Back the fuck away from my brother.
A subtle arch of a brow and a tilt of lips was the only reaction Daniella gave to my subtle retreat. She patted her brother on the arm and walked away, fully expecting him to follow like her peons had.
“Sorry about her,” Bash whispered with a chagrined shrug. “She can be a bit much at times.” The warmth from his eyes seemed the polar opposite of his sister’s. “I’ll see you around, Elena Jensen.” He turned and followed Daniella out of the auditorium, leaving me alone and completely stunned.
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.