Page 75 of A University of Betrayal

I was about to ask a question when he hastily continued. “You should get training, immediately. That works best at our place.”

My expression darkened.“No...I’m not leaving Mum.”

Alarik interlocked his hands, his expression serious, yet thoughtful. “I could train you.”

I listened in surprise.

Was that an offer?

“But if the others find out I’m not a Quatura, they’ll want me to leave my mother.”

Panic spread through the pit of my stomach, and I remembered that I hadn’t eaten anything today. That was strange. Normally my stomach would have been growling by now, especially after lunchtime. But it was silent, probably just as shocked as the rest of my body. This town simply wasn’t good for my health.

“Who said anyone needs to know what you are?”

My eyes widened. I stared at him, flabbergasted.

“First of all, you should drink this tea, because you don’t have your irises under control yet.”

I quickly squeezed my eyes shut and finally lowered my gaze to the smelly drink in front of me.

“What’s in there?” I looked suspiciously at the purple flowers.

“A mixture that ensures that you won’t transform for the next twenty-four hours and won’t react to transformation triggers.”

It sounded tempting and like something I’d better take before something bad happened.

Yet, I hesitated.

“Are you afraid I’ll poison you?”

Alarik smirked.

“N…no,” I mumbled and quickly reached for my cup, which I emptied in one go.

Meanwhile, Alarik got up and walked to his desk. I followed him, hoping that he had a plan.

My mouth burned bitterly.

“How do I explain this to my mother?”

Maybe she had something to explain to me instead? Now I was all the more interested in who my father was.

“It’s best to keep this between us for now.” He looked up from his calendar. “I’m serious. The pack really isn’t a good place for you right now, and as soon as Gloria and the Councils find out what you are, there’s going to be a riot, and I don’t want that for your mother either.”

I raised my eyebrows.

Somehow, it unsettled me when he talked about her. But I didn’t dare ask the questions that were burning on my tongue. There were too many. And above all, they were too personal.

“Next week, Monday. Before university. I’d pick you up.”

Sorry, what?

“From home?”

“Yes,” he said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. “But very early. At five in the morning. We can’t afford to attract attention.”

Why did everything sound wrong about meeting my professor at five in the morning?

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