Chapter 88: The Origin

Chapter 88: Chapter 88: The Origin

When Alexander finally disappeared down the end of the corridor, his departure did not bring relief. Instead, the air seemed to collapse inward, heavy and stagnant, thick with the lingering tang of ozone and fear.

Jason remained on the polished floor. One knee was pinned awkwardly beneath his torso, his palm planted flat against the cold marble tiles as his chest heaved in violent, shallow bursts.

Sweat beaded along his hairline, stinging his eyes, but he did not wipe it away. His gaze remained locked on the dark archway where Alexander had vanished into the shadows of the university campus.

For the first time since his first shift at sixteen, Jason was utterly, hopelessly disoriented.

His wolf, a creature usually brimming with reckless pride and bloodlust, had withdrawn completely and utterly subdued. It had retreated into the furthest, darkest recess of his subconscious, curling into a silent, trembling knot. Jason strained to feel the familiar thrum of its instinct, but there was nothing—only an oppressive, echoing emptiness.

It was not the cautious deference he showed his father, nor the tense hostility he felt toward rival Alphas at regional summits. This was primordial. His inner beast had not merely recognized a superior predator; it had recognized an absolute authority—a force it possessed no language to defy.

A slow, heavy exhalation broke the silence. Professor Whitmore stood near the threshold of his private office, his spectacles reflecting the dim fluorescent lighting above. He adjusted his silk cuffs, his eyes traveling from the ruined plaster on the far wall down to Jason’s kneeling form.

Whitmore looked down at the boy, a subtle crease forming between his brows. He drew in a long, deliberate breath through his nose, letting it out with a low whistle of exhaustion.

"You always had a terrible habit of mistaking arrogance for authority, Jason," Whitmore said, his voice measured, almost conversational, though a faint tremor belied his composure. "But today... today you surpassed yourself."

Jason’s fingers clawed at the polished floor, his knuckles turning stark white against the tile. "Shut up," he rasped, his voice raw from the sudden shock to his throat.

"You shouldn’t have provoked him, Jason," Whitmore murmured, his voice carrying the calm, weighty tone of someone who had seen far too many young, reckless wolves cross lines they didn’t even know existed. He shifted his stance, turning his full attention toward the floor. "What on earth possessed you to push a man like that? What led to all of this?"

Jason’s lips parted, but no sound emerged. His jaw worked uselessly as he stared up at the ceiling, his pupils still dilated from the sheer, primal terror that had paralyzed his nervous system.

Realizing that Jason was in no state to form a coherent thought, let alone articulate one, Whitmore slowly turned his head toward the two young men standing near the threshold.

Finn and Shawn were leaning against the wall for support, their faces pale, sweat glistening at their temples. They were in slightly better condition than their friend, but their trembling hands betrayed the lingering aftershocks of Alexander’s aura.

"You two," Whitmore said, stepping forward with measured, unhurried strides. He crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes fixing on them with sharp intensity. "Can the both of you explain to me what actually happened out here? I want to know every detail that led to this disaster."

Shawn straightened up, though his knees wobbled slightly under his weight. He adjusted his leather jacket, trying to summon a shadow of his usual defiance, though his voice cracked around the edges. "You’re not our Alpha, Whitmore. We aren’t obligated to give you an account of our business."

Whitmore’s eyes narrowed, a cold, dangerous light flickered in their depths. The room grew subtly colder as he allowed a fraction of his own Beta command to settle over the space. It wasn’t the suffocating, ancient pressure Alexander had released, but it was firm enough to remind them where they stood.

"I might not be your Alpha, Shawn, nor am I a member of your pack," Whitmore said, his voice dropping an octave, steady and unyielding. "However, I am still the head of this department, and I am a Beta of my own pack. That gives me authority in this building. I have managed pack boundaries and political alliances since before your father earned his first territorial mark. I know the scent of a brewing war, Shawn. And I certainly know when a boundary has been crossed that could bring this entire territory down around our ears."

He gestured vaguely toward the spiderweb of deep cracks fracturing the load-bearing wall where Jason had been thrown.

"I am asking you not out of academic curiosity," Whitmore continued, his voice dropping an octave, "but because if that man had chosen to exert even a fraction more pressure, the university would currently be calling an ambulance for three young men whose bodies simply gave out under the weight of his voice.

You do not seem to comprehend the severity of what just transpired here. If this situation isn’t handled with extreme caution, the fallout will obliterate more than just your little social standing...Now... speak."

Shawn swallowed hard, the color draining further from his cheeks. He rubbed the back of his neck, running his hand through his disheveled hair, and let out a long, frustrated sigh that sounded almost like a growl.

"We don’t even fully understand what the fuck is happening here ourselves," Shawn muttered, his gaze darting toward the open hallway where Alexander had disappeared moments ago. "We didn’t come here looking for trouble. We just came here looking for Iris."

Whitmore tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. "Iris?"

"Jason’s girlfriend," Shawn offered quickly.

" Ex-girlfriend," Finn muttered under his breath, his back still pressed flat against the wall. "Not that anybody seems to care about the ’ex’ part."

Shawn immediately snapped his head toward Finn, shooting him a harsh, warning glare that silently told him to keep his mouth shut. Finn simply shrugged, leaning back against the wall with his arms folded tightly against his chest, refusing to back down.

Whitmore ignored the brief internal friction between the two, though his mind immediately began connecting the dots. "The girl who just ran out of here in a panic?"

"Yeah, her," Shawn confirmed, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "We saw her coming out of your private office."

"I granted Alexander the use of the office when his appointment was finalized last weekend," Whitmore noted smoothly, though his eyes narrowed with intent. "Go on."

"Jason was already furious," Shawn said, rubbing the back of his neck where the muscle had seized up. "He thought... well, he didn’t like the idea of her spending hours locked away with the new faculty member. Naturally, he wanted to know what she was doing in there for so long, especially considering she was in there alone with... with that Grant guy.

They got into a heated argument right out in the hallway. Jason was just trying to demand answers, as any man would. But then Alexander came out, stepped right between them, and flatly refused to back off."

Shawn paused, taking a breath to steady the residual tremor in his chest before continuing. "Alexander told him point-blank that Jason had no idea what Iris meant to him. From there, things just escalated in seconds. Jason lost his temper and tried to swing at him. The next thing we knew, that guy didn’t just block him—he completely crushed us without even laying a finger on most of us. He overpowered the three of us like we were nothing more than pups."

As Shawn recounted the events, Whitmore stood entirely still. His posture remained rigid, but a subtle shift occurred in his demeanor. His eyes flicked to the cracked wall, then back to the doorway, his mind sifting through every word.

He latched onto specific details—the way Alexander had positioned himself, the words he had chosen, and the sheer level of territorial protectiveness he had displayed.

A heavy silence descended upon the hallway once more, interrupted only by the sound of Jason finally pushing himself off the floor.

Jason rose unsteadily, using the edge of a nearby armchair to brace himself. His face was flushed with a mixture of humiliation, lingering fear, and mounting rage. He dragged a hand across his face, clearing the sweat from his eyes, before turning to face Whitmore directly.

"Who the hell is he?" Jason demanded, his voice raspy and raw from the tension that had gripped his throat. He took a shaky step forward, his knuckles white where he clenched his fists.

"What is he, Whitmore? How can a human—or any wolf, for that matter—overpower all three of us like that? I’ve felt the pressure of our pack Alpha, but this... this was entirely different. It felt like my bones were going to shatter just from him looking at me.

I’ve also felt territorial suppression before. It makes your knees heavy. It makes you want to snarl or submit. But this..." He pressed a hand over his heart, where his chest still felt tightly constricted. "My wolf didn’t try to fight back. It didn’t even try to submit. It tried to disappear. What is he?"