The Broken Princess at Alpha Academy

#Chapter 6

MAEVE POV

“What am I looking at. Oh, my Moon Goddess…”

The voice was almost melodic, but it froze Alaric mid-motion. I turned toward the doorway. Dorian Duskboner leaned there like he owned the place, completely at ease. He twirled a small vial between elegant fingers.

A soft smile curved Dorian’s mouth. “One more pull, Sword Bearer, and you will be breaking more than the academy’s privacy rules.”

“Dorian,” Alaric growled, releasing his grip on the binding across my chest. “This young Alpha is seriously injured, and the wound is not even closing. As the one enforcing order, I have to make sure there is no sabotage or—”

“Or what? You want to perform a visual autopsy right here?” Dorian cut in with a flat laugh.

This time, Dorian walked closer, his steps calm but carrying clinical authority.

“Get out, Sword Bearer. Medicine and potions are not exactly a Claymore wielder’s ‘skill set,’” Dorian said lightly. “You only know how to snap a bear’s neck, right?”

Alaric rose slowly, his whole-body trembling with restrained anger as he stared at Dorian. Then he looked at me, or more specifically, at my chest still wrapped in white cloth. Suspicion burned clearly in his sharp gray eyes.

“Reeve Nightwhisper is my responsibility while he is under disciplinary supervision,” Alaric hissed, his voice low like distant thunder.

But he finally stepped back, throwing his cloak back into place with a rough motion. Before he left, he stopped beside Dorian and murmured something just loud enough for me to hear. “If you find anything wrong with this ‘Alpha,’ you know who you report to, Potion Prodigy.”

The door slammed shut, leaving me alone with Dorian, who studied me with an expression I could not quite read. Dorian managed to make my skin prickle.

“Your heartbeat is irregular again, Reeve,” Dorian said as he sat on the edge of the bed, completely unbothered by the chaos that had just happened. “And this sweet scent is really ruining my concentration.”

Dorian did not try to undo my binding any further. Instead, he handed me a vial of Insta-Heal. With practiced precision, he poured the liquid over the wound on my shoulder. The pain was savage, like my skin was being burned alive, and I bit down on my lower lip to keep from screaming.

“Your wound is closing, but your secret is starting to leak,” Dorian murmured, his violet eyes gleaming with interest. “You are lucky Alaric is too stupid to notice an ‘Alpha’ is not supposed to have skin this soft.”

“What do you want, Dorian?” I asked hoarsely, trying to pull my torn shirt back into place.

“For now, call it an investment.”

Dorian stood, opened one of the cabinets, grabbed a clean shirt, and tossed it at me. “Put your clothes on properly. Our honorable Sword Bearer is waiting for you in the corridor with his instincts on fire.”

Then Dorian left without another word.

After I changed into the new shirt and cinched my binding so tight my ribs felt like they might crack, I forced myself to step outside.

But Alaric moved fast. Before I could even reach the corner, he was already there, blocking the corridor with the Claymore still strapped across his back.

He leaned against the cold stone wall, eyes never leaving me. He looked like he could stand there forever, waiting for me to crumble under the gravity of his presence.

I took a shallow breath. Every inhale hurt, and the cloth around my chest tightened further as sweat soaked into it. Eamon’s potion was losing strength. That bitter herbal stench could no longer hold back the sweet scent seeping through.

I walked straight ahead, trying to ignore him. In the blink of an eye, shining metal cut off my path.

SHIING!

The Claymore slammed into the floor right in front of me. One more step and I would have lost my head.

“Stop right there, Alpha,” Alaric said, calm but packed with threat.

“Are you going to kill me, Sword Bearer?” I stared forward, hiding the tremor in my hands by gripping the hilt of Moonglow at my waist. “I am exhausted. I want to go back to my room.”

Alaric stepped closer and set his sword back across his shoulders. He stopped directly in front of me until the space between us was no wider than a handspan. He was at least a head taller than me, forcing me to tilt my chin up.

“You look shorter,” he muttered, his brow tightening with suspicion.

“What do you want, Sword Bearer?” I snapped, fighting the worsening arrhythmia pounding in my chest under the pressure of his aura.

“Your wound. Is it healed?” Alaric’s gaze cut into me.

“I can heal. It is just slower.”

“That is an anomaly.”

“I am still healing, am I not?” I shot back.

When I tried to push past him, Alaric’s hand snapped around my arm. His grip on my wrist was brutally strong, sending heat flooding through my body. He yanked me closer, bent down until our faces were level, then dragged in a breath right beside my neck.

His exhale felt intense and intimate. “This scent. Your herbal cover is thinning,” he murmured, confused. “Your blood smell is unstable. It is mixed with something sweet.”

Every muscle in my body locked. “You are smelling wrong. That is the beasts from the arena,” I said, holding my breath.

Alaric’s grip loosened, but his eyes stayed pinned to mine.

For the first time, I saw the Sword Bearer up close. His jet-black hair, those sharp gray eyes, the hard line of his mouth. Alongside fear, something else slid through me, a pull so strong it scared me more than his suspicion.

His scent, earthy musk and clary sage, filled my lungs. Strangely, the frantic rhythm of my heart began to sync with the steady beat of his. In the dim corridor, Alaric’s wild energy softened, and his stare shifted like I was something fragile he wanted to protect.

The moment felt endless until his hand suddenly let go. Alaric blinked and cleared his throat, heavy, like he had just snapped awake from a trance.

“Whatever is going on with you, do not let anyone else see you like this,” he said quietly. His hand pressed my shoulder for a brief second, like he was giving me strength. “Go.”

I hurried past him without looking back.

Everything about that vibration was wrong. I was Maeve Nightwhisper, the “defective” wolf pretending to be my twin brother who was already dead. The invisible bond I felt with Alaric was a threat far more dangerous than my hidden identity.

When I reached my door, I locked it immediately, pressed my back against it, and lifted a hand to my cheek that felt hot. I was not just being surrounded by predators. I was getting tangled in something with an enforcer who should kill me the moment he learned what I really was.

“Moon Goddess, help me,” I whispered, my voice breaking.

Then a knock snapped me upright.

Knock, knock, knock.

“Reeve? It is Dorian. I brought an ‘improver’ for your disgusting potion.”

I froze. What choice did I have now, other than handing myself to one predator to hide from the other?