Page 3 of Alpha's Hated Mate

“I have no intention of going to the outside world,” I say as kindly as I can muster. “I really just want to do my Alpha training and return to my pack in Clarion. An Alpha should be with his pack.”

Mr. Robertson stiffens. “Claymore, correct? That’s just outside of the capital, is it not?”

“Yes. It’s one of the oldest cities in Clarion, in fact. My family’s line goes all the way back to the court of the very first Alpha King during the first era—”

“Hmph. Explains a lot.”

That was rude.I shake it off, though. Dean Fowler clears his throat and says, “Fair enough. Let’s discuss your current schedule, then.” He walks around the desk and sits down, pulling a folder with my name on it out of a drawer. I’m already tuning out of this conversation. He starts prattling on about the merits of each class, announcing them like he’s talking about the specials on a menu.

I let him go over the first couple of classes before I say, “You know, why don’t you just tell me where I need to be and when? I can figure everything out on my own.”

“You in a hurry?” It’s Mr. Robertson who speaks. His voice is as low as a growl, and his eyes bore through me. Suffice it to say, he is not impressed with me. I clear my throat.

“No. It’s just that it was a long flight in, and I’d really like to get settled.”

“That’s fair,” Dean Fowler says as he closes the folder. “I’ll cut this short, then. We understand that you have had a full education with your pack. Your teachers in Claymore have given you glowing accolades. They say you are a natural leader.”

I have no response to that. I mean, he’s not wrong. He goes on.

“Be that as it may, here we are.” Dean Fowler’s still smiling, though I can detect some seriousness in his tone, “Much of what we learn in our individual packs is valuable, of course, but with every new generation comes new ways of thinking and operating within Lycan society. It is very important that you do well here at the school. After all, the Moon Goddess may have chosen you to lead, but that is the extent of her grace. It’s up to you to become a real leader for your pack.”

Again. No response, this time out of politeness. He sounds like Father used to. It’s almost insulting.

“Anyway,” Dean Fowler continues, “you’ll be staying in the main dormitories. Chadwick, if you don’t mind, maybe you can escort Mr. Vaultmore?”

Mr. Robertson looks like he minds very much, but he just sighs and says, “Sure thing.”

As soon as the two of us are outside of the office, Mr. Robertson gives me a once over. I can only imagine what he’s seeing. A young Alpha with messy blond hair that’s cut a little too long in the front and a little too short in the back. I have a lean but muscular frame, and, while I fill out a suit pretty well, I’m dressed in a simple white shirt and slacks today. I’m sure I don’t look the part of whatever Alpha regality is required in his mind.

“Shall we?”

I nod and follow him down the hall and to the stairs leading out of the building.

“So, you work with your mother?” I ask him once we’re out in the morning air.

“I do,” he said.

“And you’re an Alpha?”

“I am.”

“If you’re here, what about your pack?”

He gives me a sidelong glance. “They are in Clarion, of course, awaiting my return.” That’s confusing as hell. I’m curious to know more, but he adds, “I try to make it a policy not to get too personal with the students, especially those who aren’t interested in staying very long.”

He continues forward, leaving me to follow behind him like a pup. Okay. I don’t know why I thought we could communicate on the same level, Alpha to Alpha. Seems like I do have something to learn here at Moonhelm.

We walk along the cobblestone path that leads back to the front gates. The entire campus looks like the set of a gothic movie. Gargoyles stare down at us from the buttresses of the looming stone buildings. The high peaked roofs glitter with black stone shingles that look older than whoever put them there in the first place. We walk up to the front door of the dormitory, and I choke back a laugh. The door even has a gargoyle-shaped knocker on it. This place sure is dedicated to its aesthetic. Just when I think that Mr. Robertson is about to reach for the knocker, the door simply opens on its own, allowing us inside.

To my surprise, the front lobby area is completely contemporary. Marble floors and silvery metal railing against the staircase to the second floor. Couches and coffee tables near high windows that shine the morning’s sunlight down, brightening up the room. There are students everywhere . . . and there is definitely no shortage of beautiful women here. Back home, the seers constantly nagged me to find my Luna and to solidify my position as Alpha. Maybe I’ll find her here. That’s at least something I can look forward to.

As soon as we walk through the doors, I’m hit with the scent of roses. It hangs heavily in the air like perfume. Someone’s practically bathed in it. What’s weird is that the scent seems to energize me. My wolf rustles within me, awakened by it.

“That,” Mr. Robertson says, pointing to the woman standing at the desk near the stairs leading up to the rooms, “is the attendant. Talk to her about which room you’re in.”

I look around at all the students coming and going, books in hand, talking to their friends. It feels strange standing here. Like I don’t belong. That smell isn’t making it any better.

“It really smells in here,” I say. “Someone has on too much perfume.”

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