by Brenna Lyons
"What precisely is the Alpha?"
"The highest-ranked student, of course."
What a competitive school. No wonder they are ranked so high in the college standings. "Then why is that challenge travesty allowed to happen? It won't change our SATs or IQs or entrance exam scores."
Marietta smiled widely and went back to putting folded towels in the linen closet inside the bathroom door. "It is an ancient tradition. They often don't make sense, when viewed with a modern eye."
"Then why not abolish it?"
She sighed. "We—like most—cling to traditions for the illusion of rich history they provide. Good or bad, we are loath to let them die a natural death. We have done away with many of them. This one is slower than most to die out."
"Why not that one?" Were there really worse traditions that went first, because they were more glaring?
"I trust one of the future presidents of the university board will see things your way. So far, none of them have been as evolved as you are." Her tone said she was joking.
Samara wasn't sure how to answer, so she remained silent.
"If you prefer to wait—"
"No. Offer the room to Eva." The afternoon with her had been very enjoyable. They'd been laughing and joking in no time. It was rare for Samara to find someone she clicked with so quickly.
Marietta turned smartly. "As you wish, Samara. Can I bring you anything else?"
"No. I'm fine." She leaned back against the plush pillows, listening to the patter of Marietta's feet disappearing down the hall.
I'm top dog here. For the first time in my life, I am.
That thought warmed her, and long before Marietta returned, Samara was fast asleep.
* * * *
Marietta entered the Alpha Maestro's conference room, where they had reportedly been meeting with all manner of servants and guards for Samara all afternoon. Not that Samara would be informed of their presence. They would simply shadow her when she left campus, protecting her from the humans who might harm her.
She didn't bow to Pietro. Since Sebastian was in the room, Marietta showed proper respect to the highest-ranked member of their pack.
I changed his diapers when I worked for his mother, but he is still my Alpha.
Sebastian waved her closer, and she complied, taking a seat halfway down the table.
Not close enough to be deemed presumptuous, but not far enough away to be seen as fishing for a compliment when he decides whether or not to invite me closer.
Sebastian seemed content with her choice. He got straight down to business. "Has my daughter settled in well?" he inquired.
"Very well. She is…leery of the challenge. Samara wonders why we still permit it."
"She will understand in time." He dismissed her concerns.
It is never smart to disagree with an Alpha, even one who is somewhat fond of you. "As you say. Regardless, her first sight of her mates was promising, and she has chosen a den sister."
The muscle at the back of Sebastian's jaw twitched. "And her choice?"
Marietta tried not to take that personally. Did he really believe she would fail to discourage a bad choice? She cleared her throat. "A sound one. A lower noble daughter but loyal and pleasant. They get along well together."
"Do I know the family?"
"I believe you do." She knew he did, but it never hurt to act as if she didn't, in case he'd forgotten the couple. "Eva's mother is Trisha, and her mate is Dane Howell. Eva is their youngest daughter."
"Adored but not pampered and spoiled." He tapped a fingertip against his lower lip, deep in thought. "She has an elder brother and two elder sisters, as memory serves. And this will mean a social jump for the entire family." He nodded. "Good. Tell the girl what she needs to know, and keep me informed."
"As you wish, Sebastian." With that, she was off to her work.
Chapter Three
A week later
"Welcome, class of two thousand and nineteen."
Samara clapped politely and hoped it was the end of the Matriculation ceremony.
"Finally," Eva huffed. "I cannot wait to get out of this gown."
"That makes two of us," Samara agreed.
The day was sweltering, and the scarlet, velvet-trimmed graduation gowns were overkill, considering the weather.
When the board members left the stage, they were both out of their seats, stripping off the gowns with sighs of relief. Marietta and Suzanne, Eva's servant, appeared to take them with silent nods that said they would be in the dorms if there was need of their services.
Around them, other servants did the same, male servants for male students and female for female.
Ladies' maids and gentlemen's gentlemen. But Marietta isn't just a lady's maid. She was also a bodyguard of sorts, a teacher, and—for all that it galled Samara—something of a nanny. Were all the servants the same, or was Marietta simply responding to the fact that—unlike the other students—Samara didn't know the rules and traditions already?
In the distance, Christiana pushed her gown at her servant as if she loathed the sight of her…or of the gown. Samara couldn't be sure which, but she suspected it was the servant that irritated her.
"Is there a problem, Samara?" Eva asked, her golden-green eyes narrowing.
Samara looked away from Christiana before the other woman could catch her staring. Deciding what to say or ask was difficult. She never knew who was listening in. Beyond not wanting to start a war with Christiana with a misplaced word, Samara didn't want to appear naïve or stupid.
She'd never realized how much there could be to learn about the university. The first full day she'd been on campus alone had consisted of Eva and Marietta teaching Samara rules and traditions. None of the remaining ones involved fighting, as far as she could tell, and her two tutors had promised to head her off at the pass if it seemed she was about to commit a faux pas of some sort. So far, she hadn't.
Eva and Marietta answered her questions patiently, even when Eva's expression announced she found them odd. Samara trusted them, but she didn't doubt her standing with the rest of the student body was precarious. She couldn't undermine it with a poor choice of question or comment in public.
A hand closed on Samara's shoulder. She met Eva's gaze and managed a weak smile.
"I'm fine." She offered before Eva could ask.
"Well, that is good, I suppose. Marietta would lock you in your room and call in doctors from the clinic, if you weren't."
Both laughed heartily, mostly because they knew she wasn't exaggerating. Arm in arm, they made their way out of the amphitheater. Once they were in the clear, Eva tried again.
"What is bothering you?"
"More…confused than bothered."
"Okay. What is confusing you?"
"Each section of the seating was a dorm building. I could pick that out by the heraldry and the order of seating."
"You've got that right. It doesn't sound like you're confused."
Samara considered how best to broach the subject. "Depending on the dorm building, there were varying numbers of servants. In our dorm, more than three-quarters of the students have a servant. Then half, less than half, a few…one."
Eva nodded sagely. "The Alpha and her chosen friend—and the alpha level males below—get a servant supplied by the school."
The Trudale brothers. I saw them the first day.
"If it's possible, the school employs a servant who has worked for the students' families before. For instance, Suzanne was my mother's servant when she attended."
"That's why Christiana thought Marietta…" Oh, that's a bad way to phrase it.
"You can say it. Christiana acted like she owned Marietta. Though they would likely have reassigned Marietta and hired one of Christiana's family's servants, had you lost the challenge, she would have been stuck in the position for the first few days until a replacement arrived."
And Christiana would have made life hell for Marietta. I am so glad I won that match.
&n
bsp; "She's quite the little bitch, as you might have noticed. You need to understand this. Christiana and Lorilea feel you've stolen something from them. Not just the alpha level rooms—because you know Christina would have given my room to Lorilea, had she been Alpha, but the school servants they felt they were due."
Samara winced. "And the rest of the servants?"
Eva questioned her silently.
"Who employs them? Why doesn't everyone have one?"
"Families who can afford them—those who want to show off that wealth or who want to pamper their children—provide a servant for them out of their own pockets."
"And the servant you would have had?" Had the woman lost her job, or had the school simply taken the expense of Suzanna off of her family's hands?
Eva's smile faded a bit. "I wouldn't have had one. My family isn't as well-off as Christiana's."
She isn't embarrassed by that, is she? I don't care how much money she has. "I guess I wouldn't have had one either," she admitted.
"But…you're an Alpha." Her expression said Samara had said the wrong thing again.
"Sure. So I rocked the test. Another day, I have a head cold, my score drops ten points… I'm not Alpha." Academically highest was a fleeting thing.
Eva stopped and stared at her. Samara held herself stock-still, certain she'd just made a major faux pas. Hiding her attack of nerves was nearly impossible, but she thought she managed it.
"Samara… Being Alpha has nothing to do with tests and scores." She said it carefully as if she was afraid Samara might be angry with the answer.
"Marietta said the Alpha was highest-ranked." Had she lied?
"Of the highest-ranked ancestry, the most powerful line. That's why there are so few challenges. The lines of ancestry are rarely contested, and when they are, it is usually someone's parents disagreeing, not students."
After a moment of silence, during which Samara found herself unable to form words, Eva continued.
"The traditions we're teaching you… They aren't just traditions of the university. They are traditions of our people, a proud and ancient race.
"Whatever your family line is, it's much higher than mine. Higher than Christina's. I admit I don't know your line. Tyler isn't a recognized lineage. What is your mother's maiden name?"
"O'Connor."
"Neither is that." Her brow furrowed and she seemed genuinely perplexed. "I don't understand this. You are of our kind, or you wouldn't have been invited to the school."
Samara considered how to phrase the truth. "Liam Tyler is…was my mother's husband. He raised me as his own."
"He's not your biological father then." The usual animation returned to her face in a flash.
"No. He's not biologically my father."
"So, who is your father?"
Before Samara could decide whether or not to admit the truth, a snide voice interrupted them.
"I see the poor cousins shop at S-Mart together."
Samara didn't bother to look at Christiana. "S-Mart is where Ash works in the Evil Dead movies. I think Kmart or Wal-Mart would be the insult you are so desperately seeking." She didn't bother to point out that the dress had been purchased at a formal shop for her prom. It wasn't a designer dress, and Christiana's likely was.
"I notice you are familiar with the stores."
A twitter of unkind laughter let her know they had an audience of Christiana's cronies.
Samara turned to face her and forced her mouth into a vicious smile. Christiana wanted to embarrass her? Two could play that game.
"I notice your daddy didn't manage to make you Alpha. Face it… No matter how well you dress up, you will be masking the fact that you are second best." I may not know who my father is, but I know hers isn't up to par.
For a potent moment, Christiana's cronies gaped at Samara. Christiana stood, shell-shocked, much as she would if Samara would have slapped her across the face.
Just when Samara would have stalked away in disgust, Christiana launched toward her. Samara moved to block the swing toward her throat and something sliced deep into her arm.
She has a knife. She's trying to kill me! Though Samara knew it would drive the blade deeper, she forced her arm forward to throw Christiana off-balance.
The bitch went sprawling. Her cronies stopped laughing and went ashen. They stepped back, waving Samara off.
"We had nothing to do with this," Lorilea assured her. "She said it was a joke."
Samara didn't doubt it was true. All the same, the drive to rip them to pieces rose up. A tinge of red clouded her vision.
Two male bodies bracketed her. Samara's move to attack Christiana and all three of her so-called friends ended with her wrists trapped by one man each. She pulled at their hold, growling out a warning to release her.
"Move." The one to her left ordered. "Take that bitch with you."
Christiana paused in the act of dusting off her ruined dress. "How dare you call—"
Samara lunged for her and Christina squealed and ran the opposite direction. The other three took off after her, one of them passing Christiana in a matter of a few footsteps.
The man on Samara's right released her for a split second. There was a flurry of white from his direction. The sound of fabric ripping jangled her nerves.
Samara fought for a decent breath, her head spinning. Her entire body ached and twitched.
He yanked the knife from her arm and Samara screamed. Her knees weakened. In a dizzying series of movements, he wrapped something around her injured arm and pulled it tight.
"You're going to be fine, Samara."
She focused on the shirtless man addressing her. Had he sacrificed his shirt to make a bandage for her? That seemed likely.
He was one of the two men who lived on the floor below her. The Trudale brothers.
The wind whipped around them and their scents surrounded her. Samara looked from one to the other, arousal beating at her nerves.
The one who'd stripped off his shirt leaned toward her. "Oh, yes." It came out little more than a breath of air, teasing at her lips.
Her arm went numb, giving her relief from the pain.
"Jason! Wrong time!"
He pulled away, going red-faced. "Right. Wrong time."
No. No. No. Right time. Very right time.
There was no time to voice her complaint. The one behind her scooped Samara into his arms and they rushed toward a building.
The clinic. I need a doctor. As if in agreement, her heart started racing.
"Eva, take that to the Alpha Maestro," Jason yelled back. "Be careful not to cut yourself."
Samara looked up at the man carrying her. "What is your name?" She knew his brother's name. She supposed she should know them both, since she owed them for helping her.
He seemed stunned by the question. At last, he found his voice. "James."
"James and Jason." Samara closed her eyes, suddenly exhausted. Unconsciousness closed over her like a thick blanket.
* * * *
James stamped down the need to howl out in fury. If Samara was seriously injured, he would hunt down Christiana and tear her throat out himself.
If Sebastian doesn't get to her first. That was unlikely, at best, so he focused on Samara fully.
Jason raced ahead and pulled the clinic door open for them. James vaulted through it with Samara held tight to his chest, and Jason rounded them.
"Alpha with an emergency," his brother shouted. "Move ass. Now!"
Two doctors came from the far reaches of the clinic.
Probably playing cards or inventorying their stock. It's not like wolves need them often.
The first one to reach them tugged at the knot on the make-shift bandage.
"No." Jason cautioned him. "It was a Hunter's Fang."
Both pulled back. One swallowed hard. In the next moment, they were checking everything from her pulse and breathing to her pupil reactions. One raced for the back again.
James tried to reconcile it. A Hunter's F
ang? "Are you sure?"
"That's why I sent it off to Alpha Pietro with Eva. However Christiana got it, this has to be addressed. Now."
"In here," the remaining doctor ordered.
James followed him, his senses reeling. Christiana swung for her throat. A throat shot with a Hunter's Fang would have killed Samara.
"Here, James."
The snap of the doctor's commands brought him to his senses and James lowered Samara to the king-sized bed in the Alpha room. When an Alpha needs care, he or she has an Alpha's comforts.
She was alarmingly pale and seemed to be having problems taking in a lungful of air.
The other doctor rushed in with a dusty, ornate glass jar. "I never thought we would need this," he grumbled. "Steven!"
"Working on it." He unwrapped Jason's shirt from her arm.
James cursed fluently.
Her entire lower arm and hand were crimson and swollen. The knife wound had blackened edges and was weeping a mixture of blood and yellowed pus.
A Hunter's Fang. There was no question about it. Nothing else would cause that reaction in a wolf. Damn the wolf hunters of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries.
The doctors didn't waste time. They used the ointment to scrub out the wound, leaving it red and raw. Then they put more ointment in the laceration and wrapped it loosely.
"Will she recover?" Jason asked.
Steven looked up and smiled at them. "I take it you are her mates?"
James glared at him. "I believe my brother asked you a question."
The other doctor straightened and offered his hand. "My name is Benjamin. My partner is Steven."
"Did we ask your names?" James inquired coolly. Benjamin. Yes. That's how he knew my name. He treated me when that prank went wrong first year.
Benjamin sighed. "All signs point to a full recovery, but it will not be an easy one. The poison moves quickly."
"Perhaps a scar." Steven added his observations to the discussion. "With a Hunter's Fang, that is possible."
