Mate to the Savage Prince

Chapter 1

Alyssa

The gates of Obsidian Moon Academy didn’t just separate the school from the outside world. They felt like a border between realities. The stone towers clawed at the gray sky, and the air itself felt heavy, thick with power and judgment. I clutched the strap of my worn duffel bag, my knuckles white.

A roar of an engine ripped through the oppressive quiet. A flash of silver metal. I froze as a luxury sports car screeched to a halt, its bumper mere inches from my knees.

The tinted window slid down with a soft hum, revealing a girl with hair the color of spun gold and eyes as cold as a winter morning. She looked me up and down, a sneer twisting her perfect lips.

"Watch where you're going," she said, her voice dripping with disdain.

"I was standing still," I replied, my voice quieter than I intended. "You almost hit me."

She laughed, a sharp, unpleasant sound. "And? My car is worth more than your entire bloodline. You should be honored it even noticed you."

I gritted my teeth. "An apology would have been enough."

"An apology?" She leaned her head out the window, sniffing the air theatrically. "To you? What is that scent? It’s pathetic. Like rainwater and dust. You barely even register as a wolf. Did your parents find you in a ditch?"

My face burned with shame. She wasn't wrong. My scent had always been weak, muted. A sign of the secret I carried.

"Move, stray," she commanded, revving the engine. "You're dirtying up the view."

I stepped back onto the curb, my heart hammering against my ribs. The car peeled away, leaving the smell of burnt rubber and expensive perfume in its wake. Welcome to Obsidian Moon.

Finding my dorm room felt like navigating a maze designed by a sadist. Every student I passed sized me up, their gazes lingering just long enough to make me feel like an insect under a microscope.

Room 21B. I pushed the heavy oak door open, my hand trembling slightly.

The room was split in two. One side was a disaster of black lace, expensive-looking clothes, and shattered perfume bottles. The other side was a riot of color, with a rainbow quilt on the bed and posters of smiling bands on the wall.

A girl with bright pink hair and a dozen silver earrings popped up from behind a stack of books.

"Hi! You must be Alyssa. I'm Milla. Thank the Moon Goddess you're not another Phoebe."

I blinked. "Phoebe?"

"Yeah, our other roommate." Milla gestured vaguely to the chaotic side of the room. "Tall, blonde, looks like she'd kill a puppy for a new pair of shoes?"

My stomach dropped. "I think I just met her. She almost ran me over."

Milla snapped her fingers. "Sounds about right. That's her signature move. It's how she says hello."

"She said my scent was weak."

Milla winced, her cheerful expression faltering for a second. "Okay, that's her saying she hates you. Don't worry about her. Just stay out of her way. And definitely stay out of his way."

"His way?" I asked, dropping my bag by the empty bed.

"The Ice Prince himself," Milla said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Prince Evan Anders."

She said the name like it was a curse.

"Prince? Like, an actual prince?"

"The one and only. Heir to the entire werewolf throne. And Phoebe's very recent, very angry ex-boyfriend."

That explained the hostility. "So she's mad about the breakup?"

"Mad is an understatement," Milla scoffed. "She’s a walking hurricane. But she's nothing compared to him. Seriously, Alyssa. You need to be careful. This place has a pecking order, and it's brutal."

"My father warned me."

"Forget what he warned you about," Milla said, sitting cross-legged on her bed. "Here, there's only one group that matters: The Royals. Evan is their Prince. His best friend Liam is his Beta. And Phoebe was his chosen princess until he kicked her to the curb last summer."

"Why did he break up with her?"

"No one knows for sure. The rumor is she wasn't strong enough. He's not looking for a decorative queen. He's looking for a weapon. A warrior. Someone as ruthless and powerful as he is. And Phoebe, for all her attitude, is just a bully. Not a killer."

I swallowed hard. "He sounds… intense."

"Terrifying is the word you're looking for," Milla corrected. "His father is King Theron Anders, and he makes Evan look like a cuddly teddy bear. The King believes in one thing: culling the weak. Evan lives and breathes that same philosophy."

"What does that mean, culling the weak?"

"It means if you can't keep up, they will crush you and throw you out. Or worse. This Academy isn't just for learning. It's a trial. A testing ground to see who is worthy of being part of the new kingdom he wants to build."

I sank onto my thin mattress, the springs groaning in protest. "So what do we do?"

"We keep our heads down," Milla said firmly. "We survive. Especially students like us. We're not from the big, legendary Alpha bloodlines. We're just trying to make it to graduation without getting eaten alive."

"Great."

"Hey," Milla said, her bright smile returning. "It's not all bad. We have each other. And the food in the dining hall is surprisingly decent. Just avoid the fish stew on Thursdays."

I couldn't help but smile back, a tiny bit of the tension in my shoulders easing. "Good to know. Thanks, Milla."

"Anytime. Us strays have to stick together, right?"

She didn't mean it to hurt, but the word sent a fresh pang through my chest. That's what I was. A stray. A wolf who couldn't shift. A lamb pretending she belonged in a den of lions.

"I'm gonna go grab us some snacks from the vending machine before the welcome assembly," Milla announced, hopping off her bed. "Want anything?"

"No, I'm okay. Thank you."

"Be right back. Don't let Phoebe's bad vibes possess the room while I'm gone!"

She zipped out the door, leaving me alone in the sudden silence. I walked over to the large, gothic window and looked out across the campus.

Students moved across the manicured lawns in their respective packs, radiating confidence and power. They were everything I wasn't.

My gaze drifted past the main buildings, towards the dark, ancient woods that bordered the Academy grounds. A strange sensation prickled my skin. It was a pull. A low, humming energy that seemed to emanate from the deepest, most shadowed part of the forest. It wasn’t frightening. It felt like a magnet, tugging at something dormant deep inside me. It felt like a whisper of a promise, or maybe, a warning.

Chapter 2

Alyssa

Milla burst back into the room, juggling two bags of chips and a pair of soda cans. Her energy was a bright spark in the gloomy dorm.

"Mission accomplished!" she announced, tossing me a bag. "Cheesy dust is the perfect fuel for enduring long, threatening speeches from future tyrannical kings. You ready for this?"

I caught the bag, the crinkling sound loud in the quiet room. "As I'll ever be, I guess."

"That's the spirit," she said, though her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Just stick with me. The Great Hall is designed for maximum intimidation. Find a seat in the middle, not too far back that you look scared, but not too close that you get noticed."

"The art of being invisible," I murmured.

"Exactly. It's a survival skill here. Come on, let's go get our dose of doom and gloom."

The Great Hall was even more imposing than I had imagined. Dark stone walls soared up to a vaulted ceiling painted with constellations. Hundreds of students were already there, their voices a low murmur that echoed in the vast space. The air was electric, a buzzing mix of excitement, fear, and raw power.

Just as Milla had said, the hierarchy was obvious. A group of students stood near the front, radiating an aura of untouchable arrogance. They were the Royals.

"See?" Milla whispered, nudging me towards a row of empty chairs halfway back. "Front row seats for the gods and goddesses of the school. Phoebe is already there, trying to look like she doesn't care that Evan dumped her."

I saw her immediately, a golden beacon of disdain. She was laughing with a tall, muscular guy, but her eyes kept flicking towards the empty space beside her.

"Who's the guy next to her with the friendly smile?" I asked, nodding towards a handsome wolf with warm brown hair who seemed completely at ease.

"Oh, that's Liam. Evan's Beta," Milla explained. "He's the good cop to Evan's bad-for-your-health cop. Don't be fooled though. He's loyal to Evan, which means he's just as dangerous, only nicer about it."

We sat down, and I tried to make myself as small as possible. The murmur of conversation died down abruptly. A heavy silence fell over the hall. It was so sudden, so complete, that it felt like the air had been sucked from the room.

"Showtime," Milla breathed, her voice barely a whisper.

He walked in from a side door near the stage. He didn't stride, he flowed. A predator moving through his own territory. He was tall, dressed in a perfectly tailored black jacket that made him look severe and formidable. His hair was as dark as a moonless night, and his face was all sharp angles and unforgiving lines.

He was the most beautiful and terrifying person I had ever seen.

The moment my eyes landed on him, something inside me jolted. It was a sharp, electric shock that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with that strange pull I'd felt from the woods. The air between us seemed to thin, to crackle with an invisible energy.

"That's him," Milla whispered, stating the obvious. "Prince Evan Anders."

He didn't look at the crowd. He moved directly to the lectern on the stage, his presence alone commanding more respect than any headmaster ever could. He placed his hands on either side of it and finally, slowly, lifted his gaze.

His eyes were the color of smoke and ice. They swept over the assembled students with an expression of profound boredom and contempt.

"Welcome to Obsidian Moon," he began, his voice a low, cold baritone that carried to every corner of the hall without any need for a microphone. "For those of you who are new, I will be clear. This is not a sanctuary for the hopeful. It is not a place for you to discover yourselves. This is a crucible."

He paused, letting the words sink in. No one moved. No one coughed.

"Here, you will be tested. You will be broken. And you will be judged. Your bloodline means nothing. Your family's wealth means nothing. The only currency that matters within these walls is power."

I felt a cold knot form in my stomach. I was bankrupt.

"My father, the King, believes our kind has grown soft," Evan continued, his voice hardening. "He believes we have been weakened by compassion, diluted by coddling the inferior. He is right. Weakness is a disease. And this Academy is the first step in burning out the infection."

A shiver went through the crowd. This was so much worse than Milla had described.

"Look at the person to your left. Now look to your right," he commanded. The rustle of clothing was the only sound as hundreds of heads turned. "By the end of this year, one of them will likely be gone. We do not carry dead weight. We do not tolerate failure. If you cannot keep up, you will be culled."

The word hung in the air, ugly and sharp.

"Your instructors will push you to your limits. Your rivals will show you no mercy. And I will be watching. I will be looking for the strong, the ruthless, the ones who are willing to do what it takes to stand at the top."

His icy gaze began to sweep across the room again, assessing, dismissing. One by one, students flinched as his eyes passed over them. It was like being weighed and found wanting by a god.

And then his eyes stopped.

They stopped on me.

The entire world narrowed to the space between us. The hundreds of other students faded into a blur. It was just his cold, calculating stare locking with mine. The air crackled again, thicker this time, a palpable force that made the hair on my arms stand up.

He didn't know me. He couldn't know me. But the look he gave me was not one of simple dismissal. It was personal. It was laced with a deep, inexplicable disgust.

A slow smirk, cruel and sharp, touched his lips. It wasn't a smile. It was a promise of pain. He held my gaze for a beat longer than was normal, long enough for the students sitting around me to notice.

Whispers erupted. Heads turned in my direction.

I felt my face flush hot with humiliation. My heart was pounding a frantic, terrified rhythm against my ribs. Why? Why was he looking at me like that? It felt as if he could see straight through my skin, right to the weak, shiftless secret I guarded so carefully.

Finally, with one last lingering look of contempt, he tore his eyes away and addressed the hall again.

"That is all," he said, his tone final. "Prove you belong here. Or get out of my sight."

He turned and walked off the stage without a backward glance, leaving a stunned and terrified silence in his wake.

The spell broke. The hall exploded with chatter. But it wasn't the normal post-assembly buzz. It was frantic, pointed. And I was the center of it.

"Alyssa," Milla whispered, her voice tight with shock. "What in the world was that?"

"I don't know," I managed to say, my voice trembling. I couldn't tear my eyes from the spot where he had stood. My skin felt like it was on fire.

"He looked at you like you were something he'd scraped off his shoe," another student behind us muttered.

"Who is she?" someone else asked.

"No one. Look at her. Her scent is barely there."

I shrank into my seat, wishing the stone floor would swallow me whole. I came here wanting to be invisible. But in the span of thirty seconds, the Ice Prince, the most powerful wolf in the school, had singled me out. He had painted a target on my back for the entire student body to see, and he'd done it without ever saying my name.

Chapter 3

Alyssa

"Okay, don't panic," Milla said, her voice a low, urgent hum as we were swept along in the flood of students leaving the Great Hall.

"A little late for that," I whispered back, my throat tight. "The entire school was staring at me."

"I know. I know. But seriously, what was that? Do you know him from somewhere? A past life where you stole his favorite toy, maybe?"

"Of course not. I've never seen him before today."

"He's never done that before," Milla insisted, her bright pink hair bobbing as she scanned the crowd nervously. "He usually ignores everyone with this magnificent, equal-opportunity contempt. To single someone out like that… it's like he was marking you."

My blood ran cold at the word. "Marking me for what? Execution?"

"Don't joke," she said, her usual cheerfulness completely gone. "With him, that's a genuine possibility. Just… you have to be so careful now, Alyssa. Phoebe saw him look at you. That's all it will take for her to declare war."

"I didn't do anything."

"You existed in his line of sight," Milla corrected grimly. "For Phoebe, that’s a capital offense."

We reached the door to our room, 21B. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my shaking hands. It was just a room. Just a girl. But it felt like I was about to walk into a cage with a very angry viper.

We pushed the door open. And there she was.

Phoebe was perched on her pristine black bed, filing her nails into sharp points. She didn't look up at first, acting as if we were nothing more than a draft.

"Well, look what the cat dragged in," she said, her voice bored and lethal. "The little dust bunny from the assembly."

Her cold eyes finally lifted and landed on me. A flicker of recognition, followed by pure, unadulterated loathing.

"You," she spat, as if the word tasted foul. "You're in my room?"

"She's our roommate, Phoebe," Milla said, stepping forward slightly, trying to put herself between us. "Her name is Alyssa."

Phoebe stood up, moving with a liquid grace that was both beautiful and menacing. "I don't care what its name is," she said, her gaze still fixed on me. "I care that the Prince actually wasted a single glance on… this."

She gestured vaguely in my direction, a flick of her wrist that dismissed my entire existence.

"He didn't waste anything," I said, my voice coming out stronger than I expected. "He just looked."

Her eyes narrowed. "Don't you dare speak about him. You are not worthy to even say his name."

"I didn't say his name," I pointed out, my own stubbornness surprising me.

"Let me give you some advice, little stray," she said, taking a step closer. She was holding a small, elegant bottle of dark, blood-red nail polish. "You don't belong here. You're a rounding error. A speck of dirt on a very, very expensive rug."

"I'm not looking for any trouble," I said, standing my ground.

"Too late," she hissed. "Trouble found you the second he looked at you. He sees weakness better than anyone. He was probably deciding which of your bones to break first."

She walked over to my side of the room, her movements slow and deliberate. She ran a perfectly manicured finger over my plain, thin blanket.

"This is your… bed?" she asked with a theatrical sigh. "It's as pathetic as your scent. Did you get this from a prison supply catalog?"

"Leave it alone, Phoebe," Milla warned.

Phoebe ignored her. She held up the bottle of polish to the light. "You know what I think?" she said, her voice a cruel purr. "I think this room needs a little more color. Your side is so depressingly bland."

Then she "stumbled."

It was the most fake, deliberate stumble I had ever seen. Her body barely lurched, but her hand opened at the perfect angle. The glass bottle flew through the air in a graceful arc, shattering on my simple white comforter.

Dark red polish exploded across the fabric, the stain spreading like a pool of fresh blood. The sharp, chemical smell of acetone filled the small room, stinging my nose.

Phoebe straightened up, a look of mock horror on her face. "Oh, my. How clumsy of me. It seems I've ruined it. What a shame."

She gave me a slow, triumphant smile. It was a smile that promised this was only the beginning.

"You did that on purpose!" Milla yelled, her fists clenched.

"Prove it," Phoebe challenged, turning to admire her reflection in her gothic mirror. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to meet people who actually matter. Try to air out the room. It reeks of charity and poor life choices."

With a flick of her golden hair, she swept out of the room, leaving a suffocating silence behind her.

I stared at the ruin of my bed. It was the only thing here that felt like mine, a cheap comforter my adoptive mother had packed for me. Now it was destroyed.

"That absolute witch!" Milla burst out, kicking at the leg of Phoebe's bed. "I'm going to report her!"

"And say what?" I asked, my voice hollow. "That she's clumsy? She was right. We can't prove it."

"I don't care! She can't just get away with this."

"She already did," I said, sinking onto Milla's colorful bed. I felt tears pricking my eyes and angrily blinked them back. I wouldn't cry. Not over this. Not because of her.

"No," Milla said, her jaw set. "No, she doesn't win. We fix this. Come on."

She disappeared into our small, shared bathroom and came back armed with a basin of water and a handful of towels. "Maybe we can get the stain out. Or some of it. We're not letting her beat you on your first day."

I looked at her, at the fierce loyalty burning in her eyes for a girl she'd met only hours ago. A small, warm feeling bloomed in my chest, fighting back the cold dread.

"Okay," I said, getting up. "Okay, let's try."

We blotted and scrubbed, the red polish smearing but refusing to disappear entirely. It was a hopeless task, but doing it together felt like an act of defiance.

"This isn't your fault, you know," Milla said as we worked. "Don't for a second think it is."

"It feels like it is. If he hadn't looked at me…"

"Then she'd find another reason to hate you," Milla said firmly. "Because you're not a sycophant who kisses the ground she walks on. People like Phoebe can't stand that. You've got me, alright? We'll get through this. First rule of surviving Obsidian Moon: find an ally. You're stuck with me now."

A real smile touched my lips for the first time since the assembly. "Thanks, Milla."

"Anytime. Now, let's see how bad the damage is underneath." She grabbed one side of the ruined comforter. "The mattress is probably stained too."

I grabbed the other side and we peeled the wet, smelly fabric back. Just as she'd predicted, a faint red stain had soaked through onto the thin mattress.

"We have to flip it," I sighed. "Maybe the other side is clean."

Grunting with effort, we heaved the flimsy mattress up and leaned it against the wall. And that's when I saw it.

Carved into the dark wooden slats of the bed frame, hidden from view, was a symbol.

It wasn't just a random doodle. It was deliberate. A smooth, continuous spiral with three jagged lines cutting through it like lightning bolts.

"What is that?" I breathed, reaching out to trace the marking with my finger. The wood felt strange, almost humming under my touch.

"Whoa," Milla said, leaning in for a closer look. "I have no idea. Looks old. Definitely not Academy property standard."

She looked around the room, a thoughtful frown on her face.

"You know," she said slowly, lowering her voice. "The girl who had this bed last year… she just disappeared. I was here for the summer session and saw it. One day she was in class, the next, her side of the room was empty."

A chill that had nothing to do with the wet comforter slid down my spine. "Disappeared? What do you mean?"

"Everyone said she dropped out. Couldn't handle the pressure. But it was weird. She left all her stuff behind. Books, clothes, everything. The administration just packed it all up. It was like she vanished overnight."

We both looked back at the strange sigil carved into the wood. It seemed to pulse in the dim light of the dorm room, a secret left behind. A warning.

"I wonder if this was hers," Milla whispered.