Ezra's POV

The dreams were getting worse.

Or better.

Or something in between that defied explanation.

Flashes of memory that felt too real to be imagination. Teeth gleaming in snow. Blood in his mouth. A boy—Rumi, he was certain now—pulling him from fire and ash.

Then a voice, low and hungry and breathless: "You were always mine, Ezra."

He woke up choking on air, sweating through his sheets, painfully hard, with his skin humming like a live wire. His hands trembled. His eyes burned. Something deep under his ribs ached to break free.

Then he smelled it.

Himself.

But twisted. Fermented. Warped into something primal and feral.

His wolf.

Ezra threw the covers off, his heart racing.

The scent was thick and cloying, sweet and sharp, clinging to the room like heat after thunder. His body recognized it before his brain could catch up.

He was going into pre-heat.

And wolves didn't lie to instinct.

Down the hall, Rumi froze in the stairwell.

His head jerked up as the scent hit him like a punch to the chest—rich, ripe, unbearable. His wolf snarled inside him, clawing against the inside of his skin. Wanting. Demanding.

Ezra.

His scent was shifting into heat.

Rumi gritted his teeth. "No. Not now. Not like this."

The talisman burned against his chest, trying desperately to hold the line.

But Ezra's need was stronger. It called to him across the distance like a siren song.

Meanwhile…

Cassian smirked in the corner of the quad, arms crossed, his voice low as he whispered to a group of betas.

"You didn't hear it from me," he purred, "but I saw Coach Rumi sneak out of Ezra's room last night."

Eyes widened. Whispers spread like wildfire.

"And Ezra? His scent's been changing," Cassian added with calculated malice. "Like he's about to go into heat and the Alpha's already claimed him."

"Impossible," someone hissed. "Coach Rumi isn't even mated."

"Not officially," Cassian shrugged. "But who needs a mark when he's already gotten so deep inside—"

"Shut up."

The voice cracked like lightning.

Cassian turned.

Ezra stood behind him—eyes blazing silver, lip curled, fists clenched at his sides.

And for a terrifying second, Cassian saw it. Not just beauty. Not just fire. But raw, untamed power.

Ezra stepped closer, getting nose-to-nose. "If you talk about me again, Cassian, I'll show you what I turn into when I'm pissed."

Then he walked away—barefoot, shirt half-open, his scent trailing like both an invitation and a threat.

Cassian swallowed hard.

"Oh... he's changing alright," he muttered under his breath.

That night…

Rumi couldn't stay away.

He stood outside Ezra's door, palms sweating, jaw tight with tension.

He should turn around. He should let Ezra burn alone until the scent faded.

But his instincts were screaming at him.

He needs you.

He's scared.

He's yours.

He raised a trembling hand and knocked once.

No answer.

He opened the door.

Ezra stood by the window, shirtless, his skin glowing in the moonlight. Sweat trickled down his back. His scent was so strong now it filled the room like a drug, making Rumi's head spin.

"Rumi," he whispered, his voice fraying at the edges. "I don't... know what's happening to me."

"You're entering heat," Rumi said quietly. "Too early. Your wolf's bloodline is older than we thought. It's triggering everything at once."

Ezra turned to face him—eyes glassy, lips parted.

"I want to tear my skin off."

Rumi crossed the room in seconds, gripping his arms. "Breathe. I'm here."

"Make it stop."

"You know what that means," Rumi said tightly. "If I touch you now... there's no undoing it."

Ezra leaned in, his breath hot against Rumi's throat. "Then don't stop."

Rumi's eyes burned. His breath hitched.

He slammed the door shut behind him.

What happened next was slow. Intentional. But nothing soft.

Rumi backed Ezra onto the bed, holding him there, just watching him squirm under the weight of his gaze. His claws grazed Ezra's thighs with barely-there touches. His mouth ghosted down his chest, leaving fire in its wake.

Ezra arched beneath him. "Please..."

Rumi leaned down, his voice like gravel. "You're mine."

And when he bit down on the junction of Ezra's neck and shoulder, he didn't break skin.

But Ezra still screamed.

Their bodies moved together—friction, fire, frenzy. Grinding against each other like they needed it to breathe. No full claiming yet, but the tension was purely animal.

Ezra came with Rumi's mouth on his throat and his name on his lips.

And when it was over, he curled into Rumi's chest like he'd finally found home.

Rumi held him tight, his jaw clenched.

Because he could feel the talisman cracking around his neck.

And once it shattered completely?

There'd be no turning back from what they were becoming.