At Ashbourne Academy
1605 Words
The minute she bade Kaden goodbye, Philipa did not head for the outer road as he assumed.
Instead, she turned left.
Her steps were light but purposeful as she slipped through the quieter path winding deeper into the inner pack grounds —toward the one place in Crestmoon Pack that existed outside rules, guards, and fear.
The healer’s estate.
Going straight into an all-male academy with the unmistakable scent of a female Alpha was nothing short of suicide. If discovered, it wasn’t exile or imprisonment that awaited her.
It was death by punishment. Public, Merciless, and nforgivable sentence.
Philipa clenched her fists as she moved faster. She needed something—anything—to suppress her scent. Temporarily, as long as it bought her time inside Ashbourne Academy.
Soon, the familiar outline of the healer’s estate came into view.
Unlike every other important structure in the pack, it stood unguarded. No patrols. No sentries. No weapons mounted along its walls. It was the only place where blades were forbidden.
Madam Abigail had personally demanded it.
A healer. A seer. A woman even Alphas feared offending.
Her mother used to tell her stories of the woman before sleep—how Madam Abigail had once stopped a pack war with nothing but a prophecy and a single look.
Philipa slowed her steps, forcing her breathing steady. Panic would betray her faster than guards ever could. She hids her little packaged belongings behind the ork tree and stepped into the courtyard just as the front door opened.
“Philipa?” Madam Abigail’s warm, knowing voice greeted.
The elderly woman stood there in her familiar dark robes, silver hair braided loosely down her back, sharp eyes missing nothing.
Philipa bowed her head respectfully and greeted her properly.
“Good evening, Madam Abigail.”
The woman smiled, but her gaze lingered. “You look troubled, child. What weighs on you tonight?”
Right on cue, Philipa let her shoulders slump and pulled on the grumpiest expression she could manage—one she had practiced on her way here.
“It’s my brother Kaden,” she muttered, allowing irritation to lace her voice. “He sent me.”
Madam Abigail sighed instantly, already shaking her head. “That boy will be the death of someone someday.”
Philipa seized the opening.
She explained quickly, smoothly, on how Kaden wanted a potent scent-concealing perfume, how he intended to “deal harshly” with someone who had offended him deeply, how discretion was necessary.
The healer’s lips thinned in quiet disapproval. “I warned your father about indulging that boy,” Madam Abigail said softly. “Power without restraint is rot.”
Then, without asking another question, she turned and walked into her inner chambers.
Relief nearly buckled Philipa’s knees.
She waited, hands clasped tightly behind her back, heart pounding with each second that passed. The walls around her hummed faintly—protective wards older than the pack itself.
Moments later, Madam Abigail returned.
In her hand was a small jade-black glass vial, cool and heavy, etched with ancient runes that shimmered faintly in the low light.
She pressed it into Philipa’s palm.
“This will mask a wolf’s scent completely,” she warned, her eyes suddenly sharp. “Alpha, Beta—male or female. But hear me clearly, child. He should use it sparingly. No more than a month.”
Philipa stiffened. “Why?” she asked carefully.
“Because it does not merely hide a scent,” Madam Abigail said quietly. “Prolonged use risks erasing it entirely. A wolf without a scent is a wolf without an anchor.”
A fate worse than death. Philipa swallowed and nodded. “I understand.”
“Good.” Madam Abigail studied her for a long moment, then softened. “Whatever trouble you’re tangled in… survive it.”
Philipa bowed deeply. “Thank you.”
She turned, pick up her bag, and walked out of the estate calmly, her steps measured, posture composed.
Only when she was far enough, out of sight, out of range did she break into a run after using the perfume..
She sprinted in the opposite direction, clutching the vial like her life depended on it. Because it did.
The moon climbed higher as she disappeared into the night, Crestmoon Pack falling behind her for the final time.
When the night deepened and the forest grew quiet, Philipa leapt onto a thick tree branch and allowed herself a brief rest. The cool bark pressed against her back as she sat there, legs dangling, eyes trained on the moon filtering through the leaves. She dared not sleep deeply—only enough to still her trembling muscles and calm her racing heart.
At dawn, when the sun’s rays began to strengthen and spill gold through the trees, she moved again.
Not long after, through the thinning forest, she saw it.
Iron gates. Tall, ancient buildings patterns and imposing.
Beyond them, massive stone structures rose toward the sky like the ribs of a sleeping beast.... Ashbourne Academy.
A surge of relief and adrenaline flooded her veins at once. Her exhaustion vanished as if it had never existed. Her legs moved faster, almost carrying her on their own as she closed the distance between herself and the gate.
She stopped just a few steps away and exhaled sharply.
Then she inhaled slowly, deeply—drawing in the air as if to taste it. It smelled different here. Older. Sharper. Power lingered in the wind itself.
This was no ordinary place.
She joined the long queue forming at the entrance, where heavily armed guards inspected students one after another. While waiting, her gaze drifted upward, taking in the breathtaking architecture—towering halls etched with runes, spires disappearing into the clouds, wide courtyards carved from black stone.
“Captivating, right?” A voice spoke from behind her.
She turned and met the easy grin of a brown-haired young man, his posture relaxed but confident. His presence carried the unmistakable weight of an Alpha.
She smiled back and cleared her throat, slipping smoothly into the male accent she had practiced all night.
“I know, right?” she replied. “No wonder students flock here despite the rumors.”
She stepped forward as the line advanced.
The brown-haired guy scoffed loudly. “Rumors are for weaklings. Ashbourne just weeds out the ones who don’t belong.”
Before she could answer, it was her turn to pass through the gates.
She took two steps forward—And chaos erupted.
Students came crashing toward her from inside the hall—screaming, scrambling, shoving past one another in blind panic. Some had terror etched across their faces. Others were pale, shaking, mumbling word as they ran.
Philipa froze. So did the rest of the newcomers.
“Th-the hall—” “Did you feel that?!” “Run—just run! They are monsters...!” Hands pointed wildly toward the distant hall.
Fear rippled through the crowd. Murmurs broke out, then frantic whispers. A few students backed away completely, terror winning over pride as they turned and fled the gates.
The murmuring rose into loud chatter until—
“Silence!” A mean-looking guard stepped forward, his voice laced with authority and threat. “Another sound and you’ll earn punishment on your first day.” Instantly, the crowd fell mute. One by one, the line resumed.
Philipa swallowed hard, her mind racing. What could terrify Alpha students like that? What kind of presence lurked inside those walls?
Lost in thought, she didn’t hear the call.
“Next!” A sharp shove jolted her forward.
“Still thinking?” the guard barked. “If you aren’t ready, don’t waste my precious time!”
She frowned slightly and handed over her documents and ID, forcing her pulse to steady.
The guard scanned them. “Jordan Kadel?” He raised an eyebrow and looked her over. “Didn’t know Alpha Kadel of Crestmoon had two sons.”
“He doesn’t,” she replied calmly, heart pounding. “I’m a cousin. Not… well-known.”
She had changed the name deliberately. Using Kaden’s identity would only invite future trouble.
The guard snorted. “Figured that already. With that kind of little build?” He laughed loudly. “Who’d associate with a male who looks more feminine than half the omegas in a pack?”
Laughter rang out among the guards.
Still chuckling, he stamped her pass and waved her through. “Good luck surviving the hall without getting crushed.”
Another round of laughter followed her.
She scoffed quietly and moved toward the hall— only to stiffen when a strong arm suddenly draped across her shoulders.
“Relax. It’s me.” The brown-haired guy grinned down at her.
Philipa forced a stiff smile, resisting the urge to shove him away. Any sudden reaction could expose her.
He continued talking easily as they walked. “Name’s Rowan. Alpha from Moonstone Pack.”
“Jordan,” she replied evenly.
“Don’t mind those idiots,” Rowan said. “A man’s worth isn’t measured by words—but strength.”
They reached the hall entrance.
And then— They froze.
An oppressive aura slammed into them the moment they crossed the doorpost.
It was suffocating and dominating.
Philipa’s breath caught in her chest as her knees reacts slightly. Her wolf screamed in warning, pressing against her restraint, desperate to respond to the overwhelming force.
The air itself felt heavier... Dangerous... And alive. Stern-looking eyes glare at them.
Rowan stiffened beside her, his casual grin wiped clean as his jaw clenched.
“What the hell…” he muttered.
- Writer
