An Alpha's Bitter Vow

Maddox’s POV

A shadow falls across the floorboards of my bedroom, blocking out the dim hallway light. I do not even need to look up from my bed to know who is hovering in the doorway. My mother stands there, wringing her hands together, projecting her nervous energy straight into my space.

I roll my eyes at the ceiling and let out a harsh exhale. "Geez, can’t she leave me alone for five minutes?" I mutter under my breath.

I know she can hear me. Her shifter hearing is just as sharp as mine. Honestly, that is the point. Right now, she is being her usual annoying, overprotective self, and it is driving me insane.

"Listen, smart ass," she growls.

It is a weak attempt at sounding authoritative, and it earns a genuine grin from me. I flash her my usual charming smirk, leaning back against my pillows and crossing my arms over my chest.

"I’m just trying to make sure you are all ready to go tomorrow," she says, her tone softening as she takes a hesitant step into the room. "Have you got your timetable?"

She asks the question for the hundredth time today. I let out a low, mocking laugh. She has printed multiple copies of my schedule over the last week, stuffing them into my bags and leaving them on my nightstand as if she is terrified I am going to wander off and get lost in the school corridors.

"Yes, mother," I tease.

She offers a sheepish smile, but her fingers keep fidgeting with the hem of her shirt. The silence stretches for a beat too long before her expression shifts into something far more fragile.

"I know, I know," she says quietly, her gaze dropping to the floor. "I’m overprotective. But ever since your father…"

Her voice trails off, hanging heavy and suffocating in the air between us. My body goes rigid. The playful energy drains out of the room in a split second. My jaw clenches so hard my teeth grind together. Resentment floods my veins, hot and toxic, at the mere mention of the man who supposedly raised me.

He is the man who, without a single second thought, abandoned his own flesh and blood. He rejected his fated mate for another woman, packing his bags and walking out the door when I was just five years old. I hate him. No, hate is too weak of a word. I despise him with every fiber of my being.

"Ever since father decided to leave and make a home with someone else," I reply bitterly, spitting the words out like poison.

My mother lets out a long, heavy sigh. This is the ultimate point of contention between us. I loathe the man. If he ever steps foot in my territory again, I will most likely kill him on sight. My mother, on the other hand, is far too soft-hearted. She still holds onto this pathetic sliver of hope and is far more likely to forgive the bastard for ruining our lives.

"Can you please just try and make this school work?" she pleads, steering the conversation away from the minefield of my father.

I pull my eyebrows together in a deep frown. It is true that this will be the third shifter high school I am attending in a short span of time. The transfers are a massive hassle, but I refuse to take the blame for them. It is not my fault that I refuse to take crap from anyone. I am an Alpha. It is my birthright to demand respect, to stand my ground, and to force others to submit. My mother just does not see it that way. She has no idea what shifter high schools are really like on the ground level. She does not understand the constant, brutal challenges for dominance, the posturing, and how damn hard it is to avoid trading blows with rival shifters who think they can test my patience.

"I'll try," I grunt.

It is a hollow statement. I make no actual promises to keep my fists to myself, but the grunt is enough to earn a relieved smile from her.

"Thanks," she murmurs.

She steps further into the room, her eyes narrowing as she scans me from head to toe. I stiffen again, preparing for a lecture. What is she doing now? Is she about to criticize my clothes on top of my attitude?

I look down at myself, more than satisfied with my choice of armor. I am wearing my usual black leather jacket over a plain fitted shirt, paired with ripped dark jeans and a beaten-up pair of sneakers. It is practical. It looks sharp. But the clothes are not the core problem.

The real problem is the face staring back from the shattered glass hanging on my wall. I avoid looking at that broken mirror at all costs, but my gaze catches the jagged reflection anyway. I resemble that deadbeat bastard of a father way too much. I share his black, shaggy hair. I have his exact dark green eyes. Every time I look in the mirror, I see his ghost mocking me. I hate looking like him. The mirror itself hangs in ruins, a permanent reminder of the day I put my knuckles straight through the center in a blind rage. The glass splintered that day, slicing my hand to ribbons, leaving a trail of blood down the drywall. But the physical pain was a joke compared to the sickening disgust of wearing that man's face.

"You might find your mate at this new school," my mother says, her voice suddenly spiking with an annoying pitch of excitement.

I let out a harsh, cynical laugh. "A mate?"

A mate is the last thing on this earth I want. I watched my mother shatter into a million pieces when my father rejected her. I saw the agony, the sleepless nights, the way the broken bond nearly tore her soul apart. To me, love does not exist. It is a myth designed to make weak people feel better about their miserable lives. Love is just a child's fairytale, and it is the absolute last thing I need messing up my focus.

Yes, this is a shifter school. The odds of crossing paths with my fated mate are higher here than anywhere else. But I feel nothing but pity for whatever girl has the misfortune of being paired with me by the Moon Goddess. Because I will never accept her. There is no reality where I claim a mate. I have every intention of rejecting the girl on the spot, turning my back, and living my life exactly the way I want to. That life does not involve being tied down by a bond. It does not involve starting a family. I refuse to take on any more useless burdens.

My mother's shoulders slump, disappointment washing over her features. She knows exactly how I feel about mates, but she stubbornly refuses to stop hoping that I will magically change my mind one day. I know for a fact I will not. It would take a miracle in the form of a girl for me to even pause and consider it. And based on what I have seen at every single high school I have walked through, that girl does not exist. The girls in our world are shallow, vain creatures. They are obsessed with their social status, their perfectly styled hair, and their flawless makeup. If a weaker wolf was getting beaten down in the hallway, those girls wouldn't lift a manicured finger to intervene. They are too self-centered to care about anything beyond their own reflection and who the most popular guy in the room is.

If I ever actually wanted a mate—a massive hypothetical—I would want someone kind. Someone caring. A girl who was not obsessed with superficial garbage and was genuinely down to earth. I almost snort out loud at the fanciful thought creeping into my brain.

Not going to happen, I remind myself brutally.

"Sorry, mother, but any mate of mine is going to be instantly rejected," I drawl, leaning forward to make sure she hears the finality in my tone.

I watch the last bit of sparkle fade from her brown eyes. A sharp, fleeting pang of guilt hits my chest for hurting her this way, but I shove the emotion down and lock it away. She refuses to give up on me, but I refuse to give in to her delusions. She bites her lower lip, hesitating for a second, before heaving a massive sigh and turning toward the doorway.

I wash the guilt away. It is not my fault she wants something from me that I am never going to give. Life is unfair. If my father taught me one valuable lesson before he vanished, it was that.

She stops in the doorframe. "You know," she says softly, glancing over her shoulder. Her big brown eyes are swimming with sadness. Or maybe it is pity. I hate both of those emotions being directed at me. "Having a mate is the best thing that can happen to any shifter. I wish you could see that."

I keep my mouth shut, my jaw locked tight.

"Not every shifter is like your father, Maddox. Not every relationship is doomed to fail," she whispers, her voice cracking slightly. "Your mate will love you. Keep that in mind, will you?"

She does not wait for an answer. She steps out into the hallway and disappears, leaving me staring at the empty space with a dark scowl etched into my features. She just does not understand me at all. There is nothing on this green earth that will ever change my mind when it comes to mates. The bond is a weakness, and I refuse to be weak.

The tension in my muscles is unbearable. I need to move. I decide to head down to the training area to work this crawling anger out of my system before classes start tomorrow. Hitting a heavy bag until my knuckles split open sounds like the perfect remedy. I picture the worn leather of the punching bag, the heavy rattle of the steel chains holding it up. An Alpha needs to stay in prime physical shape, anyway. Sweating out the frustration will help me focus.

I grab a towel and head for the door. A vicious smirk stretches across my face as I think about the new school. Let the other Alphas puff out their chests and mark their territory today. They won't know what hit them when I walk through those front doors tomorrow morning. I will take over the hierarchy before the first bell even rings. I am the Alpha. No one in those hallways will dare disobey my commands—not if they want to keep their heads attached to their necks.