8. Tobias
Tobias
The minute the snarky new shifter shot off, the asshole trio dispersed, none of them brave enough to risk my wrath. While I wasn’t as intimidating as Tate or as feared as Tank’s wolf, everyone at this academy knew I despised bullies.
I hadn’t bothered chasing after Dirk and his sycophants. The fear of what the repercussions would be was almost punishment enough.
My wolf surged forward, pissed I’d let them go. He acted as if we should have done more to protect the new guy, which was odd. The only people he usually cared about were my two friends.
Not even the female wolves I’d been in on-off situationships with for the last few months counted as pack in his eyes, which was unfortunate for them as they each assumed I’d claim them once we graduated.
Never gonna happen.
Why would I want to tie myself down to one female when I could have the pick of so many others? Males too. Gender didn’t matter to me; like many wolf shifters, I was an equal-opportunity lover. And besides, I was holding out for my soul-bond—the mate born to be mine.
My wolf raged inside my chest, spinning in aggravated circles as I headed to the West Tower for a class on battle strategy.
With the increasing number of demon attacks in North America, the faculty had decided it was prudent to teach us skills that might help if a war with the demons ever came to pass.
Since fighting wasn’t my strong point, I strongly hoped it never did, but Tate was worried enough he’d insisted we attend the classes.
He scowled at me when I strode into the lecture theater, only fifteen minutes late for once. Professor Bunsen ignored my tardiness, barely pausing for breath as he droned on about an ancient battle between the vampires and the fae.
Tate was busy making notes when I dropped into a chair, trying—and failing miserably—to suppress a yawn.
“…after forming an alliance with a rebel witch coven, the Dvorak vampire clan unleashed hell on the fae royals, which led to an unprecedented number of deaths…” A fly buzzed around the window as Professor Bunsen droned on, oblivious to the fact that two lion shifters in the corner had fallen asleep.
My jaw cracked in another sympathetic yawn. Did I care what a bunch of now-dead vampires did centuries ago? No. How was this even relevant? Modern warfare was all about drones and cyberattacks, not magic and swords. The faculty needed to get with the times.
Me: What did your new crush look like?
The text to Tate, sent a minute before I entered the lecture theater, went unanswered, but I had a feeling he’d confirm what I already suspected.
This class was usually when I took a nap, but the minute I closed my eyes, Tate stabbed a pencil into my leg.
“Ow!” He tapped out a reply and waited for me to read it, probably because he didn’t want anyone to listen to our conversation, which they totally would if we talked out loud.
Tate: Why are you asking me this?
Me: Because I intervened when Dirk and his crew were harassing a new student.
I turned toward Tate when a reply didn’t ping back immediately. He was busy staring at his phone screen, so I elbowed him.
“Outside, now,” he hissed, nearly shoving me off my chair in his haste to leave the room.
This time, Professor Bunsen threw both of us an annoyed scowl, but when I treated him to a megawatt smile and muttered something about Tate’s lactose intolerance, he huffed and returned to his dry-as-dust lecture.
The classroom door swung shut behind us as Tate stomped off down the corridor. Since he was acting unhinged and I had no interest in battle strategy, I sauntered after him.
“Is he hurt?” Tate’s question took me by surprise.
“What? No. Why would you care if some dweeb of a newbie got the shit kicked out of them by Dirk the Dickhead?”
“I don’t.” My friend scrubbed his jaw in agitation and clenched his fists.
“Erm, you seem awfully concerned for someone who claims not to care,” I pointed out.
He glared. “Describe the kid to me.”
Was Tate having some kind of mental meltdown? If so, it was long overdue. The dude needed to chill the fuck out more. He took on way too much pack business these days, barely getting two hours of sleep some nights thanks to his father sending him off on business trips here, there, and everywhere.
The full moon parties were the only time he truly got to relax and forget about pack shit.
“Average height with red hair and striking green eyes. Kind of pretty for a dude.” Almost feminine-looking, in fact.
When I thought back, my first impression of the guy had been a total headfuck because, for a split second, I thought he was female, which was dumb. There was no way the kid was female. Not here, at an all-male academy.
Was he even a wolf shifter?
“Hair the color of fire? Green eyes like emeralds?”
I frowned, taken aback by Tate’s poetic turn of phrase. My friend was not a poet. He read boring business textbooks and listened to political podcasts for fun.
“Who are you and what have you done with Tate Montes?” I asked, my eyes narrowed in confusion. Then I smirked. “Is this the same dude your wolf has a crush on?”
Tate shook his head and rubbed a spot over his breastbone as if it pained him.
“No. Maybe.” He growled and clenched his fists. “I don’t know.”
I frowned. This wasn’t like him. My friend had more control over his emotions than most wolves, so seeing him unravel over a random student was…concerning.
Before I could quiz him on his reaction, Tate turned and sprinted away. His sudden departure took me by surprise, which gave him a few seconds’ head start. By the time I reached the trees, he’d already shifted and disappeared, leaving nothing but a pile of shredded clothing.
My wolf lunged forward, eager to chase after our friend, but I forced him back down. Tate clearly needed to let off some steam, so I turned back toward campus.
If meeting a dude he found attractive had triggered an existential crisis, he’d have to deal with it on his own or book a therapist.
I had my own issues to deal with, like figuring out why my wolf was also acting weird over the same student.