The fact that I was one of nine werewolf alphas in North America and had to suffer through the tenth grade was wrong on so, so many levels, but try telling that to Ali “Education Is Your Future” Clare.
I had, multiple times, and it wasn’t an experience I was looking to repeat.
So instead, I let Lake drive me to school and watched Maddy stare out the window as we drove, knowing without probing her thoughts that her mind was on Lucas—and unable to think of a single thing to say to distract her. Devon spent the entire drive looking at me with a familiar expression—suspicion, exasperation, and steely calm—on his face, and I dug my heels in and refused to allow my mouth to form as much as a single syllable of what he wanted to know.
I could handle this, and besides, it wasn’t like I told Devon everything.
Somehow, I made it through first period without giving my human classmates any visible indication that something was wrong. The last thing I needed was to fan the rumor mill flames, but for once, fate was on my side. With Thanksgiving break over, the entire high school was living on borrowed time. Finals were looming and winter vacation was less than three weeks away. My eyes were bloodshot, and with each passing lecture, I became more and more aware of the sleep I hadn’t gotten the night before, but that did little to nothing to separate me from my classmates.
If anything, it made me blend in.
At the front of my third-period classroom, my history teacher droned on about Oliver Cromwell, and the pages of my three-ring binder began to look increasingly inviting. My head drooped. Each blink lasted just a little bit longer than the one before. Every time I closed my eyes, I let the bond that tied me to the pack flare, assuring myself that everyone was still there, that everyone was in one piece, that they were okay.
I breathed in and out.
They breathed in and out.
Somewhere, one of the younger ones Shifted, and with her transition, my entire body relaxed.
I blinked.
She blinked.
And then I fell asleep.
Smells! Smells! I wanted to inhale them, to eat them, to make them mine. My back arched, and I pressed my paws into the thick carpet. Oh, that felt good! The world was bronzed, the colors dulled, and the sounds—the words—all around me meant nothing.
I rolled over onto my back and threw my head from one side to the other, going after carpet fuzz like it was some kind of worthier prey: a butterfly or a cricket or something soft and warm with a heart that went thump thump thump.
Out! I wanted out, but something kept me here, inside, near to … something.
Near to them.
A flash of motion in the corner of my eye sent my body rolling over, and I bounded to my feet. Others! I could feel the pack! I could feel Lily!
I flattened my ears and bent my legs. Opposite me, my pack-sister bobbed her head.
Ready.
Ready.
Ready.
Pounce!
One second, I was inside my little sister’s head, and the next, I was watching Katie and Lily, both in puppy form, rolling around on the carpet. For a moment, I felt a pang of loss—for the excitement, the knowing, the smells—but then I was elsewhere, the pack silent in my head, and my ears ringing with the high-pitched whistle of a biting winter wind.
Though it was dark, I could see perfectly. The world was awash in purples and black and deep, velvety gray. Like shad-ows, the trees melded into one another, and one foot after the other, I walked toward them.
There, in the clearing, was a female wolf—the female wolf—her head held high, her coat snow-kissed and damp. I wanted to go to her, but by the time I got to the place where she’d stood a moment before, she was gone, and I was alone.
“Too bad,” a light but resonating voice said. “So sad. Guess it’s just you and me.”
I whirled to see the man from my earlier dream leaning back against a tree, his eyes locked onto my body, his face twisted with an expression halfway between intrigue and revulsion.
“Hello, mutt-lover.” His tone was deceptively pleasant—rat poison dipped in chocolate. My temples pounded, and I could feel him inside my head, feel him turning me inside out, touching me—
I took a step backward, but there was nowhere to go.
Nowhere to run.
I thought of the pack, tried to conjure up an image of them, a memory, the pack-bond—anything that might free my limbs enough that I could move, fight back, at least respond.
“Isn’t that sweet? You think there’s a way out.” The man’s voice wove its way around my limbs, like a snake climbing up one leg, around my torso, and down the opposite arm. “You’re awfully young, aren’t you, wolf girl?”
A flash of unadulterated loathing passed across his face, but I couldn’t tell if it was aimed at himself or at me. “Poor little girl, lost in her own mind. Poor little girl, lost in the woods.”
He took one step toward me, then another, his dilated pupils turning indigo eyes nearly entirely black.
Sweat rose on the surface of my skin.
A circle of flame burst to life at my feet.
I wheezed. I bit back a scream, and just before my body caught on fire, the roar of the pack broke through to my mind, and I felt a phantom hand latch on to my shoulder and pull.
With a gasp, I woke up. My entire body jerked in my seat, and my history teacher stopped her lecture just long enough to ask, very pointedly, if I was okay. I nodded, but with the smell of smoke thick in my nostrils and sweat running down the back of my neck, even that tiny gesture was a lie.
Hello, mutt-lover.
I couldn’t shake the memory of the voice, and even as the rest of the pack flooded my senses with reassurances, gentle nudges and nips at the edge of my mind, I shuddered.
The bell rang, and after a moment, I gathered my notebook and stood, my limbs stiff, the movement painful and awkward.
And that was when I realized that my skin was angry, pink, and warm to the touch. To all appearances, I was sunburned.
In the middle of winter. Inside my high school.
I brought my right hand to my left and pressed my index finger down on my left wrist. I winced slightly at the subtle burn and then let go. My fingerprint appeared as a white mark on my reddish skin, but after a few seconds, the mark faded.
My memory of the dream—and the expression on the face of the man who’d attacked me—did not. I could feel his stare, see the fire leaping to life at my feet, and even though he hadn’t actually said it, looking back, I could hear a promise passing from his lips to my ears.