Chapter 2 Zora's Pov
CHAPTER TWO
ZORA’S POV
“Really?,” He cocked an eyebrow while a wicked glint danced in his eyes. “But I like using it. What are you going to do about it?”
My heart hammered against my ribs. His arrogance disgusted me but the indifference in which he said it settled in my bones. He didn’t care. None of his kind cared. They just came and plundered and took what they wanted. No warning and no remorse.
Just like how he touched me. How his scent enveloped my senses. How he took over my mind with just a few words.
My fist tightened so hard I thought it would break skin. “I’ll do something,” I spat out. “I’m not scared of you.”
“But you should,” His voice deepened and I felt the edge behind it. “You have no idea who I am so don’t test me.”
“You provoked me first,” I reminded him with a gulp.
“ Oh really? Im going to enjoy breaking that pride of yours once we get to the academy, kitten,” Valen whispered against my ear, his warm breath fanning across my skin before he pulled away and continued walking down the aisle without looking back.
The heavy-built guy and the rest of his lackeys followed quickly behind him, leaving the carriage in a stunned filled silence.
I sat back against the seat, my jaw still tingling from his touch and my breath coming in short, shallow gasps.
Valen Morwen thought he had just found a new toy to entertain himself with, but he had no idea that I was the storm coming to tear his entire family legacy apart.
The train finally came to a halt at the station. I grabbed my canvas duffel bag and stepped onto the wooden platform, keeping my head down as a crowd of elite Alpha and Beta students pushed past me toward the fleet of black carriages waiting to take them to the main campus.
A massive guy with the distinctive, rocky skin of an Ogre Alpha shoved past my shoulder, while a pair of elegant Fae Alphas glided ahead, their iridescent wings tucked tightly under heavy and very expensive fur coats.
I walked the one mile up the mountain path by foot, the cold wind whipping against my face while I focused entirely on the weight of the forged admission papers resting against my ribs.
By the time the stone structures of the fortress-like academy came into view, my hands were entirely numb inside my pockets, but the real panic did not set in until I reached the registration hall.
I stood in front of the long wooden counter, dropping my duffel bag to the floor as I looked at the older Beta administrator who was sorting through stacks of gold colored folders.
“Name and identification card, please,” the administrator said without looking up from his ledger.
“My name is Nadia Noreen,” I said, using my cousin’s stolen identity without letting my voice waver. “I am here on a sports scholarship for the varsity hockey program.”
The man flipped through a thick book, running his finger down a list of approved scholarship students before he frowned and looked up at me. “You are on the roster for the hockey program, Nadia, but I cannot issue your room key or your official campus pass without your physical student identification card. The acceptance packet explicitly stated that you needed to present the silver card upon arrival.”
I frowned, immediately sticking my hands into my heavy winter coat pockets to pull out the small metal card I had carefully tucked away before boarding the train.
My fingers met empty fabric. My heart did a violent flip as I patted down my front pockets, then unzipped my canvas duffel bag to rummage through my little clothing
The card was gone. I was sure that I had placed it in my secure inner coat pocket alongside the admission letter, and it was impossible for it to have simply slipped out on its own.
“I had it on the train,” I said, my voice rising slightly. “It was in my pocket during the entire journey. Is there any way you can look up my details manually or issue a temporary pass for the night so I can get into the hostel?”
“No exceptions,” the man replied coldly. “Without that physical identification card, you do not exist on this campus. You have until nightfall to find it, or security will escort you off the mountain grounds for trespassing.”
I spent the next five hours retracing every single step I had taken since arriving on campus, my frustration turning into pure desperation as night fell.
I searched everywhere possible.
As a last resort, I walked toward the massive structure of the indoor hockey arena, thinking that perhaps the sports department had kept a duplicate record of my arrival.
The arena was completely dark except for the bright overhead spotlights illuminating the center of the rink, where a single player was skating at an incredible, terrifying speed.
I walked down the concrete steps toward the barrier, my eyes scanning the player as he handled the puck with absolute precision.
It was Valen. He wore his dark varsity jersey, his broad shoulders swaying effortlessly as he executed a series of sharp, aggressive turns that sliced deep grooves into the pristine ice.
He slammed the puck against the wooden boards with a deafening crack that echoed through the empty arena, his dominant Lycan Alpha energy rolling off him so strongly I could feel it from the stands, and that was when my eyes drifted to the player’s bench directly to my left.
Resting right on the center of the wooden bench, gleaming under the bright stadium lights, was my silver identification card.
‘That shitty bastard.’
Valen must have stolen it from my pocket during the train exchange.
I stood completely frozen watching him glide across the ice while a wave of intense memory suddenly washed over me.
I was back in our warm clan manor, standing on our private outdoor ice rink with my older brother, who was laughing as he taught me how to hold a hockey stick correctly. He had been a champion player, the pride of our family, and he always told me that the ice was the only place where a warrior could not hide their true strength.
The memory violently shifted to the horrific night our home was attacked by the rogue enforcers. The orange flames had been roaring all around us, and when the heavy wooden doors were breached, my brother did not have a weapon.
So he grabbed his favorite, gold-inlaid hockey stick from the display rack in the hall, using it to brutally strike the first attacker across the face to buy me enough time to reach the cellar escape hatch.
“You look like someone who is trying to run away from something, kitten,” a smooth, mocking voice cut through my thoughts, snapping me back to the present.
