Alpha Black

Chapter 6: "Rejection by the Mate"

Celine P.O.V.

I was still thinking about what I overheard when I tried to eavesdrop on Alpha Black. Curiosity had gotten the better of me, and as he took a call from my father, he suddenly grew angry, shouting, “I told you many times, Alpha Daimon, she’s my mate. Even if she rejected me at first, she’ll end up with me.”

He was talking to Alpha Daimon about his mate. It’s hard to imagine that Alpha Black—suitable for any girl—could be rejected. Yet, it seemed he loved his mate and was steadfastly committed to her.

I tried to brush away thoughts of Black, especially since he had a mate, had found her, and yet here he was, offering to teach me things, even kissing me twice. He’s nothing but a shameless flirt.

The next morning, I woke up feeling determined to start strong. I combed my hair, put on the academy uniform, slung my bag over my shoulder, and grabbed my books, heading out to catch the bus.

I went through my first, second, and third classes, finishing all my lessons, eagerly waiting to head to the library by 3 p.m. But when I arrived, Black was nowhere to be seen. I claimed a table and checked the time nervously. At 3:15, I sighed. Had he just ignored me?

Standing outside the library, I felt a mix of nerves and resolve. It was 3 p.m., the time Black had reluctantly agreed on for our first meeting about Ms. Cooper’s project.

I arrived a few minutes early, hoping to gather my thoughts and prepare for whatever was coming. All I knew about Black were the rumors that seemed to follow him like a dark cloud.

I couldn’t deny a part of me felt intimidated by him, yet there was also a curiosity gnawing at me ever since that night at the football game.

As the minutes ticked by, I started to wonder if Black would even show. Just as doubt began creeping into my mind, the doors suddenly opened. I saw a figure approaching the library. It was him—Alpha Black—walking slowly with his usual arrogance, hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, his familiar scowl firmly in place, and an air of indifference seemingly accompanying him wherever he went.

I took a deep breath, summoning the courage to greet him. “Black, hello,” I said, my voice trembling slightly.

I couldn’t help but feel a mix of nervousness and curiosity. I had only interacted with Black on a few occasions, and the idea of working closely with him was both terrifying and thrilling.

Black looked in my direction, his expression unreadable. He replied, with a hint of surprise in his voice, “Are we going to waste time on greetings?”

I nodded. “Of course not. This project is important, and I’m ready to give it my best.”

Black narrowed his eyes, as if trying to gauge my sincerity. He spoke firmly, “Let’s get one thing straight. I agreed to this, but I don’t do things halfway. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right. I won’t let you drag me down.”

I noticed a hint of frustration in him—not directed at anything in particular, but it had been there since yesterday. Could it be related to his mate?

We entered the library, and I led the way to a quiet corner where we could work. As I settled in, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of oddness. Black wasn’t dressed in the academy uniform like a typical student. He looked a bit rebellious, with the top buttons of his shirt undone, revealing a glimpse of muscle and a tattoo just above his heart. I couldn’t see the tattoo’s full design, but it was clearly striking.

I sat at the table in the corner, my bag hanging off the back of the chair, but his piercing blue eyes followed my every movement. It was as if his gaze carried an unspoken reproach.

Black didn’t respond immediately; his eyes kept their steady focus on me. Then, with a casual shrug, he asked, “Are you ready?”

I pulled out my notebook and opened it to the project guidelines Ms. Cooper had provided. “Yes, ready. The topic is about the moon goddess and the effects of direct and indirect moonlight on werewolves.”

Meanwhile, Black propped both feet on the desk, pulled out a cigarette, and let the smoke curl into the air, filling the room with the scent of tobacco. He spoke while holding the cigarette between his lips, “Go ahead, Celine.”

As we started discussing the project in more detail, I couldn’t help but notice how guarded Black was. He rarely met my gaze, and his answers were often short and clipped, as if he were trying to maintain a hardened exterior.

“Same time next week?” Black asked, a hint of anticipation in his voice.

I smiled, realizing that perhaps—just perhaps—there was more to Alpha Black than the tough facade he projected. “Yes, same time.”

I wanted to ask why we were meeting next week instead of sooner, but my thoughts were interrupted by his answer, which left me a bit unsettled.

Black leaned closer and said, “I’ll be returning to the pack. Some urgent matters have come up, and as Alpha, I have to be there. Rogues are attempting a strong attack on the pack.”

I felt both relief and a touch of fear at his words—fear for Black, facing the rogues, and relief that he told me where he was going. Isn’t it strange, this feeling?