Chapitre 3: Chapter 3: Unlikely Friend

3: Unlikely Friend

Anyra

I throw my bag by my bed and slam the door after me. I fall to my bed in a useless heap, my insides screaming.

I suppose my first day at school could have gone much worse. However, I had not expected to find my mate, especially right now. Part of me was hoping I would never find one. Life seems simpler that way.

For the longest time, it has been just my mom and me. Now, HE might change the comfortable life I’ve worked so hard to get.

I still remember how his eyes were on me, and knowing he was watching, made me squirm in my seat with a violent heat sprouting between my legs.

I also noticed how the girl in pink turned scarlet when she saw him watching me. Her arm had circled around him protectively, her red lips softly pecking his cheek. His eyes never left me. She was not at all happy about it.

A soft knock sounds at my bedroom door. I roll over, my black hair falling over my face. I don’t bother to move it.

“Come in,” I say in my best forlorn voice.

A second later, my mom pokes her head in, her green eyes lighting up with happiness when she sees me.

“How was your first day?” She asks sincerely.

I sigh and tell her what happened. Immediately, her eyes become alit with both fear and excitement. She opens the door further, her red hair spilling from a loose bun on the top of her head.

At first glance, you might not think we were even related, much less that she gave birth to me. Sadly, I am cursed with my father’s black hair and brown eyes. The only thing matching between my mother and I is our excessive collection of freckles on pale skin.

My mom sits at the foot of my bed, her eyes sympathetic as she looks at me.

“I can’t believe it’s happened. And so soon. I was almost twenty-five by the time I met your father. Then, I didn’t have a choice. But you do, dear.

“The bond you share with this boy doesn’t have to change anything. After all, he is human and likely doesn’t even feel the connection. I doubt you have anything to worry about.”

“But mom,” I say, exasperated. “I can feel him, like all the time. I can barely concentrate when I’m around him. And now, he’s my LAB PARTNER. How the hell am I supposed to just go on as if nothing has happened?”

“You can. It will be difficult, but I’m afraid you must. You know what would happen to him if your father were to find out you bonded with a human. He has other plans for you. This boy’s existence threatens those plans.

“We already risk too much just by being this far north, too close to the pack’s territory. I’m hoping they won’t expect it and won’t look for us here. But the second you change for the first time, your father might be able to sense you.

“That sense will be dimmed up here in the mountains but not nonexistent. You can’t let him see you with that human. You’ll be putting more than just your life on the line.”

I nod, understanding. It hurts that I can’t even have something as simple as a relationship with a human because my insane father might do something horrible to them. I even have to rein in my simple friendships, afraid they might find out too much.

I never had the luxury of living on a pact’s territory where they often have their own schools and businesses, places to congregate with other wolves, and a whole town that the humans aren’t even aware of.

While most wolves live near humans, they rarely participate in human society.

My mother, fearing for my safety, had taken me from my father when I was just a baby and began escorting me around the country. If my father were to find me, he would punish my mother for betraying him and force me into either death or marriage.

I would prefer the former.

“But what am I going to do when I change? What if I can’t control myself? I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

My mom chuckles, her feminine voice rising like bell chimes. “You won’t hurt anyone, dear. When you change, you will still be you. That is the beauty of being a shifter. We aren’t victims of our wolves. We are one with them. They are a vital part of us. You will see when it happens.”

“Thanks, mom,” I say as she stands.

“Wash up,” she tells me. “I made lemon chicken for dinner.”

I smile and nod, and she leaves, closing the door silently.

***

The next day, I enter the biology classroom with zero enthusiasm. I instantly look to the back of the room where Logan and I share a table. Blessedly, he’s not there. I breathe a sigh of relief.

While I am relieved he is not here, and I will not have to battle my instincts, I am also saddened by his absence. I suddenly feel the strong urge to sniff him, to smell his musky cologne, and feel his warm hands molding to my body as I let him feel me….

I shake my head and force the thoughts away. Not today. Not today. Not today.

If you think my daytime fantasies are bad, wait till you hear about my dreams.

The day goes by in a blur as I travel from class to class. Even lunch, where I sit at the same table with the same girl reading her book, goes relatively well.

It isn’t until that Friday that Logan comes back to school. During homeroom, he explains that his little sister had gotten ill, and he had to stay home and help take care of her.

I scold myself for thinking how sweet that is. I will not deal with this. I can’t. Not now.

“Are you going to keep staring at him or actually talk to him?” the girl at my lunch table asks.

“Huh?’ I ask, distracted. I had been turned around again, staring at Logan as he chats with his friends.

“Logan. You’ve been drooling over him for the past week,” she states, slamming her book shut and looking at me through large, black glasses. She has short brown hair and matching hazel eyes. Her dark skin illuminates the brightness of her eyes, making them look like they could pierce right through me.

“No, I haven’t,” I object, somewhat annoyed it had been that obvious. “He hasn’t even been here,” I tell her, crossing my arms over my chest.

She laughs, “And yet, I still see you eyeing his empty seat every day. You definitely have something for him. Word of advice, though? I would stay away from him. That little cheerleader attached to his arm is an Elite.”

“An Elite?”

“Yes. An Elite. The most popular of the most popular. She could tear you to shreds with one word, and no one would stop her.”

I’m familiar with the type. But I’ve always managed to stay out of their radar by keeping my head low and hands to myself.

“Then why’d you ask if I was going to talk to him?”

She shrugs. “You clearly want to. I’m getting tired of the suspense.”

“Why do you even care?” I’m not trying to sound rude, but I am getting irritated. I feel clawing, anger scratching to get out. Not a ferocious sort of anger, but more of a “Leave me the hell alone” type of vibe.

“Anyway, I get the sense it’s more trouble than it’s worth,” she continues. She sticks out a hand. “My name’s Jenna, by the way. Jenna Hart, local medium.”

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