Wolf Prints

The Alpha's French Teacher

Chapter 10 - The Alpha's French Teacher

Dear world:

The boogieman now has a name. It was written on the blackboard in the front of class in surprisingly neat, yet ominous blood red marker.

John Draken.

Likeable French teacher. Loving family man. Trusted friend.

Werewolf assassin?

Before this morning I only knew him as one of those things.

My only comfort in this day was the knowledge that it was almost over. French was my last class of the day, and also the one that caused me the most worry, for obvious reasons.

I can't say the day was all that hectic, really. Just troubling. Raven had raced up to me before school began and wrapped me in a hug so tight I was only mildly surprised when I lived through it. She chatted most of the day away, managing to snag a seat beside me in every class we shared. Which was fine by me, because I had a feeling if she didn't, Blake would have.

At lunch he tried to talk to me, but Raven and I both ignored him. He was on both of our lists, and he was seriously starting to creep me out, to be honest. I couldn't so much as twitch without feeling his eyes follow the movement.

Chastity noticed it too, if the death glares she had sent me all day were any indication.

Just one more class to live through. I thought to myself. A mental pep talk of sorts.

My eyes glanced down at the completely pristine white paper notepad lying on my desk, and then quickly to the pen in my hand poised above it. My brows furrowed in thought as I leaned back in my chair and watched the new teacher introduce himself, easily laughing and making jokes with the students – mainly female ones.

Slowly I lifted a lock of chocolate brown hair and played with the end, twirling it around my finger. Never once did my eyes stray far from my new French teacher. I'd chosen a seat in the very back against the wall for just this reason.

Observation purposes.

All my life Draken had been an enigma to me. I wasn't even sure there was a time when I didn't know him. He was just always there, like sand on a beach or trees in the forest. He'd show up, mainly at the most inopportune times, usually make a mess of things, then leave without so much as a "goodbye." Sometimes it would be years before I saw him again, but I always looked for him wherever I went, knowing one day I'd face him again.

I could never decide if that was a good thing or not.

What did I really know about him? Nothing, if I was honest. I hadn't even known his real name! But in my defense, he didn't look much like a John. All the Johns I'd ever met had been, well, normal. And Draken was anything but normal.

I thought he only had one name, to be truthful. Like Prince. Or Madonna. When you've reached a certain level of coolness, you only needed one name. And, much as it pains me to admit, Draken was the epitome of coolness. Nothing ever stopped him from getting what he wanted. I'd seen him do things I only thought possible in movies. Case in point was the baby dragon tucked safely away, fast asleep in my backpack. I could have made it my life's mission to find a dragon and probably never once set eyes on one.

Draken was like the James Bond of the werewolf world. Only, you know...if James Bond was evil.

We had possibly the most complex relationship of all time. I wasn't afraid to admit it. Draken scared me, and not much scared me. Yet if I was facing down an army and I could only choose one person to fight alongside me, it would be Draken, because somehow I knew he would protect me.