Property of the Alpha Prince

Chapter 1

The academy gates are black iron spires, sharpened to points that tear at the perpetually gray sky. I clutch the strap of my bag, the cracked pleather digging a familiar groove into my shoulder. The air inside the walls is different—cleaner, but with an undercurrent of ozone and something metallic, like the taste of a bloodied lip.

Obsidian Moon Academy. My pack called it an opportunity, a way to settle a debt with a rival. I knew the word for a sacrifice when I heard one.

Dorm room 2B is at the end of a hall paneled in wood so dark it seems to drink the light. The door is already ajar. I push it open and the scent of rosewater and cloying perfume hits me, a chemical sweetness that fails to mask the territorial musk of Alphas.

Three girls are inside. Two of them, a blonde with violet eyes and her dark-haired echo, occupy the room’s only plush armchair and the space around it, a silent throne room. The blonde, Camille, is polishing a small, wicked-looking silver dagger. The other, Brina, watches her with rapt attention.

The third girl is perched on the edge of a simple cot that must be mine. She gives me a small, hunted look. “You’re Aria?”

I nod, my throat tight.

“I’m Milla,” she whispers.

Camille looks up from her blade, her movements slow and deliberate. “Did the wind blow in some trash?” Her violet eyes assess my worn boots, my patched jacket, the faint scent of pine and damp earth that clings to my clothes. The smell of my home.

Brina snickers, a thin, imitative sound. “It’s the scholarship case. From the Timberwood pack, wasn’t it? I hear they’re practically feral out there.”

My cheeks burn. I drop my bag beside the cot. It lands with a soft, pathetic thud. “Sorry,” I say, the word tasting like rust. “I’ll try not to shed on the rug.”

Camille’s lips thin. She sets the dagger down and rises, gliding toward me with a predator’s unsettling grace. The air crackles around her, a pressure that makes the hairs on my arms stand up. She brushes past, her shoulder deliberately knocking into mine, and the force of her lineage is a physical blow that makes me stumble. Brina follows, shoving me harder as she passes.

When the door clicks shut behind them, Milla lets out a shuddering breath. “I’m sorry. She’s… she’s from one of the founding lines.”

“I figured,” I say, rubbing my shoulder. The words are ash in my mouth.

“Just try to stay out of her way,” Milla advises, her eyes wide and serious. “Out of everyone’s way.”

The assembly hall is a gothic cavern, all vaulted ceilings and stone arches. The sheer density of werewolves packed inside makes the air feel thick and volatile. I stick close to Milla, keeping my eyes on the floor, trying to follow her advice.

Then a hush falls over a section of the crowd. The pressure in the room intensifies, coalescing around a single point. I look up toward the stage where a group of students sit behind the faculty. In the center is a young man with hair as black as chipped obsidian. Prince Ronin. He isn’t watching the Headmaster speak; he’s staring into the crowd with an unnerving stillness, his gaze seeming to pass through people as if they were smoke.

Even from across the hall, the weight of his presence is suffocating. It’s a physical pressure against my sternum, a silent command to submit.

Headmaster Valerius finishes his speech about legacy and honor, then steps down. The faculty files out of the hall, and the heavy oak doors are pulled shut with a definitive thud. A low murmur ripples through the student body as the air shifts, growing taut and dangerous.

“What’s going on?” I ask Milla.

“The welcome,” she whispers back, her face pale. “Don’t move. Don’t look at anyone.”

A group of older students, their shoulders broad with the easy dominance of established Alphas, moves into the center of the hall. They walk through the crowd of new students, their movements casual, their eyes searching. One of them, a thick-necked boy with a cruel smile, grabs a small, terrified-looking girl by the arm. She makes a choked, whimpering sound.

He drags her into the open space. “New tradition,” he announces to the silent hall. “We need to test the new stock. See who breaks.”

Laughter, low and ugly, ripples from the upperclassmen. The girl trembles, sobbing openly.

My blood runs cold. I can’t tear my eyes away. This is happening in front of everyone, and no one is moving. My hands clench into fists at my sides.

“Don’t, Aria,” Milla’s hand clamps onto my arm, her nails digging into my skin. “This is how it is. You get involved, and you’ll be next.”

I look toward the stage. Prince Ronin is watching now. His expression is one of detached curiosity, as if observing an insect. For a split second, his gaze sweeps the crowd and locks with mine. There is no smirk, no amusement. There is nothing. Just a flat, cold acknowledgment that he sees me, sees the horror on my face, and that it is utterly insignificant. He is a god, and we are mortals bleeding on his altar.

He looks away.

The Alphas start dragging the sobbing girl toward a side door. Her pleas echo in the cavernous space before the door slams shut, cutting them off. A chilling silence descends.

Milla’s grip on my arm is painfully tight, her voice a ghost of a whisper in my ear. “That’s the first lesson. Keep your head down. Don't ever let them see you.”

Chapter 2

The trick was to study the floor. The polished stones of the hall were a varied landscape of gray, and if I mapped my path through them, I could almost believe I wasn’t here. Head down, a ghost in borrowed boots, clutching a lukewarm coffee like a shield.

I rounded a corner and the world became a wall of muscle and heat. The impact sent my coffee sloshing, a hot, bitter wave across the front of a black uniform. My cup clattered away, and my head snapped up on instinct.

The silver-threaded crest of the royal family was stitched over the man’s heart, now marred by a spreading brown stain. My eyes traveled up a hard jawline to a pair of eyes the color of winter ice. They held a disgust so pure it was a physical force.

Prince Ronin.

“Are you blind?” His voice was a low rumble, devoid of heat, which was somehow worse.

My own voice was a knot in my throat. I could only stare at the damage I’d done. “I—I’m sorry.” The words were tissue paper against the granite of his presence.

His lip curled. “'Sorry' doesn’t launder custom tailoring, stray.” He didn’t even glance at the stain. His focus was entirely on me, a dissecting gaze that found every frayed cuff and worn seam of my existence.

“I can pay for it,” I offered, the lie tasting like ash in my mouth. The cost of that uniform could feed my old pack for a year.

A harsh, grating sound might have been a laugh. “With what? The lint in your pockets?”

Whispers started around us as students paused, their curiosity piqued by the unfolding spectacle. They could smell my fear.

“Ronin, let it go.” A new voice, calm and warm, cut through the tension. Another man stepped forward, clapping a hand on the Prince’s shoulder. He had kind, brown eyes and an easy posture that seemed alien in this place. “You have a dozen others.”

Ronin shrugged off the hand, his glare never leaving my face. “It’s the principle, Darius. You let vermin scurry underfoot, they forget their place.”

Darius ignored him and knelt, his movements fluid as he gathered my scattered books. The simple kindness was so jarring I flinched. He rose and handed them to me, his expression one of genuine concern. “Here you go.”

“Thank you,” I whispered, my fingers brushing his. A jolt of simple warmth, unexpected.

Ronin scoffed. “See? It probably enjoyed the attention.”

Darius turned to his friend, his tone losing some of its lightness. “Go change. You’ll be late for the council.”

“Don’t give me orders,” Ronin snapped, but the venom was now aimed at Darius. He gave me one last, lingering look of pure contempt—a silent promise—then turned on his heel. The crowd melted away from his path.

I was left trembling, clutching the books to my chest. Darius offered a small, apologetic smile. “He’s… well, he’s Ronin.”

“I have to go,” I mumbled, desperate for an escape.

“I’m Darius,” he said, as if it wasn’t obvious. I hesitated before taking his offered hand. His grip was firm. “Aria.”

“Try not to let him get to you, Aria,” he said, then turned to follow his prince.

I bent to retrieve my crushed paper cup, my hands still shaking, when a voice like cool silk slid behind me.

“Well, well. Making friends in high places, charity case?”

I straightened slowly to face Camille. She leaned against a stone pillar, flanked by her silent shadow, Brina. A perfectly sculpted eyebrow was arched in amusement.

“I wasn’t,” I said, my voice flat.

“It looked like it,” she purred, pushing off the wall. She circled me, her violet eyes cataloging my secondhand clothes. “You splash the Prince, and his First Knight rushes to your aid like a storybook princess.”

Brina snorted. “More like a stray mutt.”

Camille’s focus remained on me. “You need to understand something. Darius has a weakness for pathetic things. It’s a flaw. Don’t mistake his pity for interest.” She stopped directly in front of me, her expensive floral scent cloying. “And Ronin… you are an inconvenience he stepped in. Nothing more.”

“I get it,” I snapped, my patience finally fraying.

Her lips curved into a smile that held no warmth. “Good. Because if I ever see you looking at Darius like that again, I will personally remind you of your place.” She held my gaze for a long, chilling moment. “You tried so hard to be invisible. A shame to get noticed for all the wrong reasons.”

She turned and walked away, her hips swaying, Brina trailing in her wake. I was alone again, the echoes of her threat chilling the air.

Head down. Eyes down.

It was too late for that.

Chapter 3

The scent of roast chicken made my stomach clench. I eyed the plate Milla set on my desk, waiting for the trick. Camille’s campaign of petty cruelties had been relentless, and last time someone brought me food, the bread was filled with mud.

“It’s not poisoned,” Milla said, reading my thoughts. She sat on the edge of my bed. “You can’t hide in here, Aria. It only makes them hungrier.”

“It’s safer,” I muttered, my gaze fixed on a crack in the stone wall.

“No, it’s not,” she said, her voice dropping. “The First Moon Party is tonight. If you don’t show your face, you’re telling everyone Camille has already broken you. You have to go.”

A harsh laugh escaped me. “A party? In the woods with them? Absolutely not.”

“I’ll be with you,” she insisted. “We just need to be seen. Show them you’re not scared, then we can leave. It’s about survival.”

I looked at her, at the weary pragmatism in her eyes. She was the only one who hadn’t treated me like a target. “Why are you helping me?”

A sad smile touched her lips. “Because I know this game. Now, are you coming?”

I let out a slow breath. She was right. Hiding was an invitation. “Fine. But we leave the second it gets weird.”

“It’s always weird,” she said with a grimace. “So we can leave whenever we want.”

The party was a raw display of power. A bonfire roared in a clearing, throwing shadows that twisted the trees into skeletal claws. The air was thick with the scent of charred meat, spilled liquor, and the earthy musk of dozens of wolves. A drum-heavy beat pulsed from somewhere in the dark, a rhythm that vibrated in my teeth.

“Act like you belong here,” Milla murmured, pressing a cup of something dark and bitter into my hand. It burned down my throat but did nothing for the cold knot of fear in my stomach. I stuck so close to her our shoulders brushed with every step.

“See the brutes by the kegs?” she nodded discreetly. “Council enforcers. They’re all alphas from minor packs, here to kiss the ring. Don’t even look at them.” She guided me through the throng. “And there’s Camille, of course. Holding court.”

Camille was laughing, her hand resting possessively on the arm of the man beside her. Prince Ronin.

He looked less like a student and more like a warlord out here, dressed in black, the firelight carving sharp planes across his face. His eyes swept over the crowd with a detached arrogance, a king surveying an unruly peasantry. I flinched and looked away.

“Okay, I’ve been seen,” I whispered urgently. “Can we go?”

“Not yet. An hour,” Milla said, her jaw tight. “Anything less is running.”

An hour felt like a lifetime. Every laugh sounded like a threat, every shadow seemed to move. Then came a new sensation. It wasn't the feeling of being watched, but of being known. A sudden, sharp awareness drilled into the back of my skull, a predator’s focus that had nothing to do with sight. I fought it, but the pressure was immense, forcing my head to turn, my eyes to scan the crowd.

They found him.

Ronin was no longer watching the party. His conversation with Camille had ceased. He was staring directly at me.

The moment our eyes met, a shock went through me, raw and electric. The noise of the party, the heat of the fire, it all vanished. There was only the sudden, violent clarity of his gaze. It wasn't a thought, but a brutal, instinctual certainty that slammed into my soul.

*Mate.*

The word was an invasion, foreign and absolute. The breath left my lungs, and the ground seemed to shift. I saw the recognition hit him, too. The bored arrogance in his posture snapped taut. For a single heartbeat, his mask of indifference fell, revealing a flicker of raw, unguarded shock.

Then his expression curdled. The disinterest returned, colder now, sharpened with a disgust so profound it was a physical blow. His lip curled, a silent snarl of utter revulsion. He looked at me, and I was no longer a person. I was a flaw, a stain on his world that he desperately wanted to erase.