Chapter 2 #2
Lunch was supposed to be my sanctuary, the one period where I could sit with Jonah and pretend I was just another teenager complaining about homework and weekend plans.
Jonah Ryder was pack, my age, and the closest thing I had to a best friend in the careful, measured way that Alphas-in-training were allowed to have friends.
He was also a pain in my ass with the supernatural ability to see through every lie I told myself.
“Holy shit,” he said, dropping his tray across from mine with a clatter that made half the cafeteria look over. “Did you see the new kid? He's like a walking neon sign that says 'I don't belong here.'”
I shrugged and concentrated on my sandwich, which tasted like cardboard and regret.
“Don't even try that shit with me,” Jonah continued, grinning like the asshole he was. “I saw you watching him in English. You went all still and predatory, like you were deciding whether to adopt him or eat him.”
“Shut up,” I muttered, but there was no heat in it.
“I'm just saying, if you're gonna go all Alpha-protector over the city boy, you might want to work on your people skills first. Glaring at him from across the room isn't exactly welcoming behavior.”
I looked up to find Nate sitting alone by the windows, camera in his hands and that same half-smile on his face as he photographed the cafeteria chaos around him. He looked confident, self-contained, like being alone was a choice instead of a sentence.
He looked brave.
“He's human,” I said finally, like that explained everything. Like it explained anything.
“So?” Jonah took a massive bite of his burger and talked around it like a savage. “You're allowed to have human friends. It's not like the Alpha outlawed interaction with the locals.”
“That's different.”
“How?”
Because human friends were safe. Human friends were temporary. Human friends couldn't see the parts of me that had teeth and claws and a hunger for things that would send them screaming into the night.
But Nate was already looking at me like he could see those parts, like his camera had captured more than just my face in whatever shot he'd taken earlier. And that was dangerous in ways I couldn't begin to explain.
“Just different,” I said, and Jonah rolled his eyes so hard I was surprised they didn't fall out of his head.
“You're an idiot,” he informed me cheerfully. “A brooding, emotionally constipated idiot who's going to die alone surrounded by his sketches and his daddy issues.”
“I don't have daddy issues.”
“Right. And I don't have a supernatural ability to smell bullshit from three counties away.”
Before I could come up with a suitable response to that—or hit him with my lunch tray—the bell rang, scattering students toward their afternoon classes. I grabbed my backpack and stood up, avoiding Jonah's knowing smirk.
“This conversation isn't over,” he called after me as I walked away.
“Yes, it is,” I muttered, but kept moving before he could argue.
The rest of the day passed in a haze of carefully maintained normalcy.
Biology, where I dissected a frog with the same steady hands that could tear a deer apart in wolf form.
History, where I took notes on wars that seemed insignificant compared to the tensions brewing between rival packs.
English, where Mrs. Patterson droned on about symbolism in poetry while I counted the minutes until I could escape.
Through it all, I found myself scanning hallways and classrooms, half-expecting to see copper hair and curious eyes with a camera. But Nate seemed to have vanished after lunch, probably off exploring more of Hollow Pines with that relentless documentation instinct of his.
I told myself the relief I felt was rational. Smart, even. Because every interaction with him felt like walking a tightrope between my human facade and the wolf that wanted to either protect him or run from the complications he represented.
By the time the final bell rang, my shoulders had unknotted themselves for the first time all day. I gathered my things with deliberate calm, nodded goodbye to a few classmates, and made my way toward the side exit that led toward the forest.
I found my usual spot in a clearing where ancient trees formed a natural circle around a patch of moss-covered ground.
Pack elders called it the Moon Clearing, said it was where our ancestors had made their first pacts with the forest spirits.
According to the stories passed down through generations, it was here that the original Callahan had pledged his bloodline to protect the Evernight Forest in exchange for the gift of the wolf.
On nights when the moon was full, you could still see the shadows of those first wolves if you knew how to look—spectral forms running endless circles around the sacred space, honoring promises made in blood and starlight.
All I knew was that it felt like sanctuary, like the one place in the world where I could let my guard down without worrying about consequences.
The ancient stones that marked the perimeter hummed with old magic, and even the air felt different here—thicker, charged with the weight of centuries of ritual and reverence.
I settled cross-legged on the soft moss, my back against one of the massive oaks that had witnessed more pack history than any living wolf could remember. The filtered sunlight felt warm against my skin, and for the first time all day, the tension in my shoulders began to ease.
My sketchbook materialized in my hands like magic, though I couldn't remember retrieving it from my bag. The charcoal pencil felt familiar between my fingers as I flipped to a clean page and let my hand move without conscious direction.
Lines flowed across the paper, curves and shadows that slowly resolved into a face I had no business drawing. Messy hair that caught light like spun copper. Eyes that held laughter and sadness in equal measure. A mouth that looked like it was always on the verge of saying something worth hearing.
Nate. I was drawing Nate, and I couldn't make myself stop.
The rational part of my brain—the part that sounded disturbingly like my father—pointed out that this was exactly the kind of complication I should be avoiding.
Humans were temporary. Humans were fragile.
Humans didn't understand the weight of pack bonds or the hunger that lived in wolf hearts, and trying to explain it usually ended in tears or restraining orders.
But my hand kept moving, adding details that I shouldn't have noticed, shouldn't have remembered with such painful clarity.
The way his left eyebrow was slightly higher than his right.
The small scar on his chin that suggested childhood adventures and teenage carelessness.
The way he held his camera like it was both shield and weapon, something to hide behind and something to capture truth with.
“Fuck,” I whispered to the empty clearing, and tore the page from my sketchbook.
I should have crumpled it up, should have let the wind carry it away like every other mistake I'd made over the years. Instead, I found myself folding it carefully, creating precise creases that would keep the charcoal from smearing, and sliding it into the back pocket of my jeans.
Because some mistakes were worth keeping, even when you knew they'd destroy you in the end.
A howl cut through the afternoon air, low and mocking and entirely too close to the clearing for comfort. My wolf perked up, hackles rising as I recognized the voice behind the sound.
Alaric Kane. Pack asshole and my least favorite person in Hollow Pines.
He appeared at the edge of the clearing like a bad omen made flesh, already in human form and wearing his usual expression of smug superiority. He was everything an Alpha should be—confident, charming, ruthless when necessary—and he never let me forget it.
“Well, well,” he drawled, settling against a tree trunk like he owned it. “If it isn't our fearless future leader, hiding in the woods and playing with his art supplies.”
“What do you want, Alaric?” I didn't bother putting my shirt back on. Let him see the scars that proved I could fight when I had to, let him remember that size and reach mattered as much as attitude in a real confrontation.
“Just checking up on you, cousin.” The word dripped with sarcasm. We weren't related by blood, but pack bonds made everyone family whether you wanted them or not. “Heard about lunch today.”
Heat crawled up my neck, and I forced myself to stay relaxed, casual. “Jonah talks too much.”
“Jonah talks exactly the right amount.” Alaric pushed off from the tree and started circling the clearing, predator instincts on full display. “Camera got to you, huh?”
“I'm fine.”
“Sure you are.” He snorted. “That's why you're out here drawing pictures instead of dealing with your problems.”
I glanced down at my sketchbook, at Nate's half-finished face staring back at me. “It's not a problem.”
“Right. Human boy with a camera isn't a problem at all.” Alaric's voice carried that particular tone that meant he was enjoying himself. “What's next? Gonna invite him to pack meetings? Show him the sacred sites? Maybe explain why his new neighbor howls at the moon?”
“Shut up.”
“Dad's starting to wonder, you know.” Alaric paused directly in front of me. “About your priorities.”
The casual way he said it made my stomach clench. “My priorities are fine.”
“Are they?” He tilted his head. “Because from where I'm standing, looks like you're getting distracted. And distracted Alphas make mistakes.”
“I'm not Alpha yet.”
“No,” he agreed, grin widening. “You're not.”
The implication hung in the air between us like smoke. Alaric didn't want to be Alpha—he was too smart for that kind of responsibility—but he wasn't above reminding me that leadership wasn't guaranteed just because of my last name.
“Thanks for the concern,” I said. “Really touching.”
“Just looking out for family.” His voice was all fake sweetness. “Wouldn't want you to do anything stupid.”
“Like what?”
“Like getting attached to something that breaks easy.”
He melted back into the trees without waiting for a response, leaving me alone with the scent of his smugness and the uncomfortable knowledge that some of his points had merit.
I was getting attached to Nate, despite every logical reason not to.
I was letting my fascination with a human boy cloud my judgment about pack responsibilities and future obligations.
I was being exactly the kind of weak leader that Alaric accused me of being.
But as I gathered my things and started the walk back toward town, I couldn't make myself regret it.
For the first time in years, I'd met someone who looked at me like I was worth knowing instead of just managing.
Someone who asked questions and took pictures and seemed genuinely interested in understanding the world around him.
Someone who made me want to find my voice again, even if using it meant risking everything I'd spent my life trying to protect.