Filed To Story: Alpha's Regret: His Wrongful Rejection
But that smell. It demands attention. It itches like a mystery. Ineed to know.
There.
By the black Land Rover.
One male is a bit taller and broader in the shoulders than the others. His slacks are a smidge too tight in the thigh and his biceps strain the seams of his otherwise perfectly-fitted dress shirt. There’s not a freshly-trimmed, styled hair out of place—no movement, no muss. He has the easy confidence and effortless dominance of a male surrounded by folks kissing his ass.
It’s Cadoc Collins.
He’s the thing that smells like pine shavings in the best possible way.
Well, isn’t that a kick in the head? It’s not enough he rules the world, he’s somehow upped his scent game from pleasant to damn near magical.
I’ve never been so disappointed in something in my life.
I sigh. The Scurlock, in a last-minute bid to avoid the inevitable, goes full deadweight on me. Just before I hoist him up under my arm, in the moment when my sleep-deprived brain is making the ponderous leap from mystery smell to problem child, I accidentally raise my eyes. They meet Cadoc’s.
A jolt pile drives my solar plexus.
There is a split second before I drop my gaze and bend my neck, and in that instant, his steel gray eyes flash molten silver.
And my wolf howls.
* * *
So now—because
Fate is a bitch with a mean sense of humor—I’m obsessed with Cadoc Collins.
I probably cursed myself by saying his name while we cooked the dragon’s tongue. I didn’t even throw salt over my shoulder. Amateur hour.
In my defense, he’s something to watch.
For one, he plays basketball as well as the humans on TV.
He glides down the court, aims the ball, and sinks it into the net—no show, all swish. He gives Seth Rosser the perfect approximation of a human high five and jogs back to the middle line, his shorts hanging low on his hips, a slight sheen of sweat on his roped shoulders.
My mouth waters. I swallow.
Cadoc is one hundred percent masterful composure. He makes Human Sport look easy instead of the torture that it is. We’re supposed to learn how to play human games because that’s where they do their real business—make deals, network, whatever that shit means.
Human games are all rules and waiting around. You get penalized for tussling or doing things the easiest way, like going straight from first to the third base or holding the ball while you run to the basket. It’s dumb, and it sucks.
I don’t know why scavengers aren’t excused. It’s not like we’re going to be working with humans when we graduate. Next year, we’ll be living out of the donation box, cleaning up after the nobs, or working on all fours. Everyone knows it, but still, sixth period every day I have to change into a baggy shirt that reads “Moon Lake Athletics” and too tight shorts made from synthetic itch.
At least the view is nice.
Cadoc passes effortlessly to a teammate and then scores on the rebound. He’s taller, his moves are smoother, and his instincts are quicker than anyone else on the court. No one can block him.
Next to me on the bleachers, Nia sighs. “I’m with you, Rosie-cakes. I’d present for Cadoc Collins any day of the week.”
My face blazes, and I kind of want to smack her.
“What?” She slides me a smirking glance. “You’re the one who said it.”
I didn’t. Not in those words.
“You have a mate,” I remind her. We’re not rehashing that conversation. Not in broad daylight when Cadoc is right there and still smelling woodsy in the best possible way.
“Pritchard? He wouldn’t mind.” Nia scans the gym until she finds him squatting at the sidelines, scratching his midsection, half-watching the game and half-watching her with hooded eyes.
He catches her looking, and he curls his top lip, revealing a long, sharp canine. Nia rolls her eyes.
“I think he’d mind.” Pritchard gives Nia her space, but he’s never that far away.
“He doesn’t get to mind. Biology is not destiny.” Nia tosses her long black hair, her piercings glittering in the sunlight streaming down from the high gymnasium windows. She’s supposed to take them out for sports class, but she has fifteen—lobes, daith, helix, tragus, anti-tragus, all of ’em—and she’s not about to bother. That’s why she’s benched.
I’m benched because if you tell the human coach, Mr. Arnold, that it’s “that time of the month,” he lets you sit out. I haven’t even shifted yet, and he doesn’t seem to realize that the time of the month is the same for all of us—the full moon, right?—but no one has ever told him because we all want a break sometimes.
Nia bares her fangs back at Pritchard and snaps her molars. He smirks.
“It is though. We are who we are born to be.” I watch as Cadoc faces off against his cousin Brody in the center circle. Mr. Arnold throws the ball in the air. I know what will happen. Everyone does.
The ball reaches its apex. Cadoc and Brody both make a show of jumping for it, but Cadoc is the one to tip it to his second. For a split second, Brody’s eyes shine yellow with his wolf, but he masters himself and keeps playing because Cadoc outranks him. Cadoc was born a day earlier than Brody, so Cadoc will be our next alpha, and that’s that.
Everyone in Moon Lake pack is born into his place. There’s no fighting it. Biology is destiny.
“What the hell is Bevan doing?” Nia cranes her neck, squinting down the court.
My cousin has intercepted the ball, and he’s driving toward the net, bowling into people. He leaps way too high and dunks way too hard. The backboard rattles.
“Oh, shit. We watched that teenage werewolf movie from the 80s the other night.” I don’t want to watch, but I can’t tear my eyes away. Bevan’s gonna get in so much trouble.
The whole point of this class is to practice hiding your shifter strength so you don’t freak out the humans on the golf course.
Bevan catches his own rebound, spins the ball on the tip of his finger for a minute, and then sprints for the opposite net. Brody’s team goes for him, and he launches himself over their heads, hollering, “Look out! P-speed! Get out the way!”
Now, Cadoc’s team is on him, too. They’re trying to take the ball. Bevan cackles, feinting left and right. Seth lunges for him. Bevan can’t dodge, so he springs up, leaping skyward with a foot on Seth’s shoulder, grabbing a metal rafter with his claws.
He hangs there swinging for a minute, his tail poking a tent in the butt of his athletic shorts. His fur is thick all over, sprouting out of his collar, puffing his socks. His paws bust through the rubber toes of his sneakers.
Nia and I both rise to our feet, shielding our eyes from the sunlight. Bevan lifts himself onto the rafter and starts walking it like a balance beam, the basketball spinning on his index finger.
“I’m the king of the world!” he shouts and throws the ball to the bounce it off the ceiling, beating his chest like a gorilla during the second it takes to drop back down.
Nia blows out her cheeks. “He’s gonna get his ass beat.”
On the court, the action has stopped. Cadoc and his crew are gathering around Mr. Arnold, staring up. Brody and his guys are standing in a semi-circle at the other end of the gym, arms folded, muttering amongst themselves—no doubt about dirty scavengers and how we should be driven from the pack lands like rats. The usual.
“Are you high?” one of Brody’s crew calls up to Bevan.
“Yes! About thirty feet, give or take,” Bevan answers. Their voices echo.
“He is, isn’t he?” I sigh.
“Most likely.” Nia’s fingers brush her pocket. I bet he’s got her holding his stash.
Like everyone else in the gym, I watch to see what Cadoc will do.
Technically, Mr. Arnold is the instructor, but Cadoc is in charge. Everyone defers to him, even the human students. They’ve taken the opportunity to trot off to the water fountain. They don’t look so good, especially the female that Bevan likes. She’s bent over and heaving.
We’re supposed to go easy on the humans, but it’s hard to gauge if you’re going slow enough. It’s a privilege for a human to earn a spot at Moon Lake Academy, so they don’t like to show weakness. That human female’s definitely past her limits, though. She’s gonna puke. One of her people should get her a bucket.
Cadoc is staring up at Bevan like a monkey that’s gotten loose at the zoo. Seth and his other males seem to be offering advice, but he ignores them.
Eventually, Bevan deigns to acknowledge his audience and shrieks a few “ooh, ooh, ah, ah’s” while dangling from the rafter one-armed, tossing and catching the ball with the other.
Cadoc’s chiseled jaw tightens until there are dents in his temple, and the harsh slash of his mouth turns down at the corner. That’s a lot of emotion for the alpha heir.
My stomach slithers into a knot. Bevan’s in for it.
I hate watching a scavenger get a beatdown. Even if the unlucky bastard isn’t a relative—and most of us are related somehow, if not by blood than by matehood—it hurts to stand by and do nothing while one of your own gets it.
But what can you do? The unranked have to take what the nobs dish out. If you want to eat, and you want a roof over your head, that’s pack life. Fight back and you get it worse. Or maybe your crazy cousin or uncle jumps in to get your back, and then they get it, too.