Flower Moon Rising (Lupine Hollow Academy Book 1)

by Quinn Arthurs

  Flower Moon Rising

  Book 1 of Lupine Hollow Academy

  Quinn Arthurs

  Copyright © 2019 by Quinn Arthurs

  Cover Design for Flower Moon Rising by Story Wrappers

  Cover Design for The Fae Witch by Rainy Day Artwork

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

  The author acknowledges the trademark owners of various products, brands, and/or stores referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  Blurb

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Epilogue

  Untitled

  Fae Witch Teaser Chapter

  About the Author

  Also by Quinn Arthurs

  Blurb

  Bitchy drama queens, hot boys, strict teachers, social outcasts… the normal high school experience. Or it would be, if my classmates weren’t werewolves.

  Everyone attending Lupine Hollow Academy, one of the most prestigious private schools in Connecticut, is a werewolf. Everyone, that is, except for me. I’m human—pathetically, weakly, ordinarily human.

  After my mother’s death, the Alpha of Lupine Hollow welcomes me into his pack in order to keep me safe. However, safety isn’t the first thing on the minds of the students—or teachers—who make up the pack. They’re far more worried about how I would taste or how I’d look smeared across a wall.

  Despite the drama, the hazing, the ridiculously hard classes, and the pain, I have to make my mark here—I will make my mother proud, no matter the cost. If I manage not to become the next meal, that is.

  With the Flower Moon Rising, I’ll be faced with challenges I never could have imagined as my fantasy world is brought to life. Will its glow be my demise, or a chance at a future more incredible than I ever could have dreamed?

  Dedication

  This book is for all of those incredible indie authors who have inspired me to try my hand at writing. Though they’ll never see it, I’ll say thank you to Jaymin Eve, Jane Washington, Tate James, C.M. Stunich, and B.L. Brunnemer. You were some of my first indie authors. The amazing worlds you poured your hearts into convinced me to take this risk. And if, by any chance, one of you does see this, well, um, hi!

  Chapter One

  I never would have believed a movie could completely change your life, but that’s exactly what happened to me. I cuddled deeper under my stack of blankets, hoping the chill would soon dissipate while I stared blankly into the dark. The only light source in the room was the glow coming from the streetlight that shone through the window, and the subtle light of predawn, telling me another sleepless night would soon be ending. Although we were approaching May, the nights were still close to freezing, and I couldn’t afford to keep the heater running any higher than fifty-five degrees—I only ran it to keep the pipes from freezing. Hot tears leaked from my eyes, carving paths in the chilled skin of my cheeks, even as I tried to will them away, burying them behind the wall of pain I’d built since I had caused my mother’s death.

  Not that anyone besides myself claimed I was to blame. My friends had been quick to assure me it had been an accident, even while they exchanged awkward glances and hushed whispers amongst each other, at least before they stopped talking to me, unsure how to handle my grief and silence. It didn’t matter what cliché words they used about accidents happening, or everything being a part of God’s plan. She never would have been outside of the house that night and became fodder for a drunk driver if I hadn’t snuck out to go see a movie with my friends, after she told me my grades were suffering and I wasn’t allowed out. I shivered again, the cold seeping into me, reminding me that even despite the thick blankets I tried to use for protection, I couldn’t hide from the memories pounding into my brain, playing as clearly against the dark walls of my bedroom as the movie had against the screen, no matter how much I tried to shut them out.

  I’d thrown cruel words at my mom when she’d insisted I stay home, saying my recent failed chemistry test was far more important than the fact I was turning seventeen and should be able to see a late-night movie with my girlfriends. I’d told her that she was a bore, that she was ruining my life, that it was behavior like this that had caused a rift between her and her family. I’d seen her wince, and a dark sense of pride glowed in me for a moment, even as guilt wormed in. I knew the barbs I’d thrown had hit her, and hit hard. She had quickly buried the pain, squaring her shoulders and scrubbing her hand through her short, corn-silk blonde hair—hair I’d inherited, along with my mother’s other features, so much so it was a common occurrence to have strangers point out our similarities. Her mouth had firmed when she declared I was grounded, ordering me to my room with a stern warning that she had better not see me outside of it for the remainder of the evening.

  The memory of that night pounded into me as I lay on the same bed, shivering at the chill and the memories of that horrible night, unable to push them away, no matter how hard I tried. I had stomped upstairs and slammed the door behind me with a bang as I threw myself onto my bed to sulk. When my phone had buzzed beside me, I’d poured out all of my woes to my best friend Sarah, and let her commiserate with me over how unfair my situation was. When she suggested I sneak out to show my mother that I was old enough to take care of myself, I’d agreed with self-righteous indignation.

  I groaned, pushing my pillow hard against my face to stem the flow of tears that still trickled, my breath ragged as I pushed away the sobs. I knew it was pointless to try and sleep—I had barely done more than collapse into a few exhausted hours of slumber over the past month. Even knowing I had to get up early and deal with the insanity of the morning wasn’t enough to let me claim the few hours my body desperately needed at this point. At least I could blame the freezing room rather than my own guilty conscience.

  I tossed my pillow aside, tugging my feet from the protection of the blankets, and steeled myself for the chill of the floor against my sock-covered feet. My blankets were a tangled mess, but I lacked the energy and the will to straighten them out to show off the pretty pattern of small violets that danced across the fabric. I moved to the closet, tossing the sweats I’d worn to bed to the floor amidst a pile of laundry that had grown over the past few weeks, and tugged the last clean sweater from its hanger and over my head, though the soft fabric enveloping me offered no comfort as I yanked it down over my hips. I’m going to be cold tomorrow, I realized absently. This was the last of my cold weather clothing, everything else I had was only appropriate for summer, but at this point it just seemed like too
much work. I didn’t care if the leggings I grabbed from my drawer matched, didn’t even bother turning on the light to see how badly the colors clashed.

  The alarm on my phone buzzed as the sun’s rays burned the fog from the sky, and I slapped at the button to dismiss the obnoxious tone. I didn’t even know why I bothered setting the alarm anymore. It wasn’t like I had been attending classes. I’d barely even been doing the work my teachers had sent over to me. I knew their sympathetic acceptance of my lackadaisical work was soon quickly coming to an end, though I hadn’t figured out how I was going to face going back to school yet, nor how to endure the daily routine of my life without my mom.

  That future was exactly what I had to face today. I’d been given a month, a month that had seemed to both never move forward and go by in a flash, to curl into a ball in this cold, dark, empty house as the Connecticut spring finally broke outside my windows. I trudged to the bathroom, unwilling to clean up, but knowing I needed to. Lyle wouldn’t appreciate my lack of showering, but he’d be downright sullen if I showed up without at least washing my face and brushing my teeth, and he was already pissed enough at my continued refusal to refer to him as “Uncle.”

  My mom had spoken of him only in the vaguest of terms, as she had about most of her family, so I hadn’t been completely surprised when the social worker had announced that, as my sole remaining family member, Lyle would be my new guardian and the executor of my mom’s small estate over the next year until I reached eighteen and graduated. Although the social worker had seemed sympathetic, she’d been short on details, but I wasn’t sure if that was due to my age or to the “fragile” state of mind she considered me to be in. She had been chirpily cheerful when she informed me it was far better that I be given into the care of a family member rather than being put into a group home or a foster family.

  I winced as I flicked on the light in the bathroom, the brilliant fluorescent glow blinding me for a moment. My eyes blurred with tears and I gasped as I caught an image of my mom. I shook my head at my own foolishness when my eyes cleared. Of course it wasn’t my mom, merely my own reflection in the bathroom mirror. The same shoulder-length, white-blonde hair and bright blue eyes that had made her beautiful seemed plain on me. I studied the sink while I brushed my teeth, not wanting to see her in my place if I raised my eyes to the reflection, watching me, judging me.

  I spat the toothpaste in the sink, unwilling to fall back into tears. My hair fell into my eyes and I pushed it back with an irritated growl. Anger surged through me in a wave, burning up my tears before they had a chance to fall. I dug through the drawers in front of me, snatched out a pair of scissors, and hacked chunks from my hair, letting it fall into the sink. Each snip of the scissors made me feel lighter, removing a weight from my shoulders. I was able to look into the mirror now, tilting my head as I angled the scissors more directly, evening out the lines to create an angled bob, short behind my ears and longer in the front. It was different, but not different enough.

  I dug through the cabinet under the sink, heedless of the hair that clung to my sweatshirt, as I searched through the bottles there. “Ah-ha!” I crowed, pulling a set of bottles from the dark recesses of the cupboard, and setting them on the sink. I had received the dyes as a gift from Sarah a few months ago, a gift I had lacked the courage—and permission—to use. I debated the blue, pink, and purple in front of me before shrugging out of my sweater. To hell with it, I decided, picking up the purple dye and massaging it into my hair. I left the front strands blonde, rinsing the purple from my hands before it stained, ignoring the shiver that ran up my spine as the cold dye settled in. I alternated streaks of blue and pink through the longer portions of the bob to frame my face, pinning them in twists with bobby pins as the first smile I had in weeks tilted up the edges of my lips.

  I felt powerful and in control as I paced the bathroom, turning my head this way and that to admire the colors that played across my hair. I wasn’t a shadow now, nor an echo of the woman who had given me life. I was nearly giddy, the cold of the room a mere afterthought amidst my mania as I cranked the water for the shower on full blast. Pulling the showerhead down, I let the warmth flood over me as I leaned my head over the tub, rinsing the colors from my hair and watching them swirl in circles down the drain, spinning and combining until the water finally ran clear. I tugged a towel from the counter and scrubbed at the sopping strands, before turning back to face the mirror, where my breath caught in my throat. My eyes were wide, my cheeks flushed under the multi-colored towel that covered my bout of insanity. Fear fought to override my excitement, but I stamped it down with an act of will and stubbornly yanked the towel aside.

  A new face stared back at me, though the same gaunt bone structure and sapphire eyes remained. I looked stronger this way, sharper, a person in my own right rather than a duplicate. Satisfaction flooded through me, and a small part of me knew my mom would have approved—of both the color and of me taking a step away from the guilt and remorse that had kept me frozen this last month.

  “You’re meant for so much, Pixie,” I could hear her say, her nickname for me warming me more than the heat of the water had.

  Changing my hair had shifted something inside me, broken through the icy wall that had gripped me, and not a moment too soon. Lyle would be here shortly, and now I was ready to face him. I grabbed the blow dryer, brushing out my rainbow hair until it hung in sleek strands around my face, and tugged my sweater back on.

  “I’ll make you proud, Mom. I can’t take back what I did, but I don’t have to die with you.” I wasn’t sure where the words, the conviction, came from, but I knew I meant them. I squared my shoulders and headed into the living room to wait for Lyle. He had been insistent on us meeting first thing in the morning, and it hadn’t mattered enough for me to object. I knew that staying in the house by myself wouldn’t be allowed to continue. I had needed the time to grieve and it was easier to allow others to fight over my future so I could stay inside my numb bubble. Now, that bubble was bursting, and it was finally time to start fighting for myself again.

  Beams of sunlight shone through the large picture windows, highlighting the comfortable, used furnishings of our warm little living room, but before I could settle onto the couch, a series of sharp knocks sounded. I took a deep breath, braced myself, and with my shoulders thrown back, I swung open the door to face whatever my future would hold.

  Chapter Two

  “Penelope.” Lyle’s greeting was cold, his lip curled back in a sneer as his eyes locked onto my hair. “What have you done to yourself?” I resisted the urge to touch my new hair as I stepped back to let him in. The light reflected over his features, and it was easy to see the family resemblance in the blond hair and sharp cheekbones, though his eyes were a dark green rather than a bright blue.

  “Like it?” I asked sarcastically, as he sniffed in distaste.

  “Ridiculous girl,” he muttered, sinking carefully onto the couch, his shoulders and back held straight and stiff so that he touched as little of the furnishings as possible. “I assume you will be changing that immediately, of course. It isn’t appropriate for a proper girl your age, and I’m sure your school will object.”

  “The high school doesn’t have any rules against colored hair,” I argued, settling myself in a chair across from him, crossing my arms over my chest.

  “Your new school will, I’m sure,” he retorted with the arch of an eyebrow.

  I blinked, confused for a moment. “New school?”

  “You can’t continue to stay here, Penelope.”

  “It’s Pixie,” I corrected automatically. Lyle curled his lip, though he didn’t acknowledge my statement.

  “Now that the estate is moving forward, I can’t continue to have you stay here. I cannot afford a secondary household along with my own, and the trust that Candice set up doesn’t cover much, unfortunately. I can’t continue providing for you with my own income so you can stay here in this little morgue you have created. I’ll need
to sell the house and most of the furnishings in order to see to your care.”

  “B-But…” I stumbled over the word, looking helplessly around the room. It had been hard enough to lose my mom, harder still to walk through these rooms every day and feel her absence, but I still couldn’t begin to imagine not having the option to stay here, or at the very least to visit. I had grown up in this house, had helped to pick every piece of furniture, every piece of artwork on the walls. This house was about the pair of us, and he was treating it as though it was just something to make money off of. “You’ve let me stay here for the past month,” I argued. “Why do we have to change things? I can get a job to help with the bills.” I didn’t have any intention of going back to school anyhow, so getting a job wouldn’t exactly be a hardship for me.

  Lyle sliced a hand through the air. “It’s not an option. You’re still underage, and I’m not dealing with the fallout of you dropping out of school. I can’t afford both houses, and that’s the end of it.”

  “So, you just expect me to come live with you?” I snapped. “You haven’t wanted me with you this month, you were very clear on that.”

  He scowled. “Overemotional, just like your mother was. I thought it would be better for you to stay in a…” He sent a derogatory glance around the living room. “Familiar environment while I got everything sorted out. We’re strangers, of course, and as a bachelor, it is not an easy change to have a teenager suddenly living with me.”