Bound To The Professor Alpha Who Wants Me Gone

The heavy oak doors of Northwood University loomed like the gates of purgatory. Rain lashed against the towering stained glass windows, casting fractured pools of crimson and cobalt across the damp stone floors. The air inside the ancient gothic building was thick. It smelled of melting beeswax, wet wool, and an underlying, metallic hum of raw magic that made the fine hairs on Elara Quinn's arms stand at attention.

Elara was late.

She was exactly fourteen minutes late for her very first lecture as a mid-year transfer student. Her lungs burned with every shallow breath she drew as she sprinted down the western corridor. Just three weeks ago, her biggest concern was passing her sophomore torts exam at a normal, human university. She was a pre-law student. She understood logic. She understood rules.

Then her latent magic had accidentally shattered the reinforced glass of a mock courtroom. The Northwood recruiters had swept in, her parents' memories were wiped clean, and she was thrust into a hidden society of literal monsters.

She clutched her overly stuffed leather satchel to her chest. It contained three heavy grimoires, a set of silver-nibbed quills, and a creeping sense of impending doom.

She took a sharp turn, her wet boots squeaking against the polished marble. She was an outsider here. Northwood was the elite academy for the supernatural world. It was a place where vampires, shifters, and creatures born from shadows came to hone their lethal power. Elara had no idea what she was. Her adoption papers simply said human, but humans did not blow out windows with their panic.

"Room 402," Elara muttered under her breath, her voice trembling slightly. "Supernatural History and Bloodline Politics."

She spotted the towering brass numbers at the end of the hall. The heavy wooden door was cracked open just an inch. The low, resonant baritone of a man's voice drifted into the corridor. It was a voice that commanded obedience. It sounded like velvet wrapped around a steel blade. Elara felt a strange shiver trace its way down her spine, a sensation that had nothing to do with the cold rainwater soaking through her uniform.

She slowed her pace. She tried to catch her breath so she could slip inside unnoticed and find a seat in the back row. She reached for the heavy iron handle. Her fingers were slick with nervous sweat.

Her boot caught the edge of a raised stone tile.

Gravity claimed her with vicious, unforgiving speed. Elara pitched forward, the heavy oak door swinging wide open as she tumbled into the classroom. She threw her hands out to catch herself, but the worn clasp of her leather satchel finally surrendered to the weight of the books. The bag burst open in mid-air.

The sound was deafening. Three massive, leather-bound grimoires slammed against the hardwood floor of the lecture amphitheater. A dozen glass vials of colorful ink shattered on impact, sending thick splatters of midnight blue and crimson across the pristine stones. Pens, parchment, and