Axel's POV

The ride back home was an awkward, miserable one. At least, only for me, and that made it all the worse.

Oliver refused to look in my direction, but he'd have bubbly and riveting chats with everyone else. It was a silent, polite rejection, without him ever even having to speak to me. 

"I had that teacher too," I injected when Oliver was talking about how a history teacher allowed students to sleep in class. 

"Hmm, really," Oliver's tone was uninterested and flat, and his eyes didn't venture anywhere even near me. "Anyways. Like I was saying, it really was kind of him, but the notes were—"

I grit my teeth, gripping the steering wheel tighter in my hand and tried to concentrate on the road, speeding up and gritting my teeth. I could barely keep my eyes on the road, I was looking back at the two of them chatting in the back every other second. Oliver refused to look at me.

Van and James, sensing my anger, quickly mind linked me. I glowered at the road, letting their soothing scents ease me down as they continued to chat about the teacher with Oliver, knowing they had to keep talking to avoid rousing Oliver's suspicion.

It was a subtle, quiet humiliation, knowing I wasn't invited to the conversation happening around me—in my car, too, for goodness' sake! 

The stilted silences after I spoke up, the distracted way Oliver pretended not to notice me, the way he refused to even acknowledge my presence—

Every bit of it made me feel less Alpha than I knew I was.

It made me press on the accelerator, clenching my jaw. I part of me had to grudgingly respect that. Oliver didn't have scents or our senses, but he knew how to put himself at the top of the hierarchy.

But the larger part of me felt like I needed to punch something. Everything was so difficult with Oliver with no reason. I hated it. I couldn't even talk to him without feeling shitty.

In the little bubble of silence that fell between conversations, Van reached over and turned on the radio. Some cool rap song was playing, and luckily it eased the tension in my shoulders. James recognized it and sang along, and Van made a couple jokes.

We pulled up to the pack house after a couple more songs, I looked over at Oliver, proud of my residence, expecting him to be amazed. This was what it should be like, Oliver amazed at my prowess. 

But my smug look faded when I saw Oliver's disinterest. He was neutral, like he didn't even care he was standing in front of the nicest place he'd ever seen.

"Wow, nice place," Oliver commented, a perfectly distant and perfunctory compliment.

I huffed, frowning. Why did nothing that should work ever work on him? He wasn't impressed at all. Couldn't he at least throw me a bone?

James and Jayy went in first, waving and taking their leave. They liked taking runs after being cooped up in the car, and I would usually join them. But now we had a human in the house

Before Van, Oliver, and I entered, I sent my parents a warning that we were there, ignoring my mom when she began chattering about how she forgot to dust the vase in the front foyer. 

Van went in first, quickly scenting to double-check that there were no wolves or unnecessary people in the area. It's all clear, he confirmed, and I let Oliver in behind me.

Oliver had barely gotten a chance to take in his surroundings before my mom dashed forward. 

"Why hello there!" she exclaimed, reaching forward for Oliver's hand way too eagerly. I restrained the urge to groan. 

Oliver, to his benefit, didn't seem fazed by the sudden attack by a middle-aged lady dressed in a sundress and heels. 

"You must be Oliver! Oh it's so nice to see you, I hope you enjoy your time here," mom gushed. "I'm Cynthia Reaper, Axel's mom!"

Oliver smiled, a warm, polite greeting that I didn't trust for one second. 

I could see my mom beam, already enraptured. 

"Hello, Mrs. Reaper," he greeted. "Yes, I'm Oliver Lockhart. It's nice to meet you," he shook her hand without flinching—which I guess was impressive, because my mom was a wolf too.

 "Please, call me Cindy, or mamma, mom, mother, whatever you like, darling!" I knew my mom would have gone in for the full-body hug if I hadn't cleared my throat.

"You're too kind," Oliver said with a smile. "But a beautiful woman like you deserves the utmost respect, Mrs. Reaper. My mother would be ashamed if I called you anything but."

My mom was too charmed to say anything back to that. She tittered and cooed at Oliver, who took it all in stride.

Finally, my dad entered the room. He rolled his eyes fondly at mom's gushing frame, coming over to wrap an arm around her waist and gently pull her away.

"Hello son," my father greeted Oliver, face stern and unyielding. He held out a hand, standing in front of my mom with his legs spread apart, chest inflated slightly. I bristled for a second, but it was my father and Alpha, so I knew I couldn't push Oliver behind me. "I'm Gregory Reaper, Axel's father. Welcome to our home." 

The difference between my father's hulking frame and Oliver's shorter, slighter one was almost comical. I could see my dad softening up by the second, eyeing the complete non-threat below him.

"Hello, sir. It's nice to meet you." Oliver shook his hand firmly. He held dad's gaze without flinching, but without defying—and I had to give him props for that, because even I couldn't do that. 

Mostly because when dad made eye contact with me, he was scolding me, but whatever.

You'd think he's used to this or something, Van noted, popping into my head without warning. I would have outwardly flinched if I wasn't used to that. Alphas have imposing presences, even for humans, but he's not phased.

Where was Van even watching from? I caught him peeping at us from the second floor railing over the lobby. Why was he hiding in the shadows again, I wondered.

Well, yeah, he's always acting fake, I retorted.

Van hummed in disagreement. It's not that. It's not bravado. He's not oblivious to Uncle Greg's presence, but there's no distressed or anxious smell.

I looked back at them. Oliver was chatting politely with my parents as they asked him some general questions about his grade and age, pretending Van hadn't already filled them in on everything possible.

He really didn't smell distressed. His scent remained as neutral as it had when I smelt it earlier in class.

Isn't that a good thing? I asked Van. If he wasn't put off by my overbearing parents, that seemed useful to me. Natural immunity to supernatural influences was uncommon, but for a mate to a werewolf, that was helpful.

Van just hummed, thoughtful. 

"Please, feel free to call me Greg," dad was saying to Oliver. His face had softened, a pleased smile playing at the edge of his lips. 

I raised a brow in disbelief. Dad barely looked at me like that. I suddenly understood Van's hesitation. How much trust and respect did Oliver gain in just those few moments alone?

"Oh please, sir, I couldn't," Oliver politely refuted. I cleared my throat, and the three glanced at me.

Mom didn't get the hint. "You must be hungry, aren't you?" she doted on Oliver. "Do you have any dietary restrictions? Vegan, vegetarian, kosher, halal, juice cleanse, keto," she trailed off. 

I wrinkled my nose. Mom went through awful fad diets and forced just about everyone in the pack to do the same. I hated eating like an old lady.

Oliver shook his head. "I'll eat just about anything," he laughed. "But I don't handle fish well."

I noted that down and cleared my throat again. Enough time had been wasted already. 

"Oliver and I are going to study now," I declared, ignoring mom and dad's chatter, grabbing Oliver's wrist and pulling him away. I saw him waving back at them, an apologetic grin on his face.

On the one hand, a part of me—the wolf part, mostly—was pleased. 

My family, my Alpha and Luna, liked my mate, why would I not be proud? 

Oliver was an extension of me. If they looked favourably upon him, I couldn't help but gleam with self-satisfaction. 

They'd never smelt that accepting towards anyone else I'd ever brought home, only Oliver. It made my wolf puff with pride.

But on the other hand, I knew Oliver was faking it. He wasn't genuinely interested in me or my family. Oliver probably didn't even care and that irritated the hell out of me. 

It was great that he got along well with them, but the knowledge that it was all just a farce to him made the bitterness hard to swallow. 

Oliver's head twisted from side to side as I pulled him through the lobby to the elevator, taking in as much as he could. 

Good, I hope he finds my wealth desirable, I thought. He'd eventually be moving in here to live with me, so it'd be great if he got comfortable.

The ride up the elevator to the top floor was quick, but it was made longer by the pressing knowledge that I was holding Oliver's wrist. 

Every beat of his pulse echoed in my ears, made my skin flutter where I was holding onto him. He tried tugging out of my grasp, but then the doors opened, and I pulled him out through the private quarters of the Alpha's family—down the hall, up the short flight of stairs, around the bend, up the corridor to my room.

As we approached my room, I tried not to think about how I was still holding his wrist. And how the walls here were soundproof. And how we were the only ones on the entire floor.

I tried to calm myself, dropping my backpack and slumping onto my bed. Oliver was quiet, still standing by the doorway, taking my room in.

Oliver, my human mate, was in my soundproof room, alone with me. There was no one around us.

But there was my wolf in me, roused by the knowledge that mate was in our territory. And he rumbled with impatience.

I closed my eyes.

How difficult could it be to ignore my wolf bristled with anticipation, hungering to claim my mate?