New Moon (Alpha Wolf Academy)

by JJ King

  What the hell had just happened?

  ♀♀♀

  The morning sped by.

  I had to take a history course first term and my choices had come down to European Pack History 1000 or North American Pack History 1001. I’d gone for the latter with my mother’s insistence, since she was obsessed with the Canadian Alpha family. I picked a desk near the front while my classmates chose to sit near friends at the back.

  North American Pack History 1001 was taught by a woman with dark brown hair cut into a severe bob, whose flashing blue eyes contrasted her stark style sharply. Dr. Amelia Sherman, had started class by running through the syllabus then hoisting herself up onto the desk at the front of the class and enthusiastically launching into the story of how Pierre LaFlamme had been named Alpha of North America.

  It should have been boring. I’d been taught this same story since I was a child, but for some reason I found myself leaning forward and listening to the history of my kind. When I looked around, though, I realized that not everyone in the room was getting the same vibe from the professor. Dr. Sherman’s enthusiasm and keen intellect wasn’t for everyone, I supposed.

  The professor for Mathematics 1001 was the complete opposite of Dr. Sherman. He was old, and sported the typical professorial attire of a brown plaid coat with elbow patches and ugly brown tie. His facial hair, I noticed, was excessive in places facial hair should never be and sparse on the top of his head. Since I liked math and was good at it, I sat back, listened, and took notes like a good first-year student.

  At lunch, I covertly searched the enormous cafeteria for any sign of the emerald eyed hottie that had knocked me on my ass earlier, but didn’t see him or his pretentious sister anywhere. I ate my lasagna and garlic bread in peace at a little table tucked away in the corner and felt more alone than I’d ever felt in my entire life.

  I missed my friends. We’d talked about the courses we’d take and the hot guys we’d meet for the past year or more. As much as I loved my parents, I’d been excited to live in the dorms with Sara and Bethany. The thought of them together without me made my heart ache. I pulled out my cell phone and sent off a quick text to our group chat.

  I miss you guys! It’s so fucking fancy here, you wouldn’t believe it. Even the cafeteria food is good. I’ll call later to fill you in more.

  I hit send then grinned mischievously and added.

  Oh, and there may be a guy. ;)

  They’d be surprised, I knew, and happy for me. I’d never been interested in boys. Except Connor, I thought then pushed the image of him down before I could think on it too much. Sara was the flirty one with her bright copper hair and mossy green eyes. She looked as if she’d stepped straight out of Galway or a fairy hill and the boys loved her. The girls too, but what happened at summer camp, stayed at summer camp.

  Bethany was the athlete of their little group. While she and Sara had been learning to canoe, going to long runs in the forest with the pack leaders, and discovering that Sara swung both ways, Bethany had been at soccer camp, or climbing camp, or basketball camp. She’d had a steady boyfriend for the past two years, Dillon Beliveau, a shifter jock from their school with floppy blond hair and piercing blue eyes that only ever looked at Bethany. As a couple, they were adorable and I’d always envied their easy connection.

  I let myself stare unfocused out the cafeteria window toward the quad where students ate at well-built picnic tables and chatted with friends. Bash was the first real connection I’d made since arriving at AWA, maybe that combined with the fact that I’d been concussed and lonely was responsible for my reaction to him.

  No, I shook my head, coming out of a daze. That didn’t add up. I’d been concussed before, like that time in ninth grade when Bill Pomeroy had accidentally beaned me in the head during gym class with a baseball. I’d seen stars and his big ol’ head a second later, but my skin hadn’t flushed and butterflies hadn’t taken flight when I’d looked at him, or anyone else for that matter.

  Plus, it didn’t explain his response to me. I’d smelled the interest on him, that quick flare of endorphins and pheromones that signaled sexual attraction. We’d learned about it in health class then giggled our asses off when the teacher had gotten Sara and Benjamin Tanner up in front of the class to demonstrate. Sara had turned a gorgeous shade of rose that had complimented her soft skin tone so prettily and had dated Ben for the next month.

  I glanced at my phone to check for a response and noticed the time with a gasp. I had nine minutes to get to Donahue’s office or I’d be late and screw up that good first impression I’d made earlier. I grabbed my backpack and dashed toward the exit, depositing my dirty dishes on the conveyor belt that took them to be cleaned.

  Thanks to my ramblings the day before, I made it to my appointment with less than a minute to spare. I quickly ran my fingers through my hair and applied a slick of gloss to my mouth only seconds before a woman with an easy smile and a headset on her head, looked up and announced that, “The headmistress will see you now.”

  I smoothed my skirt down and forced my breathing to remain calm as I opened the door and strode into Donahue’s office. It was posh, that was the only word that came to mind. It looked as if a professional had designed the space, with its soft golds and muted rose designs. It was calm, and soft, and beautiful, and the exact opposite of what I’d expected. Especially considering Donahue’s bold blouse and shoe choices.

  “Ms. Jensen,” Donahue began without looking up from her screen. She gestured to one of the pale gold upholstered chairs that faced her desk. “Please, take a seat.”

  I sank into the chair and laid my backpack at my feet. I kept my spine board straight, as if I were addressing the Queen of England herself and, realizing I’d end up with stiff muscles if I kept this posture for long, forced myself to breathe and relax just a tiny bit.

  “Now.” Donahue looked up with a welcoming smile and eyed the blazer I was wearing. “I see you got the uniform in time for this morning’s commencement speech. You should receive the rest of your uniforms this evening.” She glanced over the edge of the desk at my long legs, which were crossed at the ankle because the skirt was too short for anything else. “Including lengthened skirts.”

  I laced my fingers together on my lap to stop them from tugging at my hem.

  “Your schedule is quite full, as you know,” Donahue continued, seemingly unaware of my increasing discomfort, “but I trust you’ll be more than capable of keeping up.” She clicked to another screen and nodded sharply. “Your grades are impeccable.” An eyebrow arched up ever so slightly. “Although, it doesn’t appear as though you were active socially at your high school. That will need to change.”

  I swallowed down the excuses that leapt to my tongue. The truth was, I didn’t have much social activities listed on my transcript because I genuinely disliked most people. As far as I was concerned, people sucked and I’d always preferred to just hang out with my two besties.

  Still, I nodded, accepting Donahue’s decree.

  “Here is a list of on-campus activities and clubs. You might want to check out a few before choosing. First year is all about exploring who you want to become.” Donahue leaned forward, resting her forearms on her desk. “Who is it you want to become?”

  I opened my mouth then snapped it shut a second later when I realized I literally had no answer to the question. None that would satisfy the headmistress of Alpha Wolf Academy, anyway. The truth would probably offend her, I thought, looking down at my clasped hands.

  “Elenora,” Donahue said softly then corrected with a soft smile, “Elena.” Her hand touched my arm. “I know this is a big change for you. Most of our students have toured the campus many times with friends who’ve attended or as part of their school outings. It’s normal to feel overwhelmed.”

  I felt tears prink my eyes and blinked, desperate to hold them back. I wasn’t the type of girl who cried, but neither was I the type of girl who’d ever wanted to leave my friends and family fo
r this influential world. I squeezed my eyes shut and only opened them when I felt more in control.

  “I’m sorry.” I looked up, trying to appear strong. “I’ll be fine. Thank you.”

  Donahue watched me for a long moment then nodded, accepting my response. I was grateful for the woman’s intuition.

  “Well, I think you’ll be happy with your Advanced English Literature 1001 class. Professor Davidson is an accomplished author and teacher. He was on the committee who chose you as this year’s scholarship recipient as a matter of fact.”

  “Why did you choose me for the scholarship?” The question burst from my lips without permission like an arrow loosed from a bow. I realized I’d been holding that question in for far longer than this meeting.

  I had no idea why I’d been chosen. My parents had given me the acceptance letters and danced me around the living room for what seemed like endless hours while my entire life was turned upside down, but they’d never explained how they’d managed to pull this miracle off behind my back. Or why they’d bothered to do it at all. And I’d been too caught up in my parent’s excitement and plans for my future to fight back. After all, Katherine LaFlamme herself had walked these very halls.

  My parents had worked hard to give me things. I’d known that all my life. Where Sara’s and Bethany’s families were upper middle class, my parents had scrounged to pay for rent, bills, and the trendy clothes they’d always made sure I had so I’d fit in. They’d worked double time to send me to summer camp and had saved my entire senior year to get me that black satin dress I’d longingly gazed at in the window of that fancy little shop in downtown St. John’s. I’d known and I’d appreciated, so when I’d seen the joy on their faces that they’d be able to give me this, I’d been unable to say no.

  Donahue opened a file I hadn’t noticed on her desk and passed me an essay I recognized instantly. I’d written it for my senior project. The 100% grade I’d received along with high commendations from my English teacher had been all the reward I’d expected for the assignment, so to see it now was a bit shocking.

  “That’s my essay,” I said, hearing the blunt stupidity of my statement a moment after it was made.

  “Yes, it is.” Donahue nodded her head toward the paper. “And it is one of the best pieces of writing I’ve seen in any of our students, even our graduating students.” She steepled her fingers in front of her mouth and tilted her head to the side ever so slightly. “Your application wasn’t the best, Elena,” Donahue’s mouth quirked up at the way my mouth dropped open at her bluntness. “But, this essay,” she paused and exhaled almost silently, “it tipped the scales.”

  I wasn’t sure what I felt and knew I’d have to wait until I wasn’t in the headmistress’s office to figure it out, but I did understand the weight of what my parents had done for me. I’d always loved writing, had always hidden away in my room scribbling in my journals or typing up story ideas that came to me in the middle of the night. There was something wild and freeing in creating a story that felt real and whole from just the wisps of my imagination. They’d taken my passion and believed enough in my talent to reach for the impossible.

  There was no way in hell I’d ever let them down.

  “Thank you,” I managed to say in what seemed like a normal tone before handing the essay back to Donahue who tucked it safely away in her file.

  “Yes, well, I think you’ll be a wonderful addition to our student body.” Donahue glanced at her watch. “If you can integrate into the social scene, of course. An Alpha Wolf Academy education is about more than just academics, you know.” A knock at the door brought a smile to her lips. “Which is why, I’ve arranged for you to have a student mentor. One of our second-year students volunteered. You can learn a lot from her. Come in, Daniella,” she called out.

  My heart sank. I turned my head slowly toward the opening door, hoping I was wrong, praying it was another Daniella. There had to be dozens of Daniella’s on campus, hundreds even.

  But as the click of high heels entered the office followed by the swing of glossy black hair and glittering emerald eyes, I knew my luck had just changed for the worst.

  “Daniella, this is Elena Jensen.” Donahue gestured toward me. “Elena, this is Daniella Reeves.”

  Chapter 3

  I gritted my teeth and tried not to bite Daniella.

  “My brother and I are the seventeenth generation of Reeves’s to attend AWA,” the Queen bitch continued in her never-ending monologue about how amazing and important her family was to the very fabric of North America. “When we graduate, we’ll join our family firm and represent the LaFlamme family personally.” Her perfect lips lifted at the corners.

  “That’s fascinating,” I offered up, feeling as though an awed response was required. I rolled my eyes behind her back and wished I were anywhere but right here.

  “Yes.” She nodded sharply as if she expected no less. “Well, when you’re born a Reeves there are certain expectations. You understand.” She stopped suddenly and turned on her heel. “But, I’ve been talking about my family so much I didn’t give you the chance to tell me about yours.” Her inky black eyelashes fluttered in a mockery of innocence.

  My stomach dropped and, instantly, I felt guilty. I loved my mom and dad and the life they’d given me. I’d been loved and supported every day of my life, which is probably more than snotty Daniella could say about her home life, based on the bragging she’d done about her parents’ super important jobs.

  But, for some reason, when I opened my mouth to tell Queen D the truth about my circumstances, all that came out was, “I don’t talk about my family all that much.” I assumed my very best haughty look and hoped she would just back off.

  It seemed to work. Daniella eyed me for a long moment, arching one perfectly waxed eyebrow, then spun around and clicked off in her retro heels. I closed my eyes and apologized silently to my parents, then strode after my tour guide.

  The tour ended at my Creative Writing classroom with another lift of an eyebrow and a tight smile. “I’ll leave you to your…” she seemed to pull herself up even taller with disdain, “writing class.” With an imperious` incline of her head, she was off.

  I let out the breath I hadn’t realized I’d been holding and let my shoulders sag in relief. That had been the single most painful experience of my entire life and I was glad it was over. Glad and completely baffled as to why someone like Daniella Reeves would care to intimidate someone like me.

  I slipped into class with a group of other students and found a seat near the front, anxious to meet the professor that had liked my writing so much he’d pushed to give me an exclusive scholarship.

  The man that walked in and laid a briefcase down on the desk at the front of the classroom stole my breath. He was young, not young like I was young, but no more than two hundred, which meant he was well out of my reach but well within the bounds of personal fantasy.

  He was beautiful. His body was lean and stretched a good foot above my own 5’10,’’ which made him a rare specimen, even in wolf society where males were generally taller than human men. His hair was blonde, not my usual temptation, and long with relaxed waves. And his skin, damn, his skin was golden, as if he’d spent long months under the scorching sun. I let my gaze trace the edges of his button-down shirt and wondered if he had tan lines.

  I blinked and straightened up in my seat, realizing how far I’d let myself sink into fantasy. The gorgeous man was speaking now, I realized. I should listen.

  “I’m Professor Xavier Davidson, but you can call me Xavier or Professor X,” he said with a devastating half grin that made me want to sigh. I was glad I hadn’t when I heard half the female population of the class do just that. “Unlike your other professors, I do not have my PhD in my field of study, but rather am an author, a journalist, a writer of all the things that flitter through my mind.” He twisted to grab a pile of paper and walked to the first aisle of students. “I teach because I love finding new voices and help
ing those who need to write, find their passion.”

  Another class wide sigh. This time it wasn’t just the girls.

  “This is your syllabus, read it over carefully. I’ve outlined each assignment for the semester and given links to excellent resources at the back. You’ll need no textbooks for this course, just an updated MLA handbook. If you don’t have one yet, the bookstore is well stocked.”

  I thought of my handbook and smiled. It wasn’t new, in fact it was probably the most worn of all my books, but it was accurate and that was all that mattered. Besides, it wasn’t as if I needed it anymore. I’d been reading it since I was ten years old.

  Xavier stepped up to my row and handed me a pile of syllabi to pass back. I smiled at him in what I hoped was a normal manner. His gaze skimmed over me as if I were just another student, which made my stomach sink. Maybe my application just hadn’t included a picture, I rationalized, hoping I was right.

  “We’ll be starting this semester with a quick personal piece. It’s my version of the primary school All About Me lesson. Except, instead of sloppy writing and crayon drawings,” he paused for a moment to let the class titter in response, “I’m asking you to dig deep and give me something raw. A memory, a dream, a nightmare, something that affects you on a soul deep level.”

  My mind began to churn out ideas that I rejected in quick succession. Xavier had read my senior project paper, he’d seen what I could do and wanted to see more. I needed to write something he’d respond to on a visceral level. I wracked my memories for something that would work… and came up with nothing.

  I closed my eyes and tried to shut the scant noises of the classroom out. I remembered my high school teacher saying that the hardest part of demand writing is choosing a topic to write about. With limited time came increased stress, which either made you freeze or motivated you to think harder. I’d always responded positively, but there hadn’t ever been any real consequences of failure. I swallowed my nerves, keenly aware that this piece would be my first real-life impression on my professor. I put my pen to paper and began to write.