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... his destination, Clara’s house. He could hear the whispers that people made. He ignored the faces looking at him, some with curiosity, some with scorn and a few neutral.

"Who made him Alpha," he had heard some younger girl whisper.

His jaw flexed, but he kept moving. Lucky’s hooves clacked rhythmically against the stone, and the horse, perhaps sensing his rider’s tension, walked without fuss. He had grown used to the looks, but not immune to them. In some moments he felt as thoug ...

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