Mated to Four Heirs

Chapter seventeen

SAMANTHA CARTER

Something felt wrong.

The feeling settled in my chest the moment I opened my eyes, and although I tried convincing myself it was only because I hadn't slept well, it refused to disappear. Instead, it lingered like a quiet warning, making the room feel colder than it had the night before.

For a few moments, I remained in bed, staring at the ceiling while listening to the muffled sounds of students moving through the dormitory. Girls chatted excitedly in the hallway, doors opened and closed, and somewhere down the corridor someone laughed, yet none of it eased the strange uneasiness growing inside me.

With a sigh, I pushed the blanket aside and climbed out of bed. Then, as I reached for my academy uniform, something silver on my bedside table caught my attention.

Darius' bracelet.

The wolf-shaped charm reflected the morning sunlight spilling through the window, and despite myself, I smiled.

"He really didn't have to do that," I murmured, gently picking it up as I turned it over in my fingers. The memory of the previous evening returned almost immediately, and with it came another thought that made my smile fade.

Should I wear it?

I stared at the bracelet for several seconds, my uncertainty growing with every passing moment.

If I wore it, people might think I was encouraging Darius.

Worse...

They might think I was encouraging all four Alpha heirs.

The very idea made me groan quietly.

"I can't seem to do anything without someone misunderstanding it," I whispered to myself, shaking my head in frustration before letting out a slow breath.

Still...

Darius had given it to me with genuine kindness. Refusing to wear it after accepting it felt unfair.

"It would be rude not to," I decided at last, fastening it around my wrist before offering my reflection a small, uncertain smile.

"I'll just wear it," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt, although my nervous expression immediately betrayed me. "It's only a bracelet."

I had no idea how wrong I was.

The Academy corridors were already crowded by the time I left the dormitory. Students hurried toward their morning classes, their voices blending into a constant hum, yet the atmosphere shifted the moment I stepped into the hallway.

Whispers… soft at first… then louder. I couldn't make out every word, but I didn't need to.

"That's her..."

"...the girl with four mates..."

"...look at her wrist..."

"...she's actually wearing it..."

I kept my eyes forward, pretending not to hear anything, even though every whisper landed like another weight on my shoulders.

As I rounded the next corner, two senior girls stopped talking altogether. They watched me pass. Neither of them smiled.

A third student brushed roughly against my shoulder as he walked past, and although there was more than enough space in the corridor, he didn't even bother apologizing.

"I'm sorry," I said automatically, stepping aside as I rubbed my shoulder.

He glanced back only long enough to scoff before continuing down the hallway.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.

‘Ignore it. Just ignore it. They're only curious. Eventually they'll stop looking.’

I repeated those words over and over again as though saying them often enough would make me believe them.

By the time I reached the athletics building, however, the uneasy feeling from that morning had only grown stronger.

The large indoor court buzzed with activity as first-year students gathered near the bleachers. Basketballs echoed across the polished floor, whistles sounded from different corners of the gym, and several senior students organized equipment for the day's lesson.

Then I saw her.

Rita.

She stood confidently at the center of the court with a whistle hanging around her neck, speaking to another senior before dismissing them with a nod. Even from a distance, she carried herself like someone completely in control.

When the first-years lined up, she turned toward us.

"Good morning, everyone," Rita said with a bright, professional smile, her voice carrying effortlessly across the court. Several students greeted her enthusiastically, clearly respecting her authority.

Then her eyes found mine. The smile remained, but something about it changed.

It was subtle… so subtle that nobody else seemed to notice.

The warmth disappeared. Only the smile itself remained.

A chill crept down my spine. I didn't know what was about to happen. I only knew one thing…

This wasn't going to end well.

A sharp whistle echoed through the gymnasium, immediately silencing the scattered conversations around the court. At once, everyone hurried into formation, and within seconds, the once noisy basketball court became surprisingly orderly.

"Good," Rita said as she lowered the whistle, a satisfied smile crossing her face while she slowly walked in front of the line of students. "Today's lesson is combat athletics. Basketball isn't just a game here at Nightshade Academy; it teaches teamwork, awareness, speed, and trust. Out there, your pack may one day depend on those qualities to survive."

Several students nodded eagerly, while others exchanged excited glances. It was obvious many of them had been waiting for this lesson.

I remained where I was, quietly hoping I could get through the morning without drawing attention to myself.

No such luck.

Rita clasped her hands behind her back before stopping directly in front of us.

"Before we begin the practice match," she announced confidently, her gaze sweeping across the class, "I'd like each of you to demonstrate your basic ball-handling skills. Nothing complicated. I simply want to see where everyone stands."

A chorus of confident voices answered, "Yes, Captain."

One by one, students stepped forward. Each received a basketball from the equipment rack before dribbling from one end of the court to the other and back again. Some moved with impressive speed, weaving around training cones with effortless control, while others were less polished but still managed to finish without much difficulty.

Whenever someone completed the drill well, Rita offered a brief nod of approval.

"Good footwork," she told one student, and he grinned proudly before jogging back to the line.

"Keep your eyes forward," she advised another, her tone calm as she folded her arms. The girl immediately corrected herself and earned an encouraging smile.

Watching everyone else, I released a slow breath.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad.

I had never played basketball properly before, but surely, all I had to do was dribble the ball from one side to the other.

I could manage that.

Couldn't I?

Before I could convince myself further, Rita glanced down at the clipboard in her hand.

"Samantha Carter."

The sound of my name seemed louder than it should have been.

I swallowed before stepping out of the line.

"I'm here," I replied quietly, forcing a polite smile despite the nervous flutter in my stomach.

Without saying another word, Rita walked toward the equipment rack. For a brief moment, I thought she was simply choosing the nearest basketball. Instead, she paused, looked over several newer ones, and then reached all the way to the back.

She returned holding an old basketball. Its faded surface was covered in scratches, and even from where I stood, I could see it looked oddly misshapen.

She tossed it toward me.

"Use this one," she said evenly, watching me with an unreadable expression.

I caught it awkwardly and instinctively squeezed it between my hands.

Something felt wrong. The ball was soft, too soft. It barely pushed back against my fingers.

I frowned ever so slightly before glancing toward the equipment rack again.

Every other student had been given firm, properly inflated basketballs.

Only mine felt different.

For a moment, I considered saying something.

Maybe she hadn't noticed. Maybe she'd picked it by accident.

Then I looked at Rita. She was already watching me, waiting.

The corners of her mouth lifted just enough to make my stomach sink.

She knows.

The realization settled heavily in my chest, yet I forced myself to look away.

‘Don't complain. You'll only make things worse.’

Taking another steadying breath, I walked toward the starting line.

"Whenever you're ready," Rita said, her voice carrying easily across the court as she gestured toward the cones. She smiled politely, but there wasn't a trace of kindness in her eyes.

I nodded.

"Okay," I whispered to myself, tightening my grip on the worn basketball. "Just get through this."

The whistle shrieked.

I pushed the ball toward the floor. Instead of bouncing cleanly back into my hand, it lurched sideways.

My eyes widened.

I scrambled after it before regaining control, and although I managed another dribble, the ball bounced unevenly again, forcing me to change direction.

A few chuckles rose from the sidelines.

Heat crept into my cheeks, but I kept moving. One more dribble. Then another. The ball refused to cooperate, wobbling unpredictably every time it struck the polished floor.

More laughter followed.

"Is she serious?" someone muttered loudly enough for others to hear, and a few students snickered in response.

I lowered my head and concentrated on the drill.

Ignore them. Just finish.

Halfway across the court, the ball suddenly slipped from beneath my hand altogether. It rolled several feet away before finally stopping near the boundary line.

The laughter this time was louder. Several students openly laughed, while others turned away, clearly embarrassed for me.

Rita let the silence linger for a heartbeat before speaking.

"Perhaps," she said smoothly, folding her arms as a faint smile crossed her face, "humans simply aren't coordinated enough for werewolf sports."

A wave of laughter swept across the court.

My fingers curled into fists for the briefest moment before I slowly bent down to retrieve the ball.

I wanted to defend myself. I wanted to point out that the ball barely held any air.

Instead, I inhaled deeply, steadied my racing heart, and walked back to the starting line.

I would try again… even if everyone was laughing.