breath washed over my face. "You should have packed your bags yesterday. You are nothing but prey here."

The temperature in the courtyard plummeted without a single warning.

A distinct, intoxicating scent of rich copper and winter frost sliced cleanly through the foul smell of wet dog. Thane froze. His smug grin vanished instantly. A hand materialized from thin air, pale and elegant, resting ever so lightly on Thane's massive shoulder.

"Remove your hand from her."

The voice was smooth, aristocratic, and deadly quiet.

Julian stepped gracefully into my line of sight. The vampire was the picture of lethal elegance. He wore a perfectly tailored crimson suit, his dark hair slicked back immaculately. His glowing red eyes were fixed on Thane with a look of supreme, bored disgust.

"I will not repeat myself, mutt," Julian warned softly.

Thane growled, a low warning sound vibrating in his thick throat. He did not let go of my bruised wrist.

Julian did not blink. His pale fingers tightened just a fraction of an inch on Thane's shoulder.

A sickening crack echoed clearly through the quiet courtyard.

Thane roared in sudden agony. He instantly released my wrist, stumbling backward and clutching his fractured collarbone. His lackeys bared their teeth, but they took a terrified, scrambling step away from the vampire prince.

"Walk away," Julian ordered, his voice dropping to a hypnotic, chilling frequency that made my own skin crawl. "Before I decide to drain you dry and leave your carcass for the crows."

Thane cast one last venomous, hateful look at me before turning and sprinting away. His followers trailed closely behind him like cowed dogs.

I cradled my throbbing wrist against my chest. A dark, ugly purple bruise was already blossoming across my pale skin. It was shaped perfectly like massive, cruel fingertips.

Julian turned to face me. The lethal cold in his crimson eyes softened into something resembling genuine pity. He reached into his tailored pocket and pulled out a pristine white silk handkerchief. He offered it to me.

"You are bleeding, Elara," Julian said gently.

I reached up with a trembling hand and touched my cheek. A stray drop of the acid must have splashed, leaving a tiny, stinging cut near my jaw. I took the silk cloth.

"Thank you," I whispered.

Julian looked down at the smoking pile of ashes on the cobblestone floor. "Your essay?"

I nodded. A bitter lump formed in my throat, threatening to choke me. I had nothing to hand in. I had failed the impossible test.

"Professor Draven will not care about your excuses," Julian warned softly, his eyes filled with grim reality. "He will use this failure to expel you. He has been looking for a reason since you arrived."

I looked down at the dark, painful bruise wrapping around my wrist. I felt the phantom heat of Kael's mouth on my neck. A sudden, reckless fury ignited in my blood.

"I know," I stated.

I knelt down on the cold stone. I scooped a heavy handful of the blackened, ruined ashes into the center of the white silk handkerchief. I folded the cloth carefully, trapping the destruction inside. Julian watched me with a mixture of curiosity and deep, silent respect.

I stood up, turned my back on the vampire, and walked straight toward the faculty wing.

Professor Draven's office was located at the very end of a dark, silent corridor. The heavy oak door was intimidating, carved with ancient, glowing runes. I did not knock. I placed my good hand on the brass handle, pushed the door wide open, and stepped inside.

The room was massive, lined from floor to ceiling with thousands of rare books. A fire roared in the grand stone hearth. The scent of dark cedar and incoming storm was so dense I could taste it on my tongue.

Kael sat behind a massive mahogany desk. He looked up from his paperwork the second I entered, his amber eyes instantly narrowing into sharp slits. He saw my torn, bloody uniform. He saw the dark soot staining my fingers. His gaze flicked up to my face, taking in my pale skin and my defiant, unbroken expression.

"Miss Quinn," Kael said softly. His velvety voice was a dangerous purr. "You are late. And you look like a disaster."

I walked across the room, my boots silent on the plush Persian rug. I stopped directly in front of his massive desk. I did not say a single word. I simply dropped the folded white silk handkerchief right onto his pristine stack of grading papers.

The silk cloth fell open. The smoking, foul-smelling ashes spilled across his desk, ruining the documents beneath.

Kael stared at the ruined mess. His sharp jaw clenched tight. I stood still, waiting for the inevitable explosion. I waited for him to hand me my expulsion papers.

"My essay," I stated, my voice completely devoid of emotion. "It met a slight complication in the courtyard."

Kael did not look at the ashes. He did not look at my face. His amber eyes dropped slowly, tracking down my arm.

He stopped.

His gaze locked onto my left wrist. The dark, purple bruise shaped like a massive hand was stark and glaring against my pale, bruised skin.

The air in the office vanished. The oxygen was sucked right out of the room. The fire in the hearth flared violently, turning from natural orange to a bright, unnatural blue.

Kael stood up. The movement was slow, predatory, and deeply terrifying. He rounded the heavy mahogany desk, closing the distance between us in two long strides. He did not yell. He did not threaten to expel me.

He reached out and gently, so incredibly gently, took my bruised wrist in his large, warm hand. He traced the dark purple marks with his thumb. A visible shudder wrecked his massive frame.

When he finally looked up at me, the strict professor was gone. The golden light in his eyes was blinding. He looked murderous.

"Who did this?" he whispered, his voice vibrating with pure, lethal intent.