Larkin College: The Alpha's Catastrophe

“That'll be eighty-six dollars.” Mara Vale stared at the cab driver through the rearview mirror. “For ten minutes?” “Traffic.” “There were three cars.” The driver shrugged. “Welcome to the city.”

Mara looked painfully at the two hundred dollars she had arrived with that morning. One bill had already broken into smaller suffering. Grandma Ruth had warned her city people charged extra for breathing near expensive buildings. Apparently she had not been joking.

With the expression of somebody donating blood against her will, Mara handed over the money and climbed out onto the curb dragging her battered suitcase behind her. One wheel immediately began squealing loud enough to announce financial hardship to the entire neighborhood. Then she looked up and stopped moving.

Larkin College rose behind enormous black iron gates wrapped around pale stone pillars carved with silver crests. Ivy climbed towering stone buildings that looked older than some governments. Sunlight flashed across cathedral windows while marble pathways cut through perfectly maintained lawns.

The place looked less like a school and more like wealthy people gathered there to perform ancient rituals beneath candlelight. Mara narrowed her eyes suspiciously. Nobody maintained grass this perfectly unless they had unresolved emotional problems.

Students crossed the courtyard carrying expensive bags and coffees that probably cost more than her monthly electricity bill back home. Nobody looked sweaty. Nobody looked stressed. One girl wore white pants voluntarily. Bold behavior. Mara mused.

For a moment, homesickness caught Mara by surprise. She thought of Bramble Creek's gravel roads and crooked fences. She thought of Grandma Ruth standing on the porch that morning with her arms folded tightly across her chest. "Don't let anybody make you feel small." "I won't." "And if they try?" "Financial compensation seems healthiest for everybody involved."

Grandma Ruth had laughed so hard she nearly dropped Mara's suitcase. The memory made Mara smile. Then her hand brushed the photograph tucked safely inside her backpack. The smile softened. Kiara Vale. Her mother. The woman she had never known.

The photograph showed a beautiful dark-haired woman smiling at somebody outside the frame. Mara had inherited her eyes. At least that was what Grandma Ruth always said. As for her father...Mara had stopped asking about him years ago. Whoever he was, he had never come looking for her. Grandma Ruth called that his loss and Mara tended to agree.

Straightening her shoulders, she grabbed the suitcase handle again and headed toward the administration building. The whispers started before she even reached the doors. “That's her.” “The scholarship student?” “She actually came.” Mara resisted the urge to stop walking.

Instead she continued forward while wondering why people spoke about scholarships like they were contagious diseases. Inside, the administration office smelled faintly of old books and expensive wood polish. A woman behind the desk smiled politely. “Name?” “Mara Vale.”

The woman typed briefly before pausing. “Oh.” Mara immediately distrusted that response. “Oh what?” “Nothing.” “People only say 'nothing' when it's definitely something.” The woman laughed awkwardly but that did not improve Mara's confidence.

By the time registration ended, Mara had collected one campus map, three pamphlets, a dorm key, and growing certainty that rich students behaved like nervous horses pretending not to spook. People watched her too carefully, like her arrival meant something. Which was ridiculous.

She was a scholarship student with old boots, one suitcase, and exactly one towel to her name. Nobody should have been that interested.

Her dorm room turned out to be smaller than advertised but cleaner than anywhere Mara had ever lived. She stood staring at the private bathroom for several long seconds. Luxury was completely wasted on rich people. Back home, hot water occasionally counted as a community achievement.

A knock interrupted her inspection of the shower. Mara opened the door to find a blonde woman wearing a cream sweater and a smile bright enough for toothpaste advertisements. “Hi,” she said warmly. “I'm Emily. Your resident advisor.” “Mara.” “I know. Scholarship student from Bramble Creek, right?”

Mara sighed. “Is there a town crier announcing me somewhere?” Emily laughed softly, though something about it felt careful. “If I can offer some advice,” she said, “try not to attract too much attention during your first few weeks.” “Why?” Emily hesitated, briefly but Mara noticed things like that. Because hesitation usually meant somebody was choosing the safest version of the truth.

“Larkin students can be territorial.” Territorial...What a strange word choice. Mara had grown up around territorial things before. Farm dogs, drunk men and one goose that seemed possessed by actual evil. None of them had worn designer shoes.

Before she could ask further, Emily smiled again. “Anyway, welcome to Larkin.” Then she walked away. Mara closed the door slowly. “Rich people really do talk like indoor wolves.”  

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

A few hours later, hunger finally drove her toward the cafeteria. The building looked more like a ballroom pretending to sell food. Crystal chandeliers hung from the ceiling. Actual chandeliers!

Mara stood near the entrance holding her tray and wondering what kind of educational institution served smoked salmon on a Tuesday afternoon. Students occupied tables in neat invisible hierarchies. Athletes and socialites. People dressed so expensively they practically radiated inherited money.

*****"""""""""

Nobody sat randomly. Everybody belonged somewhere. Except her. Finally, she spotted an empty table near the windows and headed toward it before she could overthink herself into starvation. She had barely unwrapped her sandwich when laughter drifted toward her and it was not friendly laughter.

Three girls approached with the relaxed confidence of people accustomed to owning rooms simply by entering them. The tallest had sleek dark hair, diamond earrings, and the posture of somebody profoundly unfamiliar with consequences.

“Well,” she said lightly. “The rumors were true.” Mara looked up. “What rumors?” “That Larkin finally started admitting farmers.” The girls beside her laughed immediately. Mara swallowed her bite of sandwich. “My grandmother would probably take offense to that.” “Oh?” the brunette asked smoothly. “Why?” “We raised sheep. Not crops.”

For one glorious second, genuine confusion crossed the girl's face. One of her friends snorted before disguising it as a cough. The brunette's smile tightened. “You're funny.” “You're standing over my lunch.” That seemed to surprise them more than an insult would have. “You should learn how things work here,” the brunette said softly. “And how exactly do they work?” “People like you survive longer when they stay humble.”

Mara sighed. Back home, trouble usually arrived yelling. Here, it wore lip gloss. The brunette suddenly reached toward Mara's sandwich. Unfortunately for her, Mara reacted before thinking. Her hand snapped out and caught the girl's wrist mid-motion. The cafeteria went still.

A strange pressure swept through the room sharp enough to prickle against Mara's skin. The brunette froze. Shock flashed across her face. Then something far more dangerous. For one brief second, Mara could have sworn the girl looked ready to become violent in a way that had nothing to do with ordinary school fights. Then the pressure vanished. Just as suddenly as it had appeared.

The brunette went rigid. Restraint slammed over her expression so abruptly it looked forced. Like somebody had silently ordered her to behave. Weird. “Name?” Mara asked lazily. “Excuse me?” “If you're going to embarrass yourself publicly, I'd at least like the full name for documentation purposes.”

A boy nearby nearly inhaled his drink. The brunette's cheeks flushed pink. “Celeste Arden.” That name clearly meant something because half the cafeteria suddenly developed intense interest in avoiding eye contact. Mara released her wrist. “Alright then, Celeste Arden.” She leaned back slightly. “Now choose.” “Choose what?” “Mercy or a lesson.”

Silence spread across the cafeteria. Storm-cloud silence. “You cannot possibly be threatening her,” one of the other girls snapped. “No,” Mara replied honestly. “Threats are vague. I'm being extremely clear.” Several nearby students choked on startled laughter.

Celeste looked moments away from spontaneous combustion. “What exactly would this lesson involve?” Mara glanced down at her sandwich. “Well, you interrupted my lunch, attempted public humiliation, and damaged innocent bread.” She nodded thoughtfully. “Financial compensation seems healthiest for everybody involved.”

A horrified whisper came from nearby. “Is she extorting Celeste Arden?” Mara looked genuinely confused. “I'm offering conflict resolution.” That finally broke the room. Laughter erupted across several tables. Celeste looked like she had never experienced public humiliation in her entire life.

Finally, with stiff furious movements, she pulled a black dining card from her purse and slapped it onto the table. “Unlimited cafeteria access,” she snapped. “Take it.” Mara stared at the card, then at her. “Huh.” Somehow that made Celeste even angrier.

The three girls stormed away beneath a wave of whispers. But the tension inside the cafeteria remained. Slowly, Mara realized nobody was watching Celeste anymore. They were watching somewhere behind her. She turned slightly.

A tall dark-haired man stood motionless on the upper mezzanine overlooking the cafeteria. While everyone else moved, laughed, and spoke, he simply stood there, still, in the way storms sometimes looked still from far away. And suddenly Mara understood something deeply unsettling. The pressure in the room had not disappeared, it had obeyed him.

Their eyes met briefly and a strange chill slid down her spine. The kind prey probably felt moments before realizing something enormous had noticed it. Then he turned and disappeared from sight. And somehow the entire cafeteria relaxed afterward. Conversations resumed, breathing normalized and shoulders loosened.

Mara stared after him uneasily. “Okay,” she muttered. “That definitely felt cult-related.” What Mara did not know was that every wolf inside the cafeteria had just witnessed something impossible. The future Alpha King had looked at a human girl and forgotten everything else. And for the first time in his life, Alaric Blackthorne had caught the scent of fate.