His Hidden Kitsune

Episode 4: Rules Of Survival

The morning sun filtered through the heavy curtains, casting warm slants of gold across the cold stone floor. I was already awake, sitting cross-legged on the edge of my bed with my back straight and breath steady. Each inhale and exhale came with practiced control as I mentally ran through my checklist: Binding secure. Hair trimmed. Voice steady, higher than natural, but natural enough to pass. Every day in this academy was a performance, and I couldn’t afford to miss a single cue. One slip, and everything would come crashing down.

Kael hadn’t returned to our dorm room after that combat session. I told myself it was a relief—I needed space to regroup, to think—but the truth was, his absence gnawed at me. Kael didn’t just brood or disappear for no reason. He was calculating, strategic. If he was keeping his distance, it was because he was thinking. Processing. Wolves didn’t waste energy without purpose. And that meant I’d triggered something in him.

I didn’t know what he’d sensed during that moment of skin-to-skin contact, but it had been enough to widen his eyes, even if only for a second. Enough to make him yank his hand away like it burned. That flicker of awareness—that was the danger. And with every breath he took near me, every curious glance, that danger grew sharper. It was like standing on a precipice with no safety net, the wind constantly threatening to pull me over the edge.

First period was Werehistory, one of the few classes where I could hide behind a desk and pretend to be just another face in the crowd. The classroom was circular, ancient stone walls lined with flickering enchanted torches that gave off light but no smoke. The scent of parchment, old leather, and fur hung in the air like a second skin. Desks were arranged in concentric tiers around a central podium, and students slouched in their seats like bored predators waiting for something to pounce on.

I entered quietly, avoiding eye contact. A few students looked up, sniffed subtly in my direction, and then returned to their conversations. No one sat close. I took the highest tier in the back, the safest place to observe. It gave me a vantage point—one where I could study everyone while remaining largely unnoticed.

The professor, a falcon shifter with steely eyes and a razor-sharp voice, launched into a lecture about ancient inter-pack treaties and how the rise of human settlements forced shifters into secrecy. I took notes mechanically, my quill moving with practiced efficiency, but my attention drifted. I watched how the students moved—how they laughed, whispered, flexed their claws under the desk. How they scented the air when someone entered the room.

They were always hunting. Even in class. Especially in class. It was a constant game of dominance, one I couldn’t afford to lose. Every twitch, every reaction, was scrutinized.

By the time the bell rang, I had added three more rules to my mental survival guide.

Rule One: Avoid showers when others are around. Rule Two: Sit in the back of every class and never linger after the bell. Rule Three: Use masking herbs religiously—every morning, every night, and again after any physical contact. The illusion spell I’d cast might fool their eyes, but their noses were another matter entirely. And Kael wasn’t the only one getting curious.

In the cafeteria, I stuck to my routine—get in, eat fast, get out. My tray held the usual bland assortment: toast, dried meat, something that might’ve once been fruit. Around me, the cafeteria buzzed with laughter and low growls. The energy was electric—testosterone, dominance games, subtle challenges thrown like knives through the air. Kael sat at the far end of the hall, surrounded by the other elite students. His table was a fortress of strength and swagger, every movement a reminder of his rank.

He hadn’t acknowledged me once today. But I still felt him. The awareness prickled across my skin like static. The way the hair on the back of my neck lifted when he entered a room. The way my pulse jumped when his laughter echoed across the hall. It wasn’t attraction. It couldn’t be. It was the bond stirring beneath the surface, even if he didn’t know it yet. And I had to keep it buried.

A tray clattered onto the table across from mine, snapping me out of my spiral.

"You’re Ren, right?" The boy across from me grinned with the easy confidence of someone who didn’t need permission to sit wherever he liked. Chestnut hair framed a sharp face, and his gray eyes were bright, inquisitive.

I nodded cautiously. "Yeah."

"I’m Jude. Rook dorm." He stabbed a piece of meat with his fork. "Saw you in combat awhile back. You’re fast. Real fast."

"Thanks," I said, wary.

He tilted his head, studying me. "You don’t smell like anything. That’s rare. Makes you hard to pin down."

My blood chilled, though I kept my expression neutral. "It’s a family thing. Genetic anomaly."

Jude hummed thoughtfully, clearly unconvinced but not pressing. "Weird. But cool. See you in Tracking tomorrow."

And just like that, he was gone, blending into the crowd with an infuriating smirk.

You don’t smell like anything.

It wasn’t just a comment. It was a red flag waving in the middle of a battlefield. Shifters noticed scent first. It was identity, rank, mood. To not have one was unnatural. Suspicious.

I slipped away after lunch, weaving through hallways until I reached the dorm’s shared bathroom. I locked the door and turned on the tap, letting the running water mask any noise. With trembling fingers, I summoned a small orb of foxfire. It glowed blue and gold, wrapping around my body like a protective cloak. I whispered the words of the scent-masking spell again and again, layering it thick like armor woven with herbs and words.

I couldn't afford another slip. One more comment like Jude's, and suspicion would tip into investigation. And then into exposure. My heart thudded in my chest like a drumbeat of warning as I reinforced the spell, breathing in the bitter sting of the masking herbs, trying to convince myself I was still safe. Just a little longer.

That night, Kael returned late. The door creaked open softly, and I immediately stilled under the covers, pretending to sleep. I listened to the faint sounds of fabric rustling, of Kael breathing, the mattress creaking under his weight.

He didn’t speak. But the silence said enough. It was sharp and heavy, filled with something unsaid. I could feel his eyes on me, even in the dark.

He was circling closer now.

And I was running out of room.

Two months. Just two.

Then everything would change.