The Royal Alpha

Chapter 2: Leaving Home.

SIERRA

I wake up to the sharp sound of my bedroom door being banged open, the noise echoing through the walls of my room. My heart jumps as I sit up abruptly, still half-lost in sleep. My mother stands at the doorway, her arms crossed and her expression tight with irritation.

She is clearly upset.

Not just about me leaving—but about how I handled it.

She doesn't say it outright, but I know she's angry that I went to the Luna with what she considers a personal family dispute. Yet she was the one who left me with no other option. She was the one who refused to listen when I spoke about Aztec and our bond.

"Wake up, Sierra," she says curtly. "The Alpha has called for a pack meeting at six in the morning. All young wolves leaving for the Neutral Territory need to be present."

Her tone leaves no room for argument.

Before I can respond, she turns and walks away, her footsteps heavy against the floor.

I groan softly and fall back against my pillow, staring at the ceiling. A pack meeting? At this hour?

My stomach twists uneasily.

Why would the Alpha call such an early meeting unless something serious had come up?

I hadn't even known other wolves from our pack were joining me for training. Great. Just great.
That means I'll have to deal with them.

The same wolves who once called me their friend—until I started dating the Alpha's son. Since then, they've made it their personal mission to remind me that I don't belong where I stand. Snide remarks, whispers behind my back, judging glances—it never ends.

"Sierra," my mother calls from the kitchen, her voice sharper now. "I thought you were awake. Get out of bed and freshen up. We don't have time to waste."

My enhanced hearing carries every sound in the house clearly to my ears—the clink of plates, the sizzle of something cooking, the soft hum of the stove.

"Yes, Mom," I shout back, swinging my legs off the bed. "I'm almost ready."

I push all thoughts of rude pack members aside and head to the bathroom. A hot shower does little to ease the heaviness in my chest, but it helps wake me up.

When I'm done, I pull on a pair of faded blue jeans and one of Aztec's sweatshirts. It's old and slightly worn, the fabric soft from countless washes—but it still smells like him.

That familiar scent wraps around me like a shield.

I inhale deeply, feeling a little steadier. With Aztec's scent clinging to me, I feel stronger—more prepared to face the looks, the whispers, the doubts.

As I walk downstairs toward the kitchen, reality hits me like a blow to the chest.

I won't be returning to this house tonight.

Or tomorrow.

Or even next week.

If I'm lucky—if I'm really Aztec's mate—I'll be back after a year, and even then only for a short vacation.

My chest tightens painfully.

I find my mother setting plates on the table, the scent of breakfast filling the room. Without thinking, I rush forward and wrap my arms around her tightly, burying my face in her shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Mom," I choke out. "I shouldn't have behaved like a brat about the mate issue. It's just... all this negativity makes me defensive. Everyone doubts Aztec and me, and it hurts."