CHAPTER 2: NEW IDENTITY
1163words
Twelve hours later, I barely recognized myself in the mirror. My long hair was gone, replaced by a short, tousled cut that framed my face in a decidedly masculine way. Lucas had bound my chest with special wraps that flattened what little curves I had—though let's be honest, there wasn't much to work with anyway.
"You look like a dude," Lucas looked satisfied, circling me with a critical eye. "A pretty dude, but still a dude."
"Remember, walk with confidence," Rafe instructed as he handed me a backpack. "Take up space. Lower your voice when you speak. And for Moon's sake, stop swaying your hips."
"I don't sway!" I protested, but immediately demonstrated a hip sway that would make a runway model jealous.
My brothers exchanged a look that clearly said 'we're doomed.'
"Voice lesson," Lucas said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Lower. From your chest, not your throat."
I tried again. "Like this?" The voice that came out was deeper, rougher.
"Better," Rafe nodded, though he looked slightly horrified. "Your name is Ari Silver. You're from the Western packs, homeschooled until now. Your parents are traveling diplomats, which explains why no one knows you."
Lucas continued. "And remember—no matter how cute you think something is, do NOT squeal 'aww' at it."
"When have I ever—"
"Last week. Mrs. Henderson's new puppy. You made a sound that could shatter glass."
Lucas handed me a small vial. "Scent neutralizer. Apply it every morning. It won't completely mask your Omega scent, but it'll make it subtle enough that they'll just think you're a late-blooming Beta."
"Or that you use way too much cologne," Rafe added with a smirk.
A knock at the door made us all freeze.
"Young masters?" It was Henrik, our butler. "Your father is asking for Princess Aria. The seamstress has arrived."
My brothers looked at me, panic mirroring my own. We were out of time.
"Tell him she's ill," Lucas called back, thinking fast. "Food poisoning. Terribly messy. Projectile vomiting. Stuff coming out of both ends. It's like The Exorcist in there."
I punched his arm. "Gross!"
We waited until his footsteps faded.
"We need to move now," Rafe urged. "Henrik won't buy that excuse for long. Father will be up here with a doctor if we don't get you out."
Lucas pulled a cap low over my eyes. "Remember everything we taught you. Keep to yourself. Don't draw attention."
"And if anyone gives you trouble," Rafe added with a grim smile, "go for the throat. Or the family jewels. Either works."
I hugged them both fiercely, suddenly terrified of what lay ahead. "Thank you. I love you guys, even though you're idiots most of the time."
"We love you too, little sister," Lucas murmured, squeezing me tight. "Now go become the best damn fake Alpha the Academy has ever seen."
---
The Alpha Academy loomed before me, an imposing structure of stone and glass perched on a cliff overlooking the ocean. It looked like Hogwarts' more intimidating cousin—the one with anger management issues.
My heart hammered as I joined the throng of young men making their way through the iron gates. They were all so... big. And hairy. And loud. I clutched my backpack tighter, suddenly aware of how small I was in comparison.
*Act confident. Take up space. You belong here. Channel your inner frat boy.*
"Name?" barked a bored-looking Beta at check-in.
"Ari Silver," I replied, keeping my voice low and steady, fighting the urge to curtsy.
He found my forged documents and nodded. "Room 307, East Wing. Here's your key card and schedule. Orientation starts in one hour."
I nodded, trying to look nonchalant. "Cool. That's... uh, cool. Bro."
He gave me an odd look. Right. Less is more with the bro-speak.
The East Wing dormitory smelled like a potent combination of body spray, dirty socks, and testosterone. I found 307, took a deep breath, and swiped my card.
The room was spacious with two beds, two desks, and a bathroom door. One side was already occupied, personal items scattered across the bed and desk.
I had a roommate. How had we not considered this? I was going to kill Rafe and Lucas. Slowly.
Before I could panic, the bathroom door opened, and a cloud of steam preceded the appearance of my roommate.
My heart stopped. Then restarted at triple speed.
He was tall—at least six feet—with broad shoulders and muscles that spoke of years of training. Ice blue eyes caught the light as droplets traced paths down his abs to disappear into... Oh, GOD. He was completely naked!
We locked eyes. Time froze. My brain officially short-circuited.
"OH SHIT!" He yelped, lunging for a towel but slipping on the wet floor instead. He crashed into the towel rack in what could only be described as the world's most athletic naked pratfall.
"DON'T LOOK!" he shouted, frantically trying to cover himself with a hand towel that was definitely not up to the task.
"I'M NOT LOOKING!" I lied, because I was absolutely looking. My eyes had apparently developed a mind of their own.
*Holy mother of wolves.* This wasn't a roommate. This was a walking Calvin Klein ad.
"Who the hell are you?" he demanded from the floor.
"Ari Silver. Your new roommate." I thrust out my hand, then realized he was still sprawled in a towel the size of a napkin. "Should I help you up, or...?"
"DON'T COME ANY CLOSER!" He scrambled backwards. "Turn around! Think about hockey!"
"Why hockey? I don't even like sports. Should I think about taxes instead?"
"ANYTHING BUT THIS SITUATION!"
After much rustling and creative cursing, he finally said, "Okay, you can turn around now."
I turned to find him wrapped in every towel in the bathroom, looking like an attractive burrito. His face was bright red.
"Damon Blackwood," he said, clutching his towel fortress. "Alpha heir of the Blackwood Pack. And you are NEVER speaking of this to anyone."
*Blackwood?* My blood turned to ice. This wasn't just any Alpha heir—this was Dominic Blackwood's younger brother. The brother of the man I was supposed to marry in three days.
The universe was officially having a laugh at my expense.
When he extended his hand—carefully maintaining towel security—and we touched, a strange sensation shot up my arm. Electric. Terrifying. His eyes widened, and I knew he felt it too.
The mate bond. Of course. Because this situation wasn't complicated enough already.
I was sharing a room with my mate—my fiancé's brother—while pretending to be a boy. And our first meeting involved him naked on the floor in a towel fortress. If there was a werewolf reality show called "Most Disastrous First Mate Meetings," we'd win the grand prize.
"So," Damon said, "this is awkward."
"Legendarily awkward," I agreed.
"Want to pretend this never happened?"
"God, yes."
"Great. I'm getting dressed now. Don't watch."
"Wasn't planning to!" I lied, spinning around so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash.
