Mated to my Rival

Vaughn's Welcome

Chapter 7

Vanya

This Kross guy was a complete jerk.

I don’t know what I was expecting. When he stopped that fight yesterday, I thought—maybe, just maybe—he had a decent bone in his body. But no. He was just as bad as the rest, maybe worse. He didn’t just glare at me—he threatened me. Told me I wouldn’t survive here. That I should “watch my back.”

All night, I stayed on guard. I couldn’t relax, not even for a second. Sleeping in the same room as someone who clearly wanted me gone was terrifying. He was only a few feet away, lying on his bed like nothing bothered him—shirtless, like that was supposed to be normal. I kept my eyes open for as long as I could, every sound making my heart race.

According to my calculations, day one wasn’t even over, and I’d already made enemies, become a target, and gotten stuck with the worst possible roommate. Great start, really.

At some point, exhaustion finally pulled me under, but it must’ve been for barely an hour. Maybe even less.

Because the next thing I knew—there was chaos. Loud voices. A splash.

Then ice-cold water hit me full in the face and chest.

I gasped, eyes flying open. My body jolted as I slipped and hit the floor hard, landing on my butt. The freezing shock punched the air out of my lungs. My hands scrambled to wipe the water from my eyes, and through the blur, I saw him.

Wilde.

He was standing in front of me with a wild, unhinged look on his face. His long, dark hair was loose, sticking to his damp shoulders. He was shirtless too—what the hell was it with Alphas and not wearing shirts?

And he wasn’t alone.

Behind him were the same guys from yesterday—the ones who’d helped gang up on me in the courtyard. I recognized their smug faces, standing just close enough to look threatening but far enough to pretend innocence.

My brows furrowed as I looked around, drenched and shivering. “What the f**k?!” I shouted, stumbling to my feet, my clothes sticking to me like cold glue.

Wilde barked a laugh. He spun toward his friends and waved a hand. “You guys seeing this? He’s all red like a tomato. What’s the matter, little guy? Not a fan of our welcome party?”

I bit back the insult crawling up my throat. My fists were clenched at my sides. All I wanted was to smash his smirking face in. But I couldn’t—not yet. Not surrounded like this.

Then I saw him.

Kross.

He was standing behind the group, towering and quiet, arms crossed over his chest. He’d finally put a shirt on, but it didn’t make him look any less threatening. He didn’t say anything. Just watched. Cold. Detached.

So much for being the guy who cared about order or rules.

I guess with no coach around, he didn’t need to pretend anymore. He’d picked a side.

And it wasn’t mine.

Suddenly, Wilde lunged.

His hand fisted the front of my shirt and yanked me off the ground like I weighed nothing. My eyes flew wide, and instinct kicked in. My jaw clenched tight. I didn’t even think—I just reacted.

I brought my knee up and kicked him right where it hurts.

He let out a choked “oomf!” and dropped like a stone, curling into himself on the floor. His eyes bugged out, and he groaned in pain.

Around us, the room went still for half a second—then chaos erupted.

The others snarled in unison, their Alpha instincts flaring. I barely had a second to brace myself before a fist came flying from my left.

Crack!

Pain exploded across my cheek, and the room spun. I stumbled back, tasting blood.

“Motherfucker—” I heard one of them growl before the guy who’d hit me tackled me straight to the ground. He was built like a damn tank—broad, fast, and pissed off. He straddled me, fist raised, eyes wild.

I knew that next punch could break something.

But before it landed, the door burst open with a bang.

A sharp gust of cold air rushed in, and everything froze.

Then a deep voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Enough.”

I blinked through the spinning stars in my vision, and my breath hitched when I saw who had entered.

A man, early fifties, tall and broad-shouldered, stood in the doorway. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back, his dark eyes hard as stone. He wore a black shirt that clung to a frame built from years of training—scarred knuckles, a stance that screamed authority.

Without hesitation, he crossed the room in two powerful strides. He grabbed the guy on top of me by the collar and ripped him off like he weighed nothing.

The Alpha crashed against a bunk with a grunt, dazed.

“You motherfuckers, you all won’t listen, would you?! Three hundred laps for breaking the discipline. Anti-ragging policy still stands, and none of you seem to give a damn!”

The coach's voice thundered through the room like a war drum, and the Alphas around me groaned but didn’t dare argue. They glared at me like I was the reason they’d all been sentenced—which, fine, I kind of was. But I wasn’t going to apologize for getting assaulted.

I sat up slowly, my body aching. My lower lip was split and bleeding, and my cheek throbbed like someone had slammed a brick into it. I wiped the blood away with the back of my hand and met every one of their stares. I refused to flinch.

One by one, they filed out, shoulders tense, jaws clenched, some throwing curses under their breath.

I looked up, still sitting on the floor, and saw the coach turning his wrath on Kross.

The guy stood there like this was all beneath him. Stoic. Distant. The coach was yelling in his face, red with rage. Then suddenly—whack!—the stick in his hand cracked across the side of Kross’s head. I winced at the sound, but Kross didn’t even blink. He barely reacted, muttered a flat apology like he couldn’t care less, and stared ahead like he’d already checked out of the conversation.

But then the coach’s voice changed. Sharper. More personal.

“Since he’s your roommate,” the coach barked, “I’m giving you the responsibility to protect him from ragging. If another incident happens under your nose, I’ll pull you out of my practices. Permanently.”

That got Kross’s attention.

His head snapped up. “You can’t do that,” he shot back, voice sharp with frustration. “I give a hundred percent. My performance is at its peak. And he’s not a kid—he’s supposed to be an Alpha, for god’s sake. If he can’t even protect himself, he shouldn’t be here. This isn’t a place for weaklings.”

He pointed right at me.

My jaw clenched so hard it hurt.

Who the f**k did he think he was?

He didn’t know me. He didn’t know anything about me. Just saw someone smaller, softer, quieter—and decided I was weak. This... this kind of bullshit was exactly why women were kept out of leadership roles in packs. Because of narrow-minded assholes like him who thought strength only looked one way.

The more he spoke, the more I hated him. With every word, it grew—burning, raw, and dangerous.

The coach’s tone turned cold.

“Who said anything about protecting him?” he snapped at Kross. “Protect your team from my wrath. Inform me if they cross the line. I don’t want trouble or accidents. That’s your job now.”

Then the coach turned to me.

His gray eyes were cold, empty, like they’d seen too many kids break under pressure. “And you,” he said flatly, “just because you have Alpha blood doesn’t mean you belong here. You’ll have to prove it. Survive until the Alpha Trials. And don’t die before then.”

With that, he tapped the stick against the top of my head—not hard, but it stung all the same—and walked out without another word.

I stayed there, fists clenched in my lap, burning with anger and frustration. Kross watched me with that same unreadable, cool expression. Disappointed? Disgusted? I couldn’t tell. But his gaze said one thing loud and clear:

You’re not worth my time.

He rolled his eyes, then left the room like I was some nuisance he couldn’t be bothered with.

I ran a hand through my hair, trying to ground myself. Everything was spinning—rage, humiliation, and something else I didn’t want to name.

Fuck.

They were ganging up on me. And I didn’t even know half of their names.

I just wanted to train, to focus, to make it to the Alpha Trials—but instead, I was stuck in the middle of this ridiculous power game. Everyone here had already proved themselves. Now it was my turn. But how the hell was I supposed to rise when Wilde was making me his personal target and Kross looked at me like I was already a failure?

I didn’t know anyone here. No allies. No backup. Just me.

The next few weeks were going to be brutal, but if I wanted to survive—if I wanted to win—I’d have to watch closely, stay sharp, and figure out where they cracked. Everyone had a weakness. And I was going to find theirs.

Starting with the biggest bastard of them all: Wilde.