The next morning comes too soon, beginning with the sound of Panic! At the Disco blaring at me for an alarm. Mom is in the kitchen making breakfast, judging by the amount of pots and pans being clattered and clanged together. I dress in dark wash skinny jeans and a red long sleeve, letting my hair fall in it's natural waves around my shoulders and decide on my Converse for shoes today. My book bag is a solid weight against my hip as I go into the kitchen.
"Morning," Mom chirps. I grimace.
"It is way too early for you to be this happy. Are you ready to go?"
"Don't you want breakfast?" Her shoulders fall. "I was making omelets."
I can't take her puppy dog eyes and tell her I'm not hungry, so I sit down and scarf down the meal. The eggs are rubbery, the cheese is gooey, the mushrooms taste like crap, and she put way too much salt on the plate, but her eager gaze is too difficult to disappoint so I fake a happy hum and smile instead of gag.
"Really good," I tell her. She beams at me with pride and the eggs taste a tiny bit less rubbery. I eat tasting as little as I possibly can, and then we're out of the house and going down our mountain to the school. Surprisingly, it's only a fifteen minute drive to the high school.
Acorn Ridge High is painted in brick red and dark beige. It's a tiny campus with what looks about five different sections: math, science, English, history, and elective courses. The entire set up is covered in peeling paint and creaking wood. It's really old; that much is obvious. I clench my teeth, square my shoulders, and climb out.
In the office, there's a crabby older lady with red hair toppled on the top of her head and wire-rimmed glasses perched on the edge of her nose. "How can I help you?"
I shift impatiently and glance around. Luckily, no one form yesterday is here yet. "Um, hi. I need a schedule print-out. I enrolled a few days ago. My name is Shylah Montgomery?"
She raises her gaze and her eyes narrow. "School started a few months ago, Ms. Montgomery."
I clench my teeth. "I understand that," I tell her tightly, attempting to be polite. "But I wasn't given a choice in moving."
She simply grunts, tapping a few keys and then clicking. "Your schedule's printing now. Where did you move from?"
"California," I answer. She opens her mouth to ask a question, but the printer starts to hum and grunt and I walk over to grab it. It takes another two minutes of tense, almost-painful noises coming from the ancient machine before the page is actually spit out. On the paper is a block of six classes, with the teacher's names and room numbers. I have Algebra 2, Chemistry, Animal Behavior Studies (ABS), English 12, Econ/Government, and finally, a whole period to play on computers. Thankfully.
"Thank you, ma'am," I say, struggling not to snap. She just hums a little, like the thought of me thanking her was disgusting enough. So when it becomes clear that she's not going to say anything back, I shrug my book bag around to my other shoulder and leave the office, glaring down at the paper. Sadly, it's started raining now and my schedule is soon polka-dotted with water. Frowning, I wipe it away, and scowl when the spots don't go away. I keep walking, but my shoulder clashes with another and I look up.
"Hey, watch--." I stop, mid-growl. It's him-mister-tall-dark-and-handsome, amber-eyed and looking really disgruntled. "Sorry," I say quickly and try to escape, but he grabs my wrist. Anger flares in my chest.
"You were there," he states. His eyebrows dip down into a scowl, his eyes darken into a dark honey. Not so much disgruntled as he is angry now. "In the woods, yesterday." He sniffs. "What-who are you?"
"I-Sorry?" I repeat, this time a question, and then bell rings. I take the opportunity for what it is and escape with the crowd. Thankfully, when I glance back to where he stands, he's looking around-but he looks pretty damn pissed.
I go through the motions of getting into my classes (sitting at the back of every classroom, letting my hair be a divider of the rest of the students, keeping to myself and staying quiet) until I get to fourth period. Then my head snaps up, because I hear the teacher say something and a husky voice answer it, and when I look, I see him: the leader of the group. His pack of people follow behind him and all of them look at me at what seems to be the same time. The pixie cut girl grabs his forearm when he steps toward me, saying, "Drew, don't. Not here."
My teeth clench as they sit down and my frustration returns with twice the intensity. I stand, eyes narrowing at the obvious threat that loomed over that step he'd taken. He watches me as I walk toward him.
'Accidently', I trip and my heel slams onto his toes. He grunts and I turn. "So sorry, Drew," I hiss at him. "I'm just so clumsy."
His eyes flash to an almost-gold color.
The blonde guy next to him, with blonde hair, short and spiky, and light green eyes, chokes in surprise and laughter. He shakes his head when Drew glares at him. "Sorry, boss."
Drew looks back to me. "You almost broke my toe," he informs me and there's a tinge of steel in his voice. I smile and lean forward to whisper in his ear.
"Don't threaten me," I say tightly, "and maybe you won't need a cast. Coverse-they're awesome stomping shoes."
I pull back and grin angrily, closer to baring my teeth than a smile as I see his eyes darken with anger. Walking away, I quickly excuse myself to the bathroom and lean on the counter, breathing heavily. What the hell was that? I demand to myself. I had a plan, damn it: head down, keep quiet, make it through the year without drama. But this guy is challenging me in a way I can't stand-he needs a lesson. My anger has always been quick to appear and slow to drain, so it's no surprise when Drew and the blonde corner me at passing period after class.
"Who are you?" He growls. His muscles bulge around his t-shirt, amber eyes glaring down at me with every threat possible. I'm not one to cower, not usually-I can fist fight and take a hit with every guy in town-but his entire frame pours authority over me. I don't like the feeling of being intimidated, and for some reason, that makes me straighten defiantly. I rise up to my full height and feel like baring my teeth. I'm the new girl, sure, but this entire group is going way too far with picking on the stranger.
"None of your fucking business," I snarl back at him. "So why don't you do me a favor and back off before I report you for harassment." He steps back, startled, and the group around him share surprised looks. The guy at his shoulder gives me a quizzical look, surprised and looking like he'd just seen someone disappear into thin air.
"Did you just--did you just challenge him?"
I open my mouth to retort, because if that's why he's so surprised, then Drew needed to be stood up to a hell of a lot more, but the dark-haired guy glares at me and cuts me off before I have a chance to actually speak.
"When someone I don't know comes into my territory and smells like a rogue, I make a point to make it my business. You practically reek of Alpha. Who are you?" The leader demands again. I cross my arms across my shoulders and lean against the lockers, chin raised with anger. I glare up at him. Even if I'm 5'10, he's a good 6'4, and his anger has a way of making him loom over me. I have to stretch so that I can get a good point of eye contact.
"Wow, nice way of telling me I smell, jackass," I snip. "Go dig a trench." I shove past him and stalk away to my next class. His gaze follows me all the way there.
*~*~*~*
"A female Alpha? Are you sure?" Jared asks. He's one of the council members of the pack, mid-thirties with chocolate hair and green eyes. "They're really rare."
Drew grabs an apple from the fruit bowl on the counter and bites into it. "Yeah, J. Her scent was almost as strong as Gwen's, and she's seasoned enough to control her scent. This girl, whoever she is, didn't even blink when I pushed my rank on her after fourth period-she challenged me right back. Even threatened me."
Jared hums thoughtfully, not looking up from the vegetables he's cutting for dinner. "What did she say when you brought up the territory?"
"That's the thing-I don't think she knows. I don't know how she doesn't realize, or how no other pack has claimed her yet, but I think she's under the impression that she's human."
The council member raises an eyebrow. "Was her scent really that powerful? It isn't that uncommon for females to go unnoticed, but if it's that strong..."
Sandalwood and lavender, with an undercurrent of cinnamon and fresh rain in the woods; the scent still sticks to his nose. "Yes," Drew answers.
"Then you've got two choices, and you're not going to like either of them. One, you run her off the territory-make her life a living hell until she ditches town and never looks back. Or two: you can introduce her to our pack and make her one of ours."
The Alpha inhales a bite of apple and chokes. "What?! J, come on, think about that-,"
Jared brandishes the knife and he quickly falls silent. "Female Alphas are rare for a reason, Drew. They're powerful. They don't always make it through their shifts because there's so much Lunac power running through their veins, and it can be difficult for them to change to and from their secondary forms. But if they do pass it, they're unrivaled fighters. She'd be a great addition to the pack, protection-wise." His gaze finally breaks form the sliced bell pepper and onion and he spares Drew a sharp glance. "And since you're coming up on your final shift soon and need a mate anyway...."
Drew groans. "No. No, no, and no; not only no, but hell no. I'm not mating, least of all to her. She's probably a mutt mix anyway." He wrinkles his nose. The council leader shrugs.
"Then you can forfeit your Alpha rites to one of your betas: Tyler or Joshua. I'm sorry, Drew, but if you don't find a mate in the next seven months, you have no choice. It's up to you." He pauses, watches the Alpha growl and start to stalk away with a downright thunderous expression. "And by the way-if she is by any chance unmated, you might want to stay away from her. You might just want to fight now, but if she doesn't get marked by the time you go into your final shifting period, that 'fight' instinct is going to turn into 'bite or fight'. And trust me, Drew-that isn't a pretty sight."
*~*~*~*