The oxygen in the master bedroom felt as though it had been replaced by a thick, viscous fluid, making every breath Silas Shen took a conscious effort.
Silas lay with his back turned rigidly toward Hunter Huo, his muscles coiled so tightly that his spine felt like a bowstring drawn to its absolute snapping point. In the suffocating darkness, he didn't need to look to know what was behind him. He could feel the massive, radiant heat source emanating from the Alpha—a relentless, scorching tide of sun-kissed orange pheromones. It wasn't just a scent anymore; it was an invasive biological frequency, a primitive signal of high-level Alpha distress that bypassed his intellect and struck directly at his primal instincts.
"Hunter Huo, I will repeat this for the absolute final time: get off this bed and lie on the floor. Now." Silas's voice was as sharp as a surgical blade, cold and crystalline. But for the first time in his life, there was a microscopic fracture in his composure—a faint, suppressed tremor in the tail end of his sentence that betrayed the war raging within his own body.
"Professor... it's genuinely freezing on the floor. And... my head... it feels like it's being split open by a white-hot iron." Hunter's voice drifted out from beneath the silk duvet, muffled and thick with an agonizing, irresistible vulnerability.
Instead of retreating, the boy shifted. Silas felt the mattress dip significantly under Hunter's weight as the Alpha inched closer to the center of the bed. Through the agonizingly thin layer of the summer quilt, the hard, burning ridge of Hunter's knee brushed against the sensitive back of Silas's thigh. It was a ghost of a touch, yet it felt like a brand of molten lead searing through the fabric.
"I told you—do not touch me." Silas whipped his head around, his gold-rimmed glasses catching a sliver of icy light from the dim wall lamp. The reflection obscured his eyes, making him look like a vengeful, frozen deity.
Hunter was lying on his side, one powerful, muscled arm tucked beneath his golden head. His damp hair was a chaotic mess against the white pillowcase, looking like spun silk in the moonlight. He stared back at Silas, and the usual mischievous arrogance of the star athlete was nowhere to be found. In its place was a gaze of raw, terrifyingly sincere obsession—a look of near-religious devotion that Silas found far more dangerous than any outward aggression.
"I'm not touching you, Silas. Look... see? There's still a finger's breadth between us." Hunter extended a single, long, elegant finger and traced a phantom line on the charcoal-gray sheets between their bodies. "I swear on my life, even if I were to burn to ashes right here tonight, I wouldn't cross this line without your permission. I just... I just need to be near the smell of your snow. It's the only thing keeping me from going insane."
Silas let out a cold, derisive snort, turning his back once again. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing his brilliant mind to visualize complex molecular chains, neuroendocrine feedback loops, and the cold, hard logic of cellular biology. He tried to build a mental wall of data to drown out the overwhelming, pulsating presence behind him.
However, biological instinct is the most irrational, most violent logic in the known universe. It does not answer to equations, and it certainly does not respect the ironclad will of a professor.
By 2:00 AM, the roar of the thunderstorm outside had faded into a dull, rhythmic patter against the windowpanes. The room fell into an eerie, suffocating silence. Silas felt the nape of his neck beginning to throb with a searing, rhythmic heat. It was the physiological awakening of an Omega gland—a treasonous response to being marinated in high-density Alpha pheromones for hours. His throat felt parched, and his blood seemed to be surging toward that single, vulnerable patch of skin hidden beneath his chaste collar.
Just then, a low, suppressed groan of genuine agony broke the silence behind him. It was a sound of a predator being broken from the inside out.
"...God, it hurts. Silas... please..."
Silas's heart skipped a violent beat. He hesitated for several long, agonizing seconds, his knuckles white as he gripped his own pillow. But the doctor in him, or perhaps something far older and more primitive, eventually won. He turned around.
Hunter was curled into a tight, fetal ball, his face a deathly, ashen shade. His forehead was glistening with a fine sheen of cold sweat that caught the dim light. His Rut had clearly entered its most explosive and agonizing phase—the "Crush Stage." His large fingers were clawing at the expensive bedsheets, his knuckles white and protruding from the sheer force of his grip. He looked like a masterpiece of a man being shattered by his own genetics.
"Hunter Huo?" Silas sat up, his shadow looming over the Alpha. His hand hovered indecisively in the air before finally pressing against Hunter's trembling, burning shoulder. "Where does it hurt? Talk to me. Is it the glands or the neural pathways?"
"Everywhere... every cell feels like it's being consumed by wildfire." Hunter opened his eyes blearily, the crimson in his pupils swirling like a storm. The moment he saw Silas, he reacted like a drowning man catching sight of a shoreline. He lunged forward with a lightning-fast reflex, seizing Silas's wrist with a desperate, bruising strength and slamming the professor's icy palm against his own feverish cheek.
"Silas... give me something... even just a microscopic trace of a mark... please... I'm begging you... I'll do anything..."
His voice was shattered, reduced to raw fragments of desperation. The pride of the Huo empire, the most coveted Alpha on campus—it all evaporated in an instant. He was nothing more than a starving man at the feet of a king, greedily absorbing the microscopic trace of cold fir scent emanating from Silas's long, slender fingers.
Silas stared down at him, his gaze tracing the sharp line of Hunter's jaw and the pulse thrumming frantically in his neck. At that moment, his identity as a scientist screamed at him to get up, grab the emergency suppressants, and administer a forced sedation. But his identity as an Omega was screaming louder—a deafening roar that insisted this magnificent, powerful creature was his, that this Alpha was dying for his touch, and that he alone held the key to his salvation.
"You are inducing me to violate every professional ethic and personal principle I have spent a lifetime building," Silas whispered, his voice a low, dangerous vibration that made the air between them hum. His gaze began to darken, the ice in his eyes finally beginning to melt into a deep, obsidian pool.
He didn't pull his hand away. Instead, his fingers slid upward with a slow, deliberate grace, tracing the burning skin of Hunter's cheek before disappearing into the thick, golden mess of his hair. He gently, almost imperceptibly, began to massage the sensitive, swollen area at the base of the Alpha's skull.
"Just this once, Hunter. Only this once."
He leaned down, his nose nearly brushing against Hunter's. In an instant, the "finger's breadth" that had served as Silas's final line of defense wasn't just crossed—it was annihilated.
Hunter let out a long, shuddering sigh of pure, unadulterated ecstasy. Like a wolf that had finally cornered the moon, he suddenly surged upward with an explosion of strength, flipping their positions and pinning Silas beneath his massive, scorching frame. He didn't bite down—not yet. Instead, he used his hot, damp lips to graze and nuzzle Silas's long-deprived gland, over and over again, leaving a trail of searing, damp marks across the professor's pale, trembling skin.
"Professor... Silas... you smell... so goddamn beautiful. I'm never letting you go."
Silas arched his neck helplessly, his fingers digging into Hunter's broad, sweating shoulders as he allowed the aggressive, intoxicating scent of sun-kissed oranges to drown him completely. He knew, with a terrifying, heart-pounding clarity, that from this moment on, the "Ice" had not just been bitten—it had been shattered into a thousand pieces.