by Brenna Lyons
"The wing to your left is the ladies' dorm on the upper floors. The music room, fencing room, and dining room are on the ground floor of that wing. The wing to your right is the gentlemen's dorm. The ground floor houses the ballroom, gymnasium with swimming pool, and lounge. All ground floor amenities are available to all dorm residents."
Samara nodded, at a loss for words.
A man in the same ornate school livery the men at the airport and the driver wore rushed out to meet them. "Marietta, you may want to take Lady Samara in the back way."
By the way the older woman straightened and looked down her nose at the man, Samara guessed the suggestion was offensive.
"What problem is there?" she snapped, sounding a little too much like a general on the battlefield.
"Christiana."
Samara waited for more, but it seemed the word—or, more likely, name—was enough to make his point.
"Christiana will learn her place soon enough. Come along, Samara."
She didn't hesitate. Something told Samara she was safer at Marietta's side than she was balking her or questioning her, considering Marietta's current mood.
At least until she shows me to my room.
The man sighed, then followed along, seemingly resigned to whatever was coming. He ran ahead to open a door for them.
The complaining from inside was shrill, a tone that set Samara's nerves on edge.
What a whining little bitch.
"I demand to be shown to my rooms immediately."
Samara strained to hear the stomp of a foot that never occurred.
"We are attempting to—"
"Not that way, you witless baboon. My rooms are alpha level."
The door swung wide and Samara got her first look at the harpy within. Her hair was as long and as straight as Samara's was, but Christiana's hair was red-brown instead of brown with golden highlights like Samara's. Christiana was dressed in high-heeled boots, suede pants, and a poofy white blouse that looked like something a preschooler would wear. A half dozen sparkling bracelets ringed one wrist, and her nails were long and professionally manicured.
One of the three liveried men facing her took a deep breath. "Lady Christiana, had you read the invitation to campus carefully—"
"I've told you that was in error," she insisted.
"As I have assured you it was not."
"I am alpha level. I have been alpha level at every school I have attended."
Marietta stepped forward. "You are not alpha level at this school in this year. Attempt to be an adult, Christiana, and accept your place with grace and fortitude. Or something approximating it."
Christiana spun around in what could only be described as a choreographed move. She scowled at Marietta. "You dare counsel me, servant?"
Who does this bitch think she is? Just because Marietta worked for the college didn't mean she was inferior to anyone else here.
Marietta laughed harshly. "I am no servant of yours," she countered. "Thank the goddess for that."
"You should have been. Your reprieve will be short-lived, I assure you. My father—"
Samara snapped. Her vision went red-tinged around the edges, as it always seemed to when she got angry. "That's it? That's the best you've got? I'll sic my daddy on you?" How pathetic was this girl?
Christiana raked a sneer up Samara's body. "And who is your father? Since you've seen fit to mock me, that is."
"None of your business." It wouldn't be, even if Samara knew what answer to give. Sadly, she no longer knew that for certain, and all outward signs said Christiana was the type who quoted which countries her family had manors in.
The idle carts full of personal belongings standing about—presumably waiting for a resolution before they could be transported to Christiana's rooms—held what was easily ten times the amount Samara had brought with her. And that was after a stock-up trip to round out her decimated wardrobe, after Samara's mother 'misplaced' a large number of the outfits she'd left behind the first night.
"On the contrary, I think it is. I don't know you, but I see by the servant attending you that you're the bitch she's taking to—"
Marietta laid a backhanded slap across Christiana's face that rocked her head back on her neck and bloodied her lip. "Be more careful who you call a bitch, dog. No one insults Lady Samara in my presence and walks away unscathed. That is my place, as her servant."
Students and employees gathered in hallways out to the wings, whispering to each other and watching the unfolding scene. Samara wondered whether they were glad Christiana got bitch-slapped or laying odds on what her response would be to it.
Christiana shot a narrow-eyed gaze at Marietta, then at Samara. "The alpha level is my place. I demand a challenge."
Marietta dropped back to Samara's side. "You are under no obligation to accept this challenge. Christiana is not due what she is demanding."
"She wants to fight me?" Why? I wasn't the one who slapped her, though I agree she deserved it.
The old woman nodded, her expression guarded. "It is tradition."
"You have a tradition of fighting?" What kind of school have I come to?
She'd heard European boarding schools sometimes had hazing and such that had been outlawed in other schools, but Samara had thought all universities had done away with it.
"An ancient one and students only invoke it every few decades. Most are better behaved."
Lucky me to meet the worst behaved student this university has had in two decades.
Enough of that. I need information. "But she has no right to ask for this?" I'll just refuse her challenge then.
"No." She sighed, then dropped her voice further. "If you refuse to fight now, Christiana will attempt to back you into a fight later. She hadn't expected to have to fight today. If you win now, she cannot start the same fight again. If you wait and fight her later, she has time to prepare to fight you."
I would have the same time to prepare. "What are the rules?" If they favored Samara, it might be better to fight now, tired though she was.
"Bare hands. One on one. No weapons. No allies. To concession, to incapacitation, or to pin."
Samara nodded. The rules were simple enough.
"Another thing… Christiana has always had men to guard her and servants to protect her."
"She can't fight?" That's good news.
"She can, but not as well as your brown belt affords you. Be aware, though. Christiana will try to use her fingernails and those spike heels as weapons. She will play off that anything on her body is fair game in a fight."
She fights dirty. Check. Good to know. Samara shot a sideward glance at her foe, noting everything she could use as a weapon. There wasn't much, thank goodness.
"Do you accept the challenge or not?" Christiana asked archly, clearly believing she'd scared Samara off. She smirked in perceived victory.
Samara's anger simmered its way toward a boil. The release of adrenaline wiped away her fatigue and readied her for battle. "Agreed."
"For alpha level?"
Samara noted Marietta's tip of the head. She trusted Marietta. There was little chance this was a setup.
"Agreed."
Even if she lost, chances were the rooms she would be given were beyond Samara's wildest dreams.
Samara kicked her flats to the far side of the foyer. The liveried men waved everyone back to clear the center of the floor for them.
Christiana glanced toward the shoes Samara had shed, then settled her gaze on Samara herself. "Don't expect the same of me."
"Of course. Then again, I don't need tricks." Step one: Make your opponent think twice about fighting you. There may not be a fight that way.
If she backs out after I've accepted the challenge, does she forfeit the right to try again?
Probably so, which means she won't do it. Samara sighed.
Christiana squared her shoulders, which looked more than a little stupid in that poof of a shirt. "Boots are not weapons. They are shoes. Anything on my
body—"
"I was told you would say that."
She looked like she would protest.
"Are we fighting or not?" Step two: Keep your opponent off balance.
It seemed she'd managed that. Christiana hesitated a full five seconds before she managed a sloppy fighting stance.
Samara flowed into a complementary one and waited for the first attack. She didn't have long to wait.
Christiana tried a front kick. Samara sidestepped it, caught her ankle in one hand, then cleanly snapped off the heel aimed for her chest. She raised an eyebrow and pitched the heel over her shoulder, then pushed Christiana back.
She hobbled for a moment, crimson spreading from her neck to her forehead. "You broke my boot!"
Samara shrugged. "You could take them off, as I did."
"These are four hundred Euro boots. You're paying for these."
"You wore them into a fight. If you break a nail, are you going to demand I pay for your manicure?"
Laughter rose around them and Christiana glared at her. Though Samara hadn't set out to do it—I was just my sarcastic self—she'd shamed her opponent.
Christiana tried a side-kick with the other foot. Samara managed to snap the heel at the base, but it remained loosely attached to the sole of the boot, stymieing her plan to pitch the second one as she had the first.
I can still make it count. "There. Now you can wear them or remove them and not hobble much either way." That was a stretch of the truth, since the hard soles would keep her feet at that four-inch up angle, which would leave Christiana off balance.
The laughter grew stronger and someone hooted. In the distance, Samara saw someone pump a fist in the air.
Christiana isn't well-liked. Such a surprise.
She unzipped the boots, then yanked them off. Christiana threw them aside with a glare that pronounced Samara would be paying for those boots with blood.
Rule number one: Never go into a fight angry. Samara supposed she should be thankful her opponent had given her yet another advantage, but something told her Christiana had just become much more dangerous.
As if confirming that, Christiana launched at her. There were no kicks, probably because Samara had taken her weapons away.
And proven I'm faster than she is.
Samara deflected one blow after another. Though she knew she should simply incapacitate Christiana, something deep and primal demanded she embarrass her first.
Christiana stepped up the attacks, grumbling words that made no sense. Finally, she managed to land a blow; three of her fingernails raked across Samara's right cheek.
Something snapped inside her and Samara started laying blows. The one to Christiana's chin knocked her head back. When she righted herself, Samara broke her nose, sending her reeling several steps backward. Before Christiana could react, Samara kicked her mid-chest and sent her into the wall. She crumpled in a heap, leaving cracked plaster behind.
Samara pointed to the flaw in the once-perfect wall. "That I will pay for." I have no idea how. I may have to get a work study job or something, but I will pay for damage I caused to the school.
"Nonsense," Marietta announced. "Loser of the challenge pays all damages to school property."
Thank goodness. Christiana can afford it. Samara nodded, then took a shaky step toward the liveried men.
Marietta took her arm gently and stopped her. She whispered in Samara's ear. "You must announce your place before you leave…as a sign of your victory." She took a step back.
Samara considered what Christiana had said during the challenge. She growled out the announcement, annoyed by the pomp and circumstance of their rules. "I am alpha level."
Cheers and clapping echoed around the foyer, returning again from the ends of the hallways.
A redheaded girl rushed to Samara, offering the shoes she'd shed to fight. She tipped her head with a wide smile.
Samara took them with an answering smile. "Thank you…" I don't know anyone's name. I better start learning them.
"Eva. My pleasure, Alpha. Anytime." She backed away and motioned the way to a staircase one of the red-clad men had opened the door to.
"Eva." Marietta's tone made it seem she was issuing a summons.
"Yes, ma'am?"
"Why don't you accompany us to Lady Samara's rooms and help the Alpha settle in?"
"If Lady Samara wishes, I would be happy to help." The look Eva shot her was somewhat hopeful.
I could use a friend. Like Marietta, Eva put her instantly at ease. "I would like that. After the long flight and…" Samara motioned toward Christiana. "The help would be great. Oh, and…call me Samara, please."
Thankfully, there were no negative responses to her inviting Eva to call her by her name instead of a title.
Eva smiled widely and stepped in time with Samara as they followed Marietta up the stairs.
Three flights up, Samara slowed, her senses on high alert. She turned, half-expecting an attack at her back. Far from it, she found herself facing two gorgeous guys.
Eyeing me like a hot steak.
They weren't ground round either. They were close in height, one with hair slightly darker than the other's. Their eyes were a deep brown, not unlike her own. Their skin was deeply tanned…or naturally light olive. The one with the darker hair had a pierced ear that gave him a slightly rugged look, and both of them were beautifully cut.
Heat settled deep in her abdomen and Samara whipped away and hurried up the stairs, her cheeks flaming in embarrassment.
It's just the fight. A good fight had always left her aroused.
She glanced back, but they were gone.
Good thing, because they are so my type. She'd never been more tempted to sate the arousal than she was today.
* * * *
Jason waited in the corridor outside their suite, his nerves humming. The sounds of battle ended abruptly. Clapping and cheers thundered up the stairwell soon after.
He trembled in excitement. Like a damned pup. What the hell is the matter with me?
James clapped a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. "Don't worry. There is no way Sebastian's daughter lost to Christiana."
Jason glared at his older twin. "I know that."
"Then what is it?"
The question caused Jason to squirm harder. "What if she doesn't like us?"
James rolled his eyes. "It's tradition—"
"You heard what Alpha Pietro said. She doesn't know our traditions, and Sebastian will consider letting her break with them, if she will not bend."
He stopped speaking abruptly at the sound of footsteps mounting the stairs. The Alpha's servant came into view first.
Just as she should.
She was a grand old matriarch, and Pietro said she had served two generations of Sebastian's family so far. If anyone crossed Samara, answering to Marietta wouldn't be pleasant.
He wondered if Christiana had already tasted the servant's claws.
As she passed by, Jason got his first look at the Alpha female.
Sebastian's daughter. Our mate. Samara. He stopped himself from saying it by the Night Mother's grace alone.
Samara had more curves than the average she-wolf would.
Most likely due to her human mother.
She dressed casually in stretch jeans and a white button-down shirt.
Not at all like Christiana would dress.
Samara's feet were bare, and she had her shoes hooked onto the fingertips of one hand.
Her golden brown hair reached past her full chest. As Samara turned her head to address the young she-wolf at her side, he spied the wounds on her cheek.
Jason tensed. Their mate was injured. He would rip the one responsible apart.
James closed a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Hard! The message was clear enough. Calm down. Don't move. This was a challenge. She took her pound of flesh in return, whatever it might have been.
Jason forced his muscles to loosen. This was why Marietta ordered us to stay upstairs. If
we gave in to our instincts, we could have cost Samara her place.
And us ours. Mated to Christiana? Kill me first.
Samara stopped and whipped around, adopting a partial crouch.
Ready to attack. Ready to pounce.
She took in their scent, her breathing quickening. Her gaze traveled the length of their bodies, bringing his cock fully up in response.
Her cheeks flooded with color. Samara spun away and loped after her servant, leaving her enticing scent behind to torture him.
He shuddered, welcoming the torture. She would be theirs.
James growled. "Oh, yes. She likes us."
* * * *
Samara lounged in the oversized bed, trying to stay awake long enough to reset her sleep to the new time zone.
The paperwork on what to bring had informed her that US-sized sheets would be useless to her but that bed linens would be provided. Samara hadn't been sure what to make of that; she wasn't fond of scratchy sheets, and she'd saved up an extra hundred Euros, in case she had to purchase sheets she would be comfortable with.
Cheap-cut polyester blend wasn't what they were offering, thankfully. The choices had ranged from flannel to Jersey cotton, from 1800 thread count Egyptian cotton to silk, and in a range of deep colors—brick red, hunter green, and navy blue. Though Samara suspected the flannel would be great for winter weather—and said as much—the hunter green or navy blue Egyptian cotton won the toss-up for warm weather. The blue was currently on the bed.
Marietta entered the room again, pausing to check on Samara. She went off to whatever she was doing with a smile on her face.
That's it. I have to sit up or I'll fall asleep.
To her surprise, Marietta didn't protest her resistance to sleep. Samara had never had what other people called a doting mother, but she would bet Marietta fit the profile. The woman hovered, taking care of everything for Samara she possibly could, including unpacking and storing all of Samara's clothing.
The lady in question cleared her throat. She didn't wait for Samara to form words. "There is a second suite of rooms on this floor. It is always Alpha's choice who to offer it to. If you enjoy Eva's company, you can offer it to her. If you prefer to wait until you've met other students—"
