Alpha Principal

by Preston Walker

  Everything was very good, if not great. He had settled in, and Nathan so far seemed to approve of everything he did. That was the only thing that wasn’t good, because Simon had no fucking idea if the alpha was just humoring him or not. They continued to have sex here and there as the opportunities came to them, and the sex was always fantastic. Like it or not, they were well-matched partners and had grown to know each other’s bodies quite well.

  Having sex with Nathan might be skewing his perception of Simon. It was always a possibility, and he really didn’t like to think he might get special favors in the future just because he was sleeping with the boss. It was extremely unethical.

  On the other hand, Nathan was almost like two separate people. He could be expressive and teasing, rough and emotive during sex, and then right afterwards he would go back to talk about business. It was as if he was making a conscious effort to keep their relationships—as lovers, and as boss and subordinate—entirely separate from each other.

  It wasn’t entirely necessary. Simon had scanned the employee handbook very meticulously and could find nothing that prohibited workplace relationships. Still, a lack of an outright wrong didn’t necessarily equal a right.

  There was nothing that could be done for it. What he had seen in the wishing well seemed to indicate this was supposed to happen, and so he let it be.

  Halfway through July, things changed.

  Simon woke up and just knew something was wrong. He felt…different, just not in a way that could be explained. Something was tilted or had gone awry. He just didn’t exactly know what that might be.

  He sat up and the process seemed to take an eternity. The world swung around him in a fascinating sort of way, pirouetting on its axis.

  Swinging his feet off the side of the bed, he stood. The shagginess of the carpet under his feet seemed to be a much more intense sensation than he remembered. His feet seemed to splay out sideways as he walked, his weight more cumbersome than usual.

  Somehow, he managed to make it to the bathroom and stared at his face in the mirror while gripping the edge of the counter. His eyelids were nearly stuck together by the gummy stickiness that formed during sleep, but even he could see that he looked like shit. He didn’t quite feel like shit, just like warmed-over death that needed to be stirred and popped back into the microwave for another cycle. There were bags under his eyes. and his skin looked sallow and greasy, more than it normally was whenever he first woke up on any other day.

  He couldn’t see it looking back at him from within the mirror, but he could feel nausea forming as he became more and more awake. Sourness roiled in his stomach, touched the back of his throat with that distinctly coppery taste.

  There wasn’t exactly anything inside him to throw up, but damn if his body didn’t feel like it was going to try as hard as it could to make that happen anyway.

  Guess I had this coming, Simon thought. He’d been working in dusty, molding conditions, exposed to all-new people, each with their own unique brand of germiness. It was only natural he should develop a head cold, or whatever this was. A cold-cold. He didn’t know the difference. He wasn’t a doctor.

  Speaking of doctors, he knew his mother would make an appointment for him and drag him to the clinic by the ear if she ever got word that he felt unwell. Having the constitution of an athletic man in the prime of his life, and a hardy woodland animal in the prime of its life, he hardly ever got sick. Hell, he hadn’t had a flu shot since he was little more than a pup.

  He didn’t like doctors. He would rather self-medicate with orange juice, cough syrup, and too much Tylenol. Shifter doctors were hard to find and expensive. A regular doctor might notice something was amiss with his patient, such as a wolf shifter’s higher body temperature, lower blood pressure, and a whole host of other things that Simon would probably never think of. It was best to stay hidden as much as possible, to rely on the humans as little as he could. They just didn’t understand.

  Groaning, Simon pushed himself away from the sink and dragged himself into the shower. The hot water worked hard to ease away the strange ache in his muscles, but he could still feel it deep in his bones when he got out. Otherwise, the shower did nothing but drive home that he was sick in some way or another. He wasn’t refreshed or more awake, or loose or ready to face the day. He wasn’t about to go prancing around his house naked, either.

  Instead, he wrapped the largest towel he owned around his body and shuffled from the bathroom to the kitchen. Little shivers shook through him, even though he really wasn’t cold. The AC wasn’t even on. He vaguely remembered turning it off in the middle of the night, feeling like he was caught in the midst of a blizzard.

  “Guess I’ve been brewing these germs for awhile now,” he grumbled to himself as he padded into the kitchen. He still sounded more or less like himself, which was odd since he always had a sore throat whenever he was sick. Maybe one of the other teachers had brought something to the school, like a modern day Typhoid Mary.

  For a man with a strong interest in academic athletics, Simon’s house was decorated very plainly. He’d worked hard to make sure all the colors went together and all that, but he hadn’t really settled upon a theme for any room in particular. He didn’t want to turn into a one-dimensional meathead bachelor, who lived and breathed sports so wholeheartedly that his home was one big man cave. Not that he had much interest in professional sports, either. Unless one of his own kids made it to a major team, he could care less about that sort of thing. Most of the time, it was less about the sport and more about the overgrown boys in charge of the different teams. Talent was neglected in favor of dramatics.

  To that end, his kitchen was done out in shades of cream and butter. It was a cheerful place to be in the morning, eating his breakfast and drinking his coffee while skimming through the paper. Now, however, the brightness of it all annoyed him, and he squinted his eyes even further than they were already scrunched.

  Coffee was a must if he was to ever stand a chance of recovering enough to work today, so he poured a mug of the cold, dark liquid from the pot that he’d brewed the day before. Sticking it in the microwave to heat up, he also grabbed a glass and filled it with a few inches of orange juice.

  Vitamin C cured all ills, according to the humans who didn’t know any better. Simon himself did know better but he also believed in stacking the deck. In any case, he liked the stuff. The acidity of it didn’t do much to help his stomach, but he was able to keep it down, and that was a good start.

  Once his coffee heated up, he poured in more creamer than he normally would. It probably wasn’t a good idea to drink it, but he needed it.

  The hot coffee, made stronger by a night of standing and thickening, did more to make him feel like himself again than the shower had. A damn good thing, too. He was supposed to meet with a few of the school maintenance workers today to see about those damn faulty bleachers. Some heavy lifting would be involved, and he was determined to pull his own weight in that regard.

  Breakfast was a single cracker. He meant to eat more, to move on to toast, but he never got past the first saltine. Liquids were apparently fine, but his stomach rejected the idea of solid food with a frightening vehemence. He gripped the kitchen table, his wolf claws appearing to scrape at the wooden surface as he fought down the bile rising up the back of his throat.

  It was a long struggle, but he managed to come out on top.

  No more fucking crackers, then.

  Simon leaned back in his chair. The damn thing creaked whenever he did that, and it annoyed the shit out of him, but the sound was comforting and familiar right now. It grounded him, reminded him that not everything had become strange overnight. He looked up at the ceiling, staring at the chandelier which dangled right over the center of the table. The crystalline bulbs seemed to taunt him, though he wasn’t exactly sure why he felt that way.

  Maybe because lightbulbs never got sick.

  Irrational, but it seemed to be an irrational sort of day today.<
br />
  The one question on his mind was whether or not he would be capable of going to work at the school today. Right now, the answer seemed to be negative; though, there was still a bit to go before he would have to make some sort of decision.

  Maybe I’ve been pushing myself too hard to try and have everything be perfect. Nothing’s ever perfect. We just all pretend it is so the kids don’t realize we’re just as confused as they are.

  Standing up was easier this time around. Simon left behind the annoying cheer of his kitchen, entering into the inoffensive beige haven that was his living room. Colors accented the neutral walls, though most of the hues were too dark to make the area seem less bland. He was thankful for that. His eyes needed silence right now, needed to be able to rest without focusing on one thing in particular.

  He slumped down on the couch, leaning against the arm. He hadn’t realized his feet were aching until he took pressure off of them by sitting, but the relief was enough to make him sigh.

  The couch cradled him, soothed him with its solidity. The couch could never get sick, never feel under the weather. Really, a couch was a damn nice friend to have.

  Simon closed his eyes.

  As he did so, it seemed to him suddenly like he was being watched. His eyes popped open again, but of course no one was in the room with him. He would have scented their presence long before now, heard their footsteps and their respirations. In fact, he realized he hadn’t felt like someone was watching him at all.

  It was like someone else had been with him for a moment, inside him, looking out at the world through his eyes.

  “Nathan?”

  The alpha principal was the only one Simon could think of who might have been able to touch his soul in such a way as to summon that odd feeling. Wolves in packs formed a sort of connected consciousness, though it was less about direct thoughts and more about feelings; if there was unrest in the pack, every wolf would know. Similarly, wolves not of a pack, but who spent a great deal of time together, would find that a similar connection was made.

  The feeling hadn’t been like whenever he sensed his parents’ or siblings’ souls touching his own. This was different. More intimate, and yet also unknown. There seemed to have been no purpose behind it.

  No purpose perhaps, but to let Simon know that someone, or something, was there.

  A chill ran down his spine. His eyes flicked around the room, and his dull wolf claws came out. No one was there. No one at all. He was completely, utterly alone.

  Standing up, Simon reached out with one hand to steady himself on the couch. This action proved unnecessary. The world around him remained exactly as tangible and steadfast as it had always been. Nothing spun, and nothing wobbled.

  He didn’t wobble. He wasn’t shivering, either.

  Whatever strange sickness had come over him in the night, it seemed to have gone away.

  Simon dressed for the day and went to the school. All through the drive, he expected the affliction from before to return and render him useless once more. That never happened, and the bleachers in the gym were repaired without so much as a pinched thumb.

  That was odd, Simon thought as he lay in bed that night. Either he had fallen victim to the world’s shortest one-day flu, or he had just woken up in such a weird way as to be disoriented. Stranger things had happened. He knew that from experience by now.

  The next morning, the same thing happened. The momentary sickness, the flash of awareness of someone else who he couldn’t identify, and then the following relief. He thought the sensation of sickness might have been a little stronger this time, though it was too difficult to be sure.

  On the third day, he was definitely sure the sickness was getting stronger. The whole experience didn’t last longer and was just more intense. Nausea boiled in his stomach, to the point where he completely forewent his coffee for the first time in uncountable years. Alternatively, the crackers started to help instead of hinder. Simon went to work, but he switched his plans away from the physical tasks he’d had planned to something a little more mild.

  Even so, Elaine looked at him as if he’d grown a third head when he didn’t get a cup of coffee during his routine visit to her. “No cookies either, I suppose?”

  “I think I’ll pass.”

  Though cookies were little more than sweet crackers, but he just didn’t want to risk it.

  “Are you feeling well? You look a little pale.”

  Simon smiled ruefully. “I’ve actually been feeling under the weather for the past couple days. I don’t normally get sick.”

  “There’s a first time for everything, you know.” Elaine tutted softly, then raised her eyebrows at him. “You’re taking care of yourself, aren’t you? Vitamins, plenty of fluids, lots of rest?”

  “Yes, on all accounts.” If you count vitamin C, that is. “I’m a grown man.”

  “Yes, but in my experience that doesn’t automatically qualify you as someone who is capable of taking care of themselves.”

  Simon scowled at her. He couldn’t put much pretend annoyance behind it, as no one could ever be irritated with Elaine, so she just smiled at him in return. “Have you heard of a bug going around or anything?”

  “No school plagues, as far as I know.” She shook her head. “Maybe you picked it up somewhere else. Or it’s something in the air.”

  There was indeed something in the air, but it was a thing with a hidden identity rather than a bit of bacteria.

  “Have you considered staying home?” Elaine asked kindly. “For all we know, you’re going to be the one who causes all of us to get sick. I’m sure Nathan wouldn’t mind. He’s very understanding. Very mindful.” Her eyes narrowed slightly. Someone who hadn’t been watching her wouldn’t have noticed the difference in her expression. “I still can’t believe that he managed to just run into his door and break it like that.”

  Her expression was that of a woman who had been around the block a time or two and knew more than she was given credit for. She suspected something had happened between himself and Nathan, though she might not entirely be certain of what exactly had occurred.

  “I guess we can all be absent minded once in awhile,” Simon managed. The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. He had to steer her away from whatever idea was forming in her mind. “And have you really looked at him? He’s a powerful guy. There are linebackers in the NFL who would be afraid of him.”

  He could tell that Elaine didn’t really understand, which was a good thing. Confusion made people more willing to change the conversation.

  “I suppose you’re right. In any case, just be careful. The last thing we would want is for you to get hurt.”

  Just like that, he knew that she knew. She hadn’t been swayed at all by his attempts to redirect her. He had actually done the opposite, confirming for her that there was something to hide.

  “I’ll be careful,” Simon promised. He tried to send her a message with his eyes, to let Elaine know he had understood her double meaning, but she had already turned back to her work.

  He left the office and returned to the gym. A PE teacher didn’t really have their own office or anything, but he had set up a cozy little corner for himself in the supply room after receiving permission from Nathan. It was a whole hell of a lot easier to just keep everything in the same place, rather than run back and forth from the employee lounge like he would have had to do otherwise.

  Grabbing his key from his pocket, Simon unlocked the door to the supply room and pushed it open.

  The work he had accomplished in here was nothing short of astonishing, if he did say so himself. Where before all the balls and equipment had been tossed into random piles according to type, now he had everything categorized and positioned neatly in labeled tubs and crates. The basketballs were all freshly pumped and ready to go, awaiting the eager touch of little fingers inside an enormous wheeled container. The bats were lined up, the cones stacked. Every single random piece of equipment now had an identity, a purpose.
<
br />   It was amazing what some organization could do for a room, even one as small as this. The bare concrete floor was open and accessible now, which would better allow the kids to come and go without danger of falling.

  Over against one wall was Simon’s desk. He had found the rickety old thing in another storage closet. Since no one claimed ownership of the thing, Nathan allowed him to keep it. All it took was a bit of extra work, and the desk was as sound as it had probably ever been, capable of supporting his laptop, several textbooks, and a huge stack of papers. More books stood on a small stand that he had also filched from the pile of abandoned furniture in the storage closet.

  Today, there was a new addition to his little haven: Nathan.

  The alpha lounged against the wall with his eyes half-lidded, a serene expression on his face. He looked very much like a cat who’d just gotten the cream—a wolf who had just had its dinner waltz right up to him.

  “Simon,” Nathan rumbled.

  Hearing his voice spoken like that never failed to be exciting. Until today, that was. Any tingles he might have felt were lost at sea, amidst an ocean of uneasy stomach acid.

  “Nathan, what are you doing here?”

  “What does it look like? Waiting for you.”

  They hadn’t seen much of each other in the past couple days. They were both busy men, bound to their jobs by more than just a vague sense of duty.

  “Waiting for me…why?”

  He knew why, and he received his answer not much longer afterwards when Nathan suddenly approached and grabbed onto him by the wrist. “For this,” the alpha growled and pressed their lips together hard.

  Simon sank into the embrace even though he didn’t feel like it, knowing that he would do anything this man asked of him.

  Nathan pulled back quickly, a frown furrowing between his eyebrows. “You don’t taste like coffee.”

  Simon stared at him. “Maybe I quit drinking it?”

  “Did you?”

  “No.”

  “Then, something’s wrong. What is it?”