Page 45 of Hard Knot

"The North Wing, commonly known as Death Knot, houses our more...volatile Alpha population. Access is restricted and heavily monitored." He pauses, clearly uncomfortable. "Given your background, you'll understand why we're particularly strict about weapons and unauthorized activities there."

As if your security could stop us if we wanted access.

I hold back a scuff in response because this man knows nothing about our lifestyle. All he hears is useless rumors that talk shit and don’t prove anything valuable to use against us.

"The East Wing, Savage Knot, is our training facility. Combat sports, physical education, that sort of thing. We've had some...incidents there in the past, so all matches are now supervised."

My fingers trace the intricate patterns carved into my chair's armrests as I listen.

At six-foot-five, I tower over most men even when seated. My black hair, peppered with distinguished grey at the temples, is immaculately styled — every detail calculated to project authority. I look older than I am, but I guess that’s the point in this forbidden world.

Better to look older than like a foolish youngling who can easily be prey.

Years of martial arts and military training have left me with the kind of lean muscle that speaks of lethal efficiency rather than brute force.

The brute chaos can be left for Felix, though he has dropped quite a bit of weight lately since he’s in his “cut” phase.

"The West Wing, or Ruthless Knot, handles our political science and business programs. It's where most of our...traditionally successful Alphas tend to gravitate. Just try to avoid the surrounding dorms and such. They’re not…up to your taste."

I adjust the silk blindfold covering my eyes — black, custom-made from the finest Chinese silk. Not amedicalnecessity, but rather a choice that serves multiple purposes.

The material is cool against my skin, a reminder of both my supposed limitation and my true power.

"And finally, the South Wing – Hard Knot. This is where you and your...associates will be stationed. It's our most diversesector, housing everything from arts to sciences. Some consider it our most challenging environment."

"Challenging," I repeat, letting the word roll off my tongue. "Elaborate."

The administrator shifts uncomfortably. Papers rustle as he consults his notes.

"Despite your...considerable influence outside these walls, Mr. Holmesovich, there are certain limitations that must be respected within Knot Academy's premises. The South Wing in particular has strict protocols regarding Alpha-Omega interactions."

"You mean the hunting ground you've created?" The words come out soft yet the tone hits the mark it needs to hit. "Don't insult my intelligence by pretending it's anything else."

"I...that's not..." he stammers.

"Continue with the rules," I say, my accent becoming more pronounced as my patience thins. "Since you seem so eager to establish boundaries."

"Yes, well...the preliminary rules for Alphas are non-negotiable. All students, regardless of their...status in the outside world, must adhere to our behavioral codes. This includes restrictions on physical altercations, territorial displays, and of course, any unauthorized claiming of Omegas."

All of which you overlook when the price is right.

"I've taken the liberty of having all your course materials specially bound," he adds, his voice taking on that particularly grating tone people use when they think they're being considerate. "The raised lettering should make it easier for you to?—"

"Did I say I was blind?" My voice cuts through the room like a blade through silk.

"I...well, we heard through the grapevine that—" he stammers, clearly thrown off balance.

"Perhaps," I interrupt, allowing a hint of amusement to color my tone, "you could have done what any competent administrative Alpha would do and conducted a proper background check. Or does your renowned attention to detail only extend to creating elaborate excuses for the atrocities you allow in your 'challenging environment'?"

The silence that follows is delicious — thick with embarrassment and fear.

"The assumption that a blindfold indicates complete blindness is not only presumptuous but potentially treacherous," I continue, my Russian accent growing heavier with each word. "Much like assuming your position here grants you any real authority over me.”

I pause on purpose, knowing my next words are about to prove a very drastic point of the “power” I have over this dump.

“Tell me, how is the academy's funding this quarter? Still relying on my family's...generous contributions?"

I can smell his fear spike, his Alpha pheromones souring with anxiety. He knows as well as I do that his entire operation hangs by a thread — my thread.

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