The Alpha Prisoners Obsession

Chp 3

Zyra POV

The moment I finally managed to pry my fingers away from my throat, my hands instinctively went to my neck, massaging the sore, lingering marks where his grip had been. The heat from his touch still seemed to linger, a phantom pressure that made my skin tingle uncomfortably. I couldn’t explain why he had choked me, why someone would single me out and hold me like that but deep down, I knew. He was far too strong, far too precise, far too… imposing.

I glanced down at myself reflexively, as if that could explain it. I was barely five-foot-three, my frame slight and easily overlooked. Yet the shadow of the man, tall, broad, and impossibly intimidating, loomed in my mind. He was like a pillar, unmovable, and his long fingers had seemed almost unreal, curling around my neck in a way that covered it entirely. The thought sent a shiver down my spine. Even now, thinking about the weight of his hand, I felt a strange, inexplicable mix of terror and… something else, something I couldn’t quite name.

The memory of his eyes burned hotter than the sting on my skin. Dark. Intense. Like an abyss staring straight into my soul. And anger. Anger that made my blood run cold. It wasn’t just random malice, there was intent, focus, precision. Every fiber of him radiated control, dominance, and danger. The way he had looked at me left my chest tight and my pulse uneven. The chill curling through me wasn’t just fear, it was a warning.

I shook my head hard, trying to force myself back to reality. My vision blurred slightly from the dizziness and the shock of the moment. I had already passed my classroom entrance in my daze, the corridor stretching endlessly ahead. With a frustrated groan, I spun on my heel and smacked the side of my head lightly against the wall, attempting to jolt my mind back into focus. The sharp pain briefly distracted me from the lingering dread, and I took a steadying breath.

Finally, I forced myself to enter the classroom, adjusting the books I had clutched tightly to my chest. My hands trembled slightly, betraying the nervous energy still coursing through me. The classroom was filled with the quiet rustle of papers and low murmurs of new students taking their seats. Every eye seemed to flicker toward me as I stepped in, and a knot of anxiety settled in my stomach.

My fingers unconsciously brushed the strands of my black-dyed hair, a habit I had developed to remind myself that I was incognito. If anyone discovered the truth that I was a member of the Silver Pack, the cursed wolves whose very existence inspired fear and hatred they would avoid me, maybe even attack me. The thought tightened my chest. I had spent years hiding, running, surviving. Here, in the open, with so many unknown faces, every step carried the risk of exposure.

I lowered my gaze as I moved across the classroom, careful not to meet anyone’s eyes. My books were clutched like shields, pressed against my chest as I found a corner seat far from the center of attention. Slowly, deliberately, I arranged my textbooks and notebooks, aligning them with meticulous care as though the act itself could anchor me against the racing thoughts and the lingering terror from earlier.

Then, through the corner of my eye, I saw him.

The same man. The one from the playground. The one whose hand had gripped my neck with terrifying strength just minutes ago. He entered the classroom casually, as if nothing had happened, tie loosened, jacket slung over one shoulder. His two friends followed, moving with the same ease, confidence, and subtle arrogance that marked the alphas of the academy.

Every instinct screamed at me to move, to escape, to hide, but I was frozen. My chest tightened, breath coming in shallow bursts. I could feel the weight of his presence even before he reached my line of sight. It was suffocating, a gravitational pull that anchored me in place against my will.

He scanned the room casually at first, as though checking attendance, but my stomach twisted when his eyes locked onto mine. And for the briefest, most electrifying moment, the world seemed to narrow until it was only him and me. His gaze was dark, smoldering, edged with that same anger and intensity I had felt in the corridor. My heart skipped painfully, my palms slick with sweat.

And then he moved. Slowly. Deliberately. Not a word, not a gesture toward anyone else. His eyes never left mine as he strode forward, each step measured, precise, radiating power and control. My hands gripped my books tighter, knuckles whitening, as I felt the atmosphere in the room shift. There was something magnetic, dangerous, almost predatory in the way he approached.

He took a seat directly across from me, nonchalantly tossing his jacket aside, loosening his tie further. The subtle confidence in his posture, the deliberate disregard for anyone else, was suffocating. And the moment his gaze met mine again, I felt my spine tingle, my body reacting against my will.

I tried to focus on anything else, the muted chatter of classmates, the rustle of pages, the clock ticking on the wall but it was impossible. My senses had narrowed to the dangerous intensity radiating from him. I could see the faint tension in his jaw, the slight narrowing of his eyes, the way his fingers drummed casually on the desk. Every movement carried intent, and every intent seemed aimed directly at me.

My mind raced with questions, but fear kept me from asking any aloud. Why him? Why me? How could someone so impossibly strong, so tall, so dominant, have singled me out in a corridor minutes ago, and now casually sit across from me as though nothing had happened? My pulse hammered violently in my chest. Every nerve screamed that I was in the presence of someone far too dangerous, someone I could never hope to control or predict.

I adjusted my posture slightly, trying to make myself smaller, less noticeable, but the corner seat offered little comfort. I lowered my gaze to my books, arranging them again as if the act could shield me from the magnetism of his presence. Yet, despite the fear, despite the trembling in my fingers, I couldn’t look away entirely. There was something hypnotic, something unnervingly compelling about him.

The classroom blurred around me as I replayed the earlier moment in the corridor. The strength of his hand, the darkness of his eyes, the precision of his control, it was impossible to shake. I rubbed at the sore marks on my neck again, shivering involuntarily. The memory of his towering presence pressed into my mind like a shadow I could not escape.

I reminded myself to breathe, to focus. This was a classroom, these were other students. No one else seemed to notice the silent battle unfolding across the desks, the unspoken tension radiating from the table where he had planted himself. I tried to steady my shaking hands, trying to force my thoughts away from the memory of his fingers around my throat.

But it was impossible. The way he looked at me, the sheer dominance in the tilt of his chin, the calculated precision in his gaze, it all screamed danger. It also, inexplicably, ignited something darker in me. A thrill I couldn’t name, an involuntary awareness that this was a man unlike any I had ever encountered. Someone who could, if he wished, destroy me with ease.

And yet… there was fascination there, too. Despite the fear, despite the pounding of my heart, my mind couldn’t stop analyzing him. He was deliberate, controlled, and terrifyingly aware of his effect on me. Every glance, every shift of posture, every subtle movement screamed possession, awareness, and intent.

I pressed my lips together, gripping my books tighter, trying to anchor myself in reality. But the tension between us was suffocating. My thoughts spun wildly: Why me? Why now? What did he want? And most importantly… how could someone like him exist so casually, so effortlessly, in a place as ordinary as a classroom?

The rustle of papers, the low murmur of other students, the scraping of chairs, all faded into background noise. It was only him. His eyes, his presence, the weight of his dominance pressing into me with every passing second. The air between us was taut, charged, heavy with unspoken threat and anticipation.

And as I sat there, heart hammering, mind spinning, I realized with a shiver of certainty that nothing about this academy, nothing about this day, nothing about the careful plans I had made to hide my identity, could have prepared me for him.

The silence stretched, broken only by the faint scrape of pen on paper and the occasional cough from a distracted student. His eyes never left mine. And I knew, deep in my core, that the game had begun. The dangerous, intoxicating, impossible-to-ignore game between him and me.