Down On Your Knees, Alpha.

Chapter Two

Kiara's POV

The next day, the entire campus already knows what I did. The whispers follow me like a shadow, the human who rejected Zephyr Thorne, half scandalized, half delighted by the chaos I've caused. In a world built on hierarchy and dominance, I've committed the ultimate sin.

I've embarrassed an Alpha.

And he's going to make me pay for it.

The first sign comes during breakfast. I'm sitting alone in the dining hall when a tray of orange juice "accidentally" spills across my lap. The she-wolf responsible, a redhead with cruel eyes, doesn't even pretend to apologize.

"Oops," she purrs. "Guess humans are as clumsy as they are stupid."

Around us, wolves laugh. I feel their eyes on me, waiting for a reaction, waiting for me to cry or rage or prove every weak stereotype they believe about humans.

Instead, I stand calmly, juice dripping down my jeans, and meet her gaze with a smile that doesn't reach my eyes.

"Funny. I was just thinking the same thing about she-wolves with more hair than brain cells."

The laughter cuts off abruptly. The redhead's eyes flash gold— her wolf rising to the surface— and for a moment, I think she might actually attack me.

"Is there a problem here?"

The voice cuts through the tension like a blade. Deep, commanding, infuriatingly familiar.

Zephyr.

He stands at the entrance to the dining hall, still in his practice gear, dark hair damp with sweat. Every eye in the room turns to him, the atmosphere shifting from hostile to reverent in a heartbeat. This is his domain. His kingdom.

And I'm the intruder who dared to challenge him.

"No problem, Zephyr," the redhead says quickly, her aggressive posture melting into something almost submissive. "Just a little accident."

"Hmm." His eyes rake over me, and I hate the way my body responds— the way my pulse quickens, the way heat pools low in my belly despite the ice in his expression. "Accidents seem to follow Miss Quinn around. How... unfortunate."

The message is clear. This is just the beginning.

"I can handle a little juice," I say, meeting his gaze directly. "I'm tougher than I look."

Something flickers in his eyes— surprise? Respect? But it's gone before I can identify it, replaced by cold amusement.

"We'll see about that."

He turns and walks away, his pack of admirers trailing after him like devoted puppies. But I don't miss the way his shoulders tense, the way his hands clench at his sides.

The bond is affecting him too. Good. Let him suffer like I am.

By the end of the week, I understand the full scope of Zephyr's vindictiveness.

My books disappear from my locker, I find them later in the trash, pages torn and soaked. My lab partner suddenly requests a transfer, leaving me to handle complex chemistry experiments alone. Professors who were initially neutral now look at me with thinly veiled contempt, as if my very presence offends them.

And everywhere I go, I hear his name whispered like a curse or a prayer.

Zephyr won't let this stand.

She humiliated him. She'll regret it.

The Alpha heir always gets what he wants.

But what they don't understand— what he doesn't understand— is that I've survived worse than high school politics. I've crawled through the ashes of my own pack. I've spent eight years hiding in plain sight, swallowing my rage, biding my time.

A spoiled Alpha's son with a bruised ego doesn't scare me.

What scares me is the way I catch him watching me sometimes, when he thinks I'm not looking. The way his expression shifts from anger to something almost... confused. Hungry.

The breaking point comes during Physical Education— a required class that's essentially glorified combat training for wolves and humiliation for humans.

The coach, a gray-haired Beta with a scar bisecting his left eyebrow, pairs students for sparring.

When my name is called, I already know who my partner will be.

"Kiara Quinn and Zephyr Thorne."

Of course.

The other students back away, forming a wide circle. This isn't about training anymore. This is about a public execution.

Zephyr steps into the center of the mat, rolling his shoulders with casual confidence. He's removed his shirt— because apparently, he's an exhibitionist as well as an asshole— and I hate that I notice the way muscles shift beneath tanned skin, the way his body moves with predatory grace.

"Try not to break too easily," he says, loud enough for everyone to hear. "Where's the fun in that?"

More laughter. Always laughter at my expense.

I step onto the mat, my heart pounding but my expression calm. I've been training for this— not for gym class, but for revenge. Every self-defense technique I've learned, every weapon I've mastered in secret, all building toward the moment I face my parents' killers.

This is just practice.

"Ready when you are," I say sweetly. "Alpha."

I make the title sound like an insult.

His eyes narrow. "Your funeral."

He moves fast— faster than a human should be able to track. But I'm not fully human, even if nobody knows it. My wolf may be suppressed, but my reflexes aren't entirely gone.

I dodge his first strike, then his second. The surprise on his face is almost worth the gasps from the crowd.

"Lucky," he mutters.

"Skill," I correct.

He comes at me again, and this time I don't just dodge— I counter. My palm strikes toward his solar plexus, not enough to truly hurt him, but enough to make contact. To prove a point.

His hand catches my wrist mid-strike, and suddenly we're frozen, his grip iron-tight, our faces inches apart.

"You're fast," he says, and for the first time, there's no mockery in his voice. Just... curiosity. "For a human."

"You're predictable," I shoot back. "For an Alpha."

Something dangerous flashes in his eyes. The bond between us crackles like electricity, and I see his pupils dilate, smell his scent intensify— pine and something darker, more primal.

He wants me. He hates that he wants me.

The feeling is devastatingly mutual.

"Lucky shot," he says, but his voice has gone rough. He releases my wrist and steps back, putting distance between us. "Again."

We spar for another ten minutes, and with each exchange, the crowd grows quieter. Because I'm not losing. I'm not dominant, but I'm holding my own, reading his movements, adapting to his style.

I'm surviving.

And in a world of wolves, survival is its own kind of victory.

When the coach finally calls time, Zephyr's breathing hard, a thin sheen of sweat covering his skin. He looks at me like he's seeing me for the first time, really seeing me, and I don't know if that's better or worse than his contempt.

"Not bad," he admits grudgingly. "For prey."

I smile, slow and sharp. "Maybe you're just losing your touch. For a predator."

I turn and walk away before he can respond, my legs shaking but my head held high.

Behind me, I hear someone whisper, "Did she just... did a human just hold her own against Zephyr Thorne?"

Yes. Yes, I did.

And from the look on his face, he's as confused about it as everyone else.

That night, I'm walking back to my dorm when I hear footsteps behind me. Fast. Purposeful.

I don't run. Running triggers the chase instinct in wolves. Instead, I turn, my hand already reaching for the silver knife hidden in my jacket— a parting gift from a hunter I befriended at my last college.

Zephyr emerges from the shadows, and for a moment, we just stare at each other.

"What do you want?" I ask tiredly. I'm so sick of this game, of pretending I don't feel the bond trying to claw us together.

"To understand," he says, and there's no hostility in his voice now. Just genuine confusion. "You're human. You shouldn't be able to move like that. Fight like that. You shouldn't—" He breaks off, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "My wolf won't shut up about you. It's driving me insane."

"Then accept the rejection," I say flatly. "Make it official. End this."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

He steps closer, and I should back away, but I don't. The bond hums between us, warm and insistent and utterly unwanted.

"Because every time I try," he says quietly, "every time I think about severing the bond completely, my wolf loses its mind. And earlier, when you sparred with me, when I saw that she-wolf spill juice on you—" His jaw clenches. "I wanted to rip her throat out. My wolf wanted to protect you, even though you're the one who humiliated me in front of the entire school."

"Sounds like a personal problem."

"It's our problem." His eyes bore into mine. "I don't know what you are, Kiara Quinn. But you're not just human. No human could do what you did today."

My heart stops instantly. Does he know? Has he figured it out?

"I'm just a girl who's tired of being underestimated," I say carefully. "And I'm not your problem, Zephyr. I'm not your anything. I rejected you, remember?"

"I didn't accept it."

"You should."

"Probably." He studies me for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "But I've never been good at doing what I should."

He turns and walks away, leaving me alone in the darkness with my racing heart and the traitorous part of me that wanted him to stay.

This is a disaster.

I came here for revenge, not romance. I came here to destroy the Thorne family, not to get tangled up in a mate bond with their heir.

But as I watch him disappear into the night, I can't shake the feeling that my carefully laid plans are about to get a lot more complicated.

Because Zephyr Thorne isn't just my enemy anymore. He's my mate, whether I like it or not. And heaven help us both.