The clock inside Silas Shen's apartment ticked with a mechanical, unyielding precision that mirrored the man himself. His home was a sterile fortress—a masterclass in minimalist grayscale, where every object was placed with a clinical obsession for order. The air was thin and crisp, carrying not just the faint, bitter woodiness of cold silver fir, but also a persistent, crystalline undertone of high-grade disinfectant. It was a place where emotions were forbidden, and only cold, hard logic was allowed to breathe.
However, at this very moment, that meticulously maintained sanctuary was beginning to fracture at the seams under the weight of an uninvited presence.
"Go take a shower. I want that wretched stench of wet earth and rain scrubbed off your skin before you even think about touching anything in this room." Silas turned away, his voice as sharp as a scalpel. He moved toward the deepest corner of his mahogany wardrobe and retrieved a voluminous, charcoal-gray bathrobe—a purchase made in the wrong size years ago that he had never bothered to wear. He tossed it toward Hunter Huo with a flick of his wrist, his gaze remaining detached. "When you are done, the sofa is your only territory for the night. Do not overstep your boundaries. Am I clear?"
Hunter caught the robe, his large, calloused fingers instinctively curling into the heavy fabric. He didn't just hold it; he began to stroke it, his thumb tracing the fibers where a lingering trace of Silas's cold fir scent still clung. He looked up, his amber eyes shimmering with moisture, curving into an innocent, soulful arc that made him look utterly defenseless. "Professor... I'm sorry, but I didn't bring any... well, change of underwear..."
"Hunter Huo." Silas adjusted his gold-rimmed glasses, the metal cool against his pale bridge. His gaze was piercing, the kind of look he used to dismantle a flawed thesis in front of a lecture hall. "If you utter a single word more, I will personally drag you to the balcony and lock the door so you can rot in the rain. Shower, or get out. There is no third option."
The "puppy" instantly shrunk his neck, his shoulders slumping as he scurried into the bathroom with the agility of a creature afraid of being abandoned.
The heavy thud of the bathroom door was followed by the rhythmic, intrusive spray of the shower. In the absolute silence of the midnight apartment, the sound was jarringly loud, echoing against the marble tiles. Silas sat on the single armchair in the living room, a heavy leather-bound volume of Advanced Neuroendocrinology open in his lap. For the first time in his career, he found himself unable to process a single sentence. His vision blurred over the words as his attention was repeatedly hijacked by the sounds coming from the other room—the muffled splashes of water, the heavy thud of a restless body against the wall. It was the raw, vibrant, and terrifyingly masculine vitality of a dominant Alpha, and it was systematically invading every sterile pore of Silas's carefully guarded nest.
Half an hour later, the steam began to leak from beneath the door as it creaked open.
Silas had steeled himself to face a properly dressed student. But when he lifted his head, his lungs seized, his breath catching in a hitch he couldn't logically justify.
Hunter Huo hadn't even bothered to tie the bathrobe correctly. The heavy belt was looped loosely around his waist, left completely untied, exposing a vast, intimidating expanse of firm, powerful chest muscles that were still glistening with stray, hot droplets of water. His skin, flushed a tantalizing shade of pale pink from the scalding shower, seemed to radiate a feverish, humid glow. His damp, golden hair was plastered messily to his forehead, and that previously aggressive scent of sun-kissed oranges had been transformed by the heat into something thick, syrupy, and dangerously intoxicating—like the scent of overripe fruit bursting under a summer sun.
"Professor, your robe is far too small. It's practically choking me." Hunter spoke as he rubbed a white towel over his hair, walking toward Silas with a natural, predatory grace that contradicted his innocent expression. With a casual stride of his long, athletic legs, he didn't sit on the adjacent sofa; instead, he sank directly onto the plush carpet at Silas's feet, resting his heavy, damp head against the professor's knee.
"Get up. Sit on the other side of the room. Now." Silas snapped the book shut, the sound echoing like a gunshot. His fingers tightened around the leather spine until his knuckles turned a bloodless white.
"No... the floor is so cold, Professor. And you... you're much warmer." Hunter tilted his head back, looking up from below. From Silas's downward perspective, he had a clear, unobstructed view of the Alpha's strong, elegant throat and the nape of his neck—where the scent gland was swollen and pulsing rhythmically, a dark, feverish red due to the peak of the Rut.
It was the most vulnerable, yet most lethal part of an Alpha's anatomy.
As if sensing Silas's clinical gaze, Hunter suddenly reached up and seized Silas's wrist, pressing the professor's habitually icy palm firmly against the scorching, throbbing skin of his nape without a single word of warning.
"Sss—!" Silas recoiled as if he had touched a live electrical wire, his heart hammering against his ribs. But Hunter's grip was like an iron shackle, pinning Silas's hand in place.
"Silas... look. Feel it. It's beating so fast. It feels like there's a fire trapped inside my veins, burning me from the inside out." Hunter's voice dropped into a low, gravelly rasp, tinged with a faint, heartbreaking plea that bypassed Silas's logic. "Aren't you a professor of biology? Feel it for yourself... tell me, am I about to burn to death?"
Silas's fingers were forced against that pulsating, feverish flesh. Through his fingertips, he could feel the violent thrumming of the blood vessels; he could feel the concentrated, high-density Alpha pheromones screaming for release, vibrating through his own skin.
His rational mind screamed at him that this was an overt, shameless display of mating induction. Yet, as a researcher of the human body, his primal instinct was morbidly fascinated by this perfect, raw display of physiological power.
"This is a textbook case of mid-Rut dehydration and extreme endocrine volatility," Silas forced himself to speak in a detached, clinical tone, though he could feel his own pulse starting to race in synchronization. His fingertips subconsciously brushed against the burning skin—a fleeting, forbidden caress that his brain hadn't authorized. "Go drink water and go to sleep. This is my final warning, Hunter."
"Then stay with me for a while. Just a little while." Hunter pushed further, burying his face into the palm of Silas's hand like a stray dog that had finally found its master's touch. He inhaled deeply, drawing in the cold fir scent that acted as the only sedative for his chaotic mind. "Don't leave me alone in the dark, Silas. Please."
Silas looked down at the golden-haired Alpha. Outside, another bolt of lightning tore through the dark sky, followed by a thunderous crash that shook the windowpanes. In that split second of electric light, Silas saw it—the depths of Hunter's eyes weren't filled with the submission of a pet, but with a dark, bottomless possessiveness that threatened to swallow him whole.
This wasn't a docile puppy. This was a young wolf, patiently and meticulously weaving a web of pity to lure his prey into a trap.
"Let go." Silas finally found the strength to wrench his hand back and stood up, his movements uncharacteristically frantic. "I'll get you a blanket. Stay where you are."
He retreated toward the bedroom, desperate to close the door and seal out that suffocatingly sweet orange scent that was beginning to cloud his judgment. But before his hand could even brush the handle, a scorching, massive body collided with his back.
Hunter wrapped his arms around Silas's waist from behind, his strength terrifyingly immense, pinning Silas against the doorframe. He tucked his chin into the hollow of Silas's shoulder, his damp, warm lips ghosting over the sensitive, hyper-aware curve of Silas's earlobe. His voice was a dangerous, low murmur that sent a shiver down Silas's spine:
"Professor... I just realized something. Your room smells so much better than the lab. It smells like safety. I want to sleep here tonight... with you. Is that okay?"
Silas's entire body went rigid. The sensation of being completely marked, of being utterly invaded, surged to its maximum level. He could feel it now—hidden beneath the high, chaste collar of his shirt, his own Omega gland was beginning to tingle and burn, responding to the Alpha's heated breath with a frantic, treasonous heat of its own.