by Kat Zaccard
“Hey!” I said brightly. I wasn’t quite sure what my exuberance was all about, but the whole world looked shiny and new. I was determined to face it with optimism.
Shea looked up at me and quirked an eyebrow. “What’s up?” Grinning, she closed her textbook and gave me her full attention. “Do you know you’re buzzing?”
“Huh?” I dropped to my seat.
“I don’t know, you’re vibrating or something. I hear a faint buzz. I’ve started to notice that with kids who are about to turn for their first time. I’ve never told anyone.”
“I have to ask you: Can we really never date? Is it mate for life or never?”
Shea laughed. “Who told you that?”
I felt my cheeks warm. “Kulani said werewolves mate for life.”
“Kulani left out some details.” Shea grinned, and honestly, I could only describe it as wolfishly. She proceeded to fill me in on some of the more technical parts of being a teenage werewolf. Apparently we can date and make out a little and not lose ourselves to some crazy relationship wolfie mind warp. But there is a weird genetic twist that the physical act of sex can in some cases lead to a permanent bond. True mates are rumored to have an unbreakable, as well as intense, connection to their partner. Some go so far as to suggest a type of empathetic awareness of the other’s feelings. Again, it sounded suspiciously like a fairy tale description of true love, and I said as much to Shea.
“I hear you, but there is something to it. Divorce is practically unheard of in our culture, and the reality is that most werewolves, gay and straight couples alike, do mate for life. But the kind of bond that Jack and Kulani have is something beyond what we can understand.” Shea looked pensive. “It’s common enough to not be a fairy tale, and that’s why so many royals are betrothed…” Shea trailed off, looking as if she’d swallowed glass.
“What?”
“Oh Alice, I’m so sorry!”
“What is it, Shea?”
“I can’t believe I’m the one telling you this, but it’s widely known that your parents betrothed you, too, before you were born.”
“No!” I couldn’t—wouldn’t—believe it. The lightness of my mood shattered.
“Yeah.” Still Shea refused to meet my gaze.
“Are you telling me … ?”
Shea nodded, then stared me straight in the eye. “If you can believe it, it gets worse.” She glanced around the room, and I suddenly felt extremely exposed. “Let’s go outside.”
Chapter 4
I followed Shea out the back to the wide veranda and down the staircase to the lawn. Behind the Artemis dormitory sprawled a large garden boasting elaborate and exquisitely groomed flower beds, herb beds planted in intricate patterns, walking paths, flowering fall shrubbery and, closest to the kitchen, a robust vegetable garden. Beyond the garden were the orchards of apple, nut, pear, plum, and cherry trees. Apparently the Apollo dorm also had a garden, but beyond theirs were the vast array of outdoor training facilities. I hadn’t yet seen inside the training grounds, but I was glad our view was of the orchards.
By silent agreement, Shea and I walked past the gardens and skirted the edge of the orchards to the left. We headed away from the main grounds to the woodsy trails where the forests crept up to Mt. Henley’s manicured valley. We turned into the woods and walked briskly for a few minutes before either of us could begin to speak. Apparently, we found our nerve at the same time, for we spoke in unison:
“Tell me every—”
“I am so, so—”
We stopped, then both started again. I stamped my foot and crossed my arms, halting our progress, then waved an irritated hand at her to go first.
“I should have told you sooner, and it is all gossip, but Ms. Grissle is beyond intimidating about Pack disclosure for new arrivals.” Shea was rambling, and I glared at her to get to the point. “Right, so, the thing is, I mean, you might be betrothed because your parents arranged one for you when you were born. But after they, um, I mean, before you returned, the new queen wanted to annul the betrothal so she could wed her daughter to the next oldest royal clan. It’s to help cement their position as queen, which is why Jillian is such a bitch to you—”
“Wait.” I held up my hand to cut her off. “What does Jillian have to do with this?”
“Jillian is the current queen’s daughter.”
I blinked at Shea in disbelief. “Let me get this straight: I’m a princess, and I may be betrothed to some random guy?”
“—Not just some random guy. Some random prince. Well, technically he’s not a prince yet. His grandfather holds the title until it’s passed on to him,” Shea qualified, then gulped at the look I gave her. “Actually, not some ‘random’ at all. It’s Sir Logan Dolph.”
My head was aching. “Logan! You’re kidding me, right?”
Shea’s face was all the answer I needed. In truth, I had mixed feeling about it. Logan was dashing, but I didn’t even know him. And anyway, I was far too young to be engaged! I tried to ignore the sinking pit in my stomach and focus on the rest of the information I’d received. Something as archaic as betrothal was preposterous.
“So, I’m in line to be queen, but Jillian’s mom is now the queen, so Jillian’s a princess?”
“—Not quite. You and your mother were born princesses, but Christina is not royal. She married your great uncle after her first husband was killed in battle while she was pregnant with Jillian.”
“But I thought wolves mated for life?”
“Most do. But the Reynolds family has been climbing the noble ladder for decades. Christina wasn’t going to pass up a chance to marry into the Royal Clan of Luna. I’m sure she hoped to have another child with Frederick. Unfortunately for her, he also died.”
“But she still became my aunt?”
“Technically, your great aunt. And Jillian’s mom was elected queen regent after Jillian was born. So Jillian is not a princess. It’s impossible for her to succeed her mother. But twining her to the prince of the next oldest noble Clan helps put Jillian’s heir in line for your birthright.”
“Bah, birthright! What is that?”
“Alice, seriously, it’s a big deal. No one knew you were still alive until your application came through the admissions office this summer. There is a growing rumble to name you successor to the crown when you come of age, but the queen’s cabinet is searching for any way to undermine your claim to the throne and strengthen hers. Stealing your consort is one way to draw her daughter into the limelight.”
I snorted at the word “consort.” “This is crazy! I’m no princess!”
“You could say that again!” called a snide voice from behind us. We whirled around to the sound of cackling laughter as a group of girls came into view, Jillian at the lead. She smirked as she whipped her sheet of straight, blonde hair over her shoulder. The two girls on either side of her mimicked the gesture hands on hips.
“Treason,” hissed Shea.
“Hardly, feral bitch,” Jillian spat.
“Leave her alone, Jillian.” I was starting to get angry. My breath quickened and my fist clenched unconsciously.
Jillian Reynolds had her usual gang with her; Laureine Michaels and Crystal Schmidt wore a lot of makeup and a lot of bling. They were probably going for punk-rock prep. I honestly admired their style confidence, but to me, it was a bit overdone. Laureine had green streaks in her blonde hair that matched her acid green crop top with black mesh overlay paired with a military-embellished pleated skirt and combat boots. Crystal wore a white halter top with galaxy leggings and rows of bangles on her arms. Jillian, by contrast, had the sleek look of someone with money to burn on salon treatments and designer clothes. Her outfit was relaxed and polished white, silk blouse, linen skirt, and murderously pointy high heels that likely cost more than my plane ticket. She was a classic beauty: tall, blonde-haired, brown-eyed, yet her scowl marred the overall effect.
“What about you, then, sugar?” Jillian turned on me with syrup cyanide drip
ping off of her words. “You’re still a pup. And you’re no match for me.” With a grin, she narrowed her eyes murderously. “See you on the full moon,” she spat, then the group of girls trotted off the way they’d come.
My adrenaline was up, and I stormed down the path in the opposite direction. This was so unfair! I heard Shea behind me, but ignored her furtive attempts to stop me as she called my name. I was seeing red; my blood burned in my veins. I couldn’t believe what was happening; it was crazy! This couldn’t be real. Suddenly I stopped and let out an ear-splitting scream at the top of my lungs. My voice cut out, and I was shocked by the force of it. After a heartbeat, I heard an answering howl, then another, and another. A fear I’d never known raised the hair on my neck, and I started to run.
I turned off the trail and tore through the woods, the underbrush tugging at my clothes. I jumped over logs and wove through birch trees. A mixture of emotion broiled inside me, but for an instant, I marveled that I hadn’t tripped or fallen yet. Another echoing howl sent me into survival mode, and I felt a burst of speed propel me into a sprint.
Without warning, a shiver ran through me, as if in a dream when you know suddenly that you can fly, so you spring your body, ready for take-off. I heard the ripping of fabric, a desperate gasp, then I saw nothing but blinding white as I pitched forward, bracing myself to tumble headlong into a rock. Instead, I felt my arm rise up to catch me and four long limbs stretched out beneath me as I ran blindly through the woods, jumping logs, catching brambles in my fur. I tore through the woodland, into a field, and through more trees. A break in the tree-line revealed a narrow river, and I skittered to a stop.
I could smell the water evaporating. I could taste decomposing mud clinging to the lily pads. A twig snapped above me, and I looked up sharply, noting the slight difference in color—green, but not green. What my mind registered and what I saw were different, but I knew them both to be green. I caught the movement of a squirrel in the tree above as it dashed off along the branches. My vision followed him farther into the thicket than my human eyes could have. The scent of a not-quite-human whipped my head around. Bending my front legs, I bared my teeth and growled.
A figure was coming closer, and she smelled familiar, like raspberries. She started making noise, and I paused. I cocked my head left, then right. I could understand her—almost. She was familiar, pack. I felt I knew what she said, but not in words. I relaxed my defensive posture, the anger evaporating as quickly and as silently as the river. I felt a shimmer of mist, a sharp smell of blood and water. I was kneeling with my hands on the ground. I sat back and wrapped by arms around my breasts. I looked up at Shea, her face as pale as a ghost.
“Holy shit, holy shit, Alice.” Shea was freaking out.
I started to shake, my words clattering out of chattering teeth. “W-what was th-at?”
Luckily for me, Shea snapped out of her shock and came closer. She had brought most of my clothes. Well, the essentials anyway. The jeans were ripped at the hip, but serviceable. The T-shirt was in shreds. We looked down at my attempt to put the torn threads over my head and burst into laughter.
Finding a quick solution, Shea took off her hoodie and handed it over, “Here, put this on, and we’ll go see if we can find your shoes.”
We wove through the woods more slowly, searching for my shoes and the trail. I kept glancing around, not wanting to miss any of my belongings.
Shea giggled. “It’s going to be awhile yet. You ran pretty far.”
I stopped looking for clothes. “So I just shifted?” I did it, I knew it, but I still had trouble believing it.
Shea sounded genuinely humbled. “Yeah, you did. Was that the first time?”
“Yeah.”
“It’s really rare to have your first shift before the full moon. I mean, really, really rare.” Shea almost sounded frightened. “It takes most werewolves years to be able to shift outside of the full moon. The moon right now is only three-quarters full. Only a handful of seniors could shift today!”
“Shea, you’re scaring me.”
“I’m scared, Alice. You don’t understand. There have been legends, but the only living memory of a werewolf who could shift at will, prior to her first full moon, is a legend herself. The first great Queen of Weres who united the wolves and basically founded our civilization. The Great Queen is all we call her, her true name lost to the ages.”
“It … it can’t be that rare. Maybe people are afraid to talk about it,” I reasoned.
Shea shook her head. “Alice, most Weres would kill to claim this ability.”
“Maybe we should just keep it a secret,” I said quietly. Shea agreed. I still didn’t understand my tenuous political position, and the last thing I wanted was to draw attention to myself. We eventually found my shoes, though the soles were nearly ripped apart, and we gathered a few more shreds of clothing we could find. Walking back toward campus, we strategized ways to sneak me into the girls’ dorm, and how to play it cool when the full moon rose in a week, given that I was expected to shift for the first time then.
As we neared the edge of the forest, Mt. Henley came into view. From this angle, I was looking at the back of the manor and dormitories across the grounds at the lovely gardens, and in the distance, the peaks of houses in the small village behind the school grounds where faculty and their families lived. The view was more visceral and personal than my first glimpse of the imposing estate. I felt a buzz in the air, and I knew, somehow, magic was real.
We were fortunate to approach the dorms without notice, but as we neared we could see several students hanging out in the backyard and gardens. Shea and I skirted around the side of the building. There was no way to get through the front door unnoticed.
“Okay,” said Shea, “time for plan B.” I crouched behind the bushes alongside the building. Shea went in alone and to her room which was on the first floor. She opened her window and motioned me over. I had to jump to grab her arms as she leaned out. The first-floor dorm room windows were still higher than a normal house’s. She pulled as I scrambled up the wall and tumbled into Shea’s room.
I picked myself up off of the floor, while Shea dug through her drawers and tossed me a T-shirt. After pulling it over my head, I looked around at Shea’s room. It was only a little cluttered with usual teenage paraphernalia. She had a poster of a band on the wall, and a small pile of dirty clothes in the open closet. Her twin bed was along the wall adjacent to the window, the frame a good quality solid wood, but the bedding was not nearly as plush as the sheets and quilts in my room. Overall the space was much smaller, with only one room. She did have a small kitchenette toward the door to the hallway, but the fixtures and sink were old-fashioned solid brass. The retro look was cool, but I frowned that her room was so much smaller than mine and had not gotten the renovations apparent in the rest of the manor. The carpet was more worn and the counter not as chic, though still solid stone. I spied a bookshelf in the corner with crystals and feathers scattered about.
“Cool rocks,” I said, noticing a sparkle of purple among the collection.
“Thanks.” She looked around, “Um, I can help sneak you to the elevators if you want.”
I wondered if Shea was trying to get rid of me? “Um, I think I’m safe now,” I laughed. “The shredded blouse was a dead giveaway.” Shea blushed. “What’s up? Did I freak you out or something with the shifting?” Suddenly, I felt very self-conscious. Maybe I did need to process what had just happened, but I wasn’t quite ready to be alone.
“God, no!” said Shea, looking aghast, “I just thought that, well … most Weres wouldn’t be caught dead on this floor.”
Now I was appalled. “Why ever not?”
“Because, I have no Clan, no family.” Shea seemed frustrated that I didn’t understand.
“Shea, I have no Clan, either.” I tried to put it into her frame of reference, but I immediately realized my mistake.
“It’s not the same,” she flared. “You have a Clan, the oldest
Clan, the oldest royal Clan,” she underscored. “I am a Winterstone, a bastard, and—” she faltered, “you shouldn’t be hanging out with me. It will make you look bad and lose you supporters.”
Now I was mad. “That’s absolutely ridiculous, Shea!” My voice was doing that shrill thing again. “You are not allowed to tell me who I can be friends with and what I can do!”
Both of us were standing now with our fists balled at our sides and our breath chuffing from our nostrils, eyes wide, nose to nose. We stood for a moment, huffing, and then we both melted into peals of laughter. Our anger had steamed out, the excess adrenaline from the change had burned off, and our friendship had cemented.
Chapter 5
The next morning, I awoke with a new sense of wonder about myself and the world. I had an epiphany that my life was just beginning, and I was not going to allow myself to be anyone’s political pawn. I realized the truth before my eyes; I was a werewolf, and apparently, I was also a princess of the oldest Clan Luna. Maybe if I just kept my head down, no one would bother with me? I didn’t want to be anyone’s enemy. I sighed. Too late. I’d been born into this mess. The irony was palpable. I was an orphaned princess, probably not the first. As far as I could tell, I wasn’t really a threat to the queen. My clan was all but extinct … Huh, that gave me a queasy feeling I decided to ignore. Instead, I poured myself a bowl of raspberry granola cereal with coconut milk. Anyway, she was already the queen, right? And I was in no position to vie for a throne. What did that even mean? Was there an actual throne?
I also wasn’t prepared to deal with the other information I’d received about werewolf culture. Was it really in my DNA that I would mate for life? God, how… puritanical! Regardless, I wasn’t going to fight Jillian for some snooty rich boy, prince or no, betrothal or no. I was certain the queen’s annulment would go through. Hello, she was the queen. And now that my biological parents were dead (huh—that icky feeling again), I doubted the contract was binding. Again, the Queen called the shots, right? So on that front, I could avoid an enemy. I hoped.
