The Alpha’s Forbidden Mate

FIVE: THE WOUNDED STRANGER

[LIORA POINT OF VIEW ]

The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of wet asphalt and the distant chatter of students heading to school.

My satchel felt heavier than usual, weighed down by textbooks and the faint hope that today would be... ordinary.

Being a scholarship student at Lunaris School wasn't easy.

Most of the other kids were born into wealth, privilege, and a confidence I could only fake.

To them, I was an easy target.

To me, it was just another day.

"Look at her! The walking charity case," Rhian sneered, the queen bee of the school.

Her golden hair gleamed under the sunlight, her every step radiating entitlement as she circled me like a predator.

Her entourage giggled behind her, their whispers loud enough for me to hear.

I kept my eyes forward, pretending not to notice. Because I learned that reacting only made them worse.

"Don't ignore us, scholar girl!" one of her friends chimed in. "What's in the bag today—donations from the trash bin?"

Laughter erupted, sharp and cruel.

"You're so pathetic, Liora," another girl added, her eyes dropping to my shoes. "Do they even make those in your village? Or did you have to stitch them out of straw?"

"Bet she bathes in the river," a boy snorted, clutching his nose dramatically. "Careful, she might stink up the hallway."

Their words hit harder than I wanted to admit, but I pressed my lips together, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction.

"Say something, loser!" Rhian's voice cut sharper this time. "Or are you too scared to even talk?"

I lifted my chin and spoke evenly, though my voice was soft. "I'm fine. Please leave me alone."

Her smile curled into something poisonous. "Fine? Fine?" She hissed the word, then slapped my cheek, the sound echoing across the corridor.

Sting spread across my skin, hot and sharp, but it didn't matter. It was just my cheek.

Just another bruise that would fade. I had worse—far worse—and I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing me flinch.

Gasps rippled through the students watching.

For a brief moment, silence hung in the air.

"You're never fine, girl. You don't belong here," Rhian said coldly, her eyes glittering with malice. "You're nothing but a stain on this school's name."

Dexter, her boyfriend, stepped forward, tall and broad-shouldered, his smirk making my stomach knot. "Yeah, Liora. Even if you studied all night or begged on your knees, you'd still be trash. Just a joke for everyone to laugh at."

He suddenly yanked my satchel off my shoulder. "Let's see what little Miss Charity Case keeps inside."

"Give it back!" I said, reaching for it, my pulse racing.

Dexter dangled it above his head, grinning as his friends howled with laughter.

He tipped it upside down, letting my notebooks and pens scatter onto the ground.

"Oops," he drawled. "Guess poor girl's bag can't even hold itself together."

"Pick it up, Liora," Rhian sneered, folding her arms. "On your knees. That's where you belong."

I crouched quickly, my fingers trembling as I gathered my things.

My throat ached, but I swallowed the lump of shame that tried to rise.

Before I could secure the last book, Dexter snatched the satchel again. "You missed this."

Then, with a flick of his wrist, he hurled it across the courtyard. It landed with a heavy thud against the stone steps, far out of reach. The laughter that followed was sharp, echoing like knives.

I rose slowly, dusting dirt from my skirt, my head held high despite the sting in my cheek and the burning behind my eyes.

The laughter faltered for a beat.

Rhian's lips curled, clearly annoyed that I wasn't crying or begging.

But I turned away, forcing my legs to move, each step heavier than the last.

I adjusted my satchel, pushed past the group, and made my way through the crowd.

My heart pounded, but I refused to cry.

Not here. Not now.

——-

The last bell finally rang, releasing the chaotic flood of students into the hallways.

I tried to move quickly, keeping my head down, clutching my books close.

But of course, that was never enough.

The moment I passed the lockers, a backpack slammed into my side, sending my papers scattering across the floor.

Laughter erupted around me.

Someone kicked my bag, another smirked as they flicked my hair into my face.

"Ugh, human trash," one girl sneered. "Look at her! She can't even walk without making a mess of herself!"

"Maybe she should stay in the gutter where she belongs," a boy added, nudging my shoulder with a shove.

I gritted my teeth and forced myself not to cry. I was used to this. Every day. But the humiliation burned just the same.

By the time I reached the hallway leading to the exit, they had brought out their "fun."

Eggs were cracked over my head, yolk sliding down my uniform.

Flour puffed in the air, coating my hair and clothes in white.

Someone stomped on spoiled fruits, squishing them so the juice and pulp spattered across me.

I froze for a moment, stunned, the smell of rotting fruit and raw egg clinging to me.

Students around me laughed hysterically, pointing and jeering.

The teacher standing nearby glanced at the scene, eyebrows raised, but didn't move. Didn't say a word.

Her indifference stabbed sharper than any insult.

By the time I escaped the crowd, my uniform was torn, sticky, and ruined. My hair matted and smelly, my books bent and smeared with yolk and pulp.

I looked like a complete mess—exactly how I feared everyone would see me.

I didn't stop to fix myself.

I bolted from the school gates, ignoring the stares and giggles that followed me out.

The streets were still busy, and I didn't want anyone to see me like this.

The forest loomed ahead, its shadowed paths offering the only privacy I craved.

I pushed forward, branches scraping my arms, leaves tangling in my hair.

Here, at least, no one could mock me, no one could see my shame.

By the time I reached the small clearing where the sunlight barely broke through the canopy, I slowed, taking deep breaths.

My chest heaved, my hands trembled, but at least I was alone.

I stumbled over a tangle of roots, and that's when I saw him.

He lay on the ground like a lifeless shadow, his eyes open, staring straight at me.

His lips moved, shaping words I couldn't hear, couldn't understand.

His clothes soaked with dark streaks of blood, limbs splayed unnaturally.

My stomach twisted, and for a moment, my heart sank.

Once I stepped closer, the faint movement of his lips was gone. His eyes were shut now, his chest frighteningly still.

Cold weight pressed down on me, my breath catching in my throat.

"He's... he's dead," I whispered.

The words trembling out of me as panic seeped through my body, spreading like ice through my veins.

But then, a faint groan escaped him, a sound so weak I almost didn't hear it. His chest rose slightly, then fell. Flutter of hope ignited, sharp and fragile.

"Hey... hey, can you hear me?" I whispered, crouching beside him, my hands hovering uncertainly over his body. "It's okay, you're safe... I'll help you."

He tried to speak, lips moving, but all that came out were strained, broken sounds—more like small moans than words.

I tilted my head, confused, but forced myself to stay calm.

"It's alright. You don't have to say anything," I soothed, gently brushing the blood from his forehead. "Just breathe... you're going to be okay. I've got you."

He shifted slightly, eyes fluttering open for a split second before sliding closed again.

I gripped his hand, as lightly as I could, letting him know he wasn't alone.

"You're stronger than you think," I whispered, trying to infuse my voice with confidence I didn't entirely feel. "I'm not going to let anything happen to you. I promise."

His chest rose and fell again, uneven but alive, and a small spark of relief flickered in me.

I knew I had to move him somewhere safe—somewhere I could tend to his wounds without anyone seeing—but even as I planned, I whispered more encouragements, over and over, like a lifeline.

"You're going to make it. I won't let you die here. Just hang on... just hang on."

Even though he couldn't answer me, I felt a faint connection, as if he understood.

That was enough for now.