Copyright © 2014 Genevieve J. Griffin
All rights reserved
Cover photo © iStock.com / anneleven
Moon image from NASA / Sean Smith
Cover design by Genevieve J. Griffin
To everyone who supported this book and helped me keep going along the way.
Chapter One
The trouble started when I realized someone was watching me.
I’d begun feeling the stare at unexpected moments, whenever I dragged myself into town. It wasn’t hostile, exactly, but the scrutiny made my nerves jangle and my skin itch. Finally spotting the guy didn’t help, either. I mean, if I had ordinary, gossipy friends, like all the legends said teenage girls were supposed to, they’d probably say I was lucky someone that cute was checking me out—but I wasn’t convinced.
No one had ever paid that sort of attention to me, after all. Not with all my fascinating little quirks. And if anyone had ever tried, I’d have warned them off for their own good.
But I could tell right down to my bones that this guy had something else in mind.
Whoever he was, he did stand out. He was tall, blond, athletic, pretty much had the junior-golden-god thing going on, and looked like he ought to have girlfriends hanging off every available limb. But he was just standing there alone, loitering around the grocery store like he’d been pondering petty larceny until I showed up. As it happened, I was alone for once, too. Grey had shooed me out of the house since he’d thought I needed the exercise, and so I’d been stomping around town with a good, determined, I’m-gonna-smack-my-brother-when-I-get-home glower on my face. I’m sure it was a lovely way to make a first impression.
This guy stared in open fascination, though, like he didn’t care about my crutches at all.
Now, I can deal with being stared at. Normally, though, it just reeks of oh, that poor little girl—sigh—thanks to my obvious physical troubles. Most people don’t look past that to see what really doesn’t add up. There’s something too intense about my eyes, I know that, and my smile stretches a bit too wide, which is why I don’t do it often. I react too sharply to lights and smells, and I hear everything, to the point where even people’s heartbeats can drive me crazy.
And that’s just on my good days.
When Obnoxious Mystery Guy grinned at me—maybe, just maybe, a bit too widely—I could tell this wasn’t going to be one of the good days.
I backed up, even while he tried to say, “Hey, stranger. We should talk.” That, I ignored. I just turned to leave as quickly as I could. Unfortunately, it didn’t take him long to catch up when he decided to follow.
He’d taken one hint, at least: he didn’t say anything. He just sauntered along, pretending it had nothing to do with me. I ignored him for a couple blocks, because I’ve had to get good at that, too. People who aren’t cloyingly sympathetic usually want to tease me instead, and mauling them out of sheer annoyance probably wouldn’t go over well with the local authorities. So all I did was head onward, hoping he’d get bored. He didn’t. Soon I realized I’d either have to limp in circles forever or he’d end up following me home.
I spun around and jabbed a crutch at him, hoping I could catch him off guard.
“Get away from me,” I snapped. Sort of. There were a few extra words involved.
I was sure he’d snap back, but he only peered at me in a speculative way that made alarms go off in the back of my head. I marched away as best I could, telling myself I was overreacting. Something, though, was too familiar. His eyes might have been colored an ordinary gray-green, but they looked subtly off: irises too wide, the gaze too intent, something. It was hard to put a finger on it, even if it was something I’d been facing in the mirror for almost ten years.
He was like me. Except everything else that was wrong with me…wasn’t wrong with him.
And the worst part was that he’d figured it out, too. I got proof of that when Grey brought me to high school registration two days later, and a certain blond-haired, creepy-strange someone passed me in the hall, whispering something so low that only I could hear.
“See you around, werewolf girl.”
*
I guess there are some things about my life that bear explaining.
To begin with, werewolves exist. They’re not just some gruesome legend or campfire story, and I’m saying that from painful, personal experience. My first encounter with a werewolf happened in my own backyard when I was eight years old, and I quickly discovered two things are likely when they meet you. They can kill you, which would be pathetically easy. Or they can transform you.
I still don’t know why that’s what he chose to do to me. I don’t remember a whole lot from when I’m turned, so werewolf logic is a mystery even to me. All I know is that I got a gusher of a bite to my neck, and when my father heard me scream, he drove the wolf off with a shotgun and a whole lot of courage that he quickly lost over the coming days, once he found out what had really happened to me.
Because it turned out that the wound closing up on its own wasn’t a good sign at all.
I’ve been stuck with the consequences of that bite my whole life. The urge to transform never really goes away, and on the full moon, when the pull is strongest, I have no choice. The change doesn’t happen easily, either. My bones don’t just change shape—they break. Everything reforms: muscles, organs, my nervous system, every vein. Sometimes things go wrong. I do have accelerated healing—if I didn’t, the shock alone would probably kill me—but that doesn’t make up for a lifetime of constant pain. No doctor can fix it and no painkiller truly erases it. I burn my medicines up in the blink of an eye, and I’m back to being broken, impossible little me.
On registration day, thanks to that pain, I ended up limping out of the high school by the time my brother and I were done. In a way, I was grateful for the discomfort, because it gave me an excuse to look as upset as I felt. Someone had already found me out, I didn’t know what to tell Grey, and I was slowly growing frantic.
“Come on,” Grey said, doing his best to help me into his old, battered truck. He was still wearing his name badge from the Hell station he managed down the street. He refused to fix its sign’s burned-out S as a matter of principle. “We’ll get this sorted out.”
“You sure about that?” I muttered, still thinking about that boy in the hall. Grey, though, meant my school schedule. Thanks to years of bad record-keeping about my so-called homeschooling—Mom slowly lost heart for everything over the years, me and her own sanity included—the counselors insisted on putting me in all the easiest classes, no matter how much Grey protested. “I’m going to die of boredom,” I told him, trying to provide the zinger he was expecting. “You’ll be up for manslaughter at least.”
He rolled his eyes and shut my door. I had a few seconds while he rounded the truck to pull myself together.
See you around, werewolf girl, Mr. Obnoxious had said. Like he knew me. Like he knew.
“Listen, B,” Grey said once he got in. “I know, it sucks. But your teachers will figure this out. You’ll get moved up when they get to know you. And you know why you have to do this. We’ve talked about this.”
We sure had. Ever since my parents bailed on the lycanthropic freakshow and Grey became my legal guardian, he’d been stuck with trying to support us financially and take care of me somehow. He should have been halfway through med school by now, but instead he was stuck trying to help me out, digging through every myth and crackpot theory he could find. We were barely holding things together, and I felt guilty as hell about it.
“I’m short on resources right now,” he said grudgingly. “And the best way you can help around the house is to get out of it now and then.”
“Ergo, scho
ol. I know.”
He adjusted his rear-view mirror. In its reflection, I could see the telltale gray streak in his hair. “So can you try to put up with the first few days of class? At least see how it goes?”
“But I—”
I stopped. He sounded so weary. If he knew someone had figured out my secret already, he’d turn right around and yank me out of town, let alone school. We’d both be running, and we’d have nothing left.
“I can try,” I said, my voice thin.
He took that in, a little grimly. Then he backed the truck out of its parking spot, leaving me to brood over my options. Either I had to find this guy and figure out what he wanted from me, or I’d have to make myself invisible somehow. I wasn’t sure I believed Grey when he said that part would be simple. “There are sixteen hundred students at this school,” Grey reminded me. “It’s a lot easier to hide in a big school than a small one. Even I pulled it off for a while. And I’m a six-foot tall scarecrow with Bride of Frankenstein hair.”
He smiled. I didn’t. He might be striking, but he sure as hell wasn’t me, with all my unique little problems. Everything that made me…well, the werewolf girl.
“Sure,” I said, unconvinced. “I’ll be fine.”
What a way to start my senior year.
Chapter Two
Unsurprisingly, I began my first day at Gilman High by getting lost.
Grey had warned me the place was large. He’d neglected to mention it was also a total maze. The school sprawled over several massive buildings—it had skybridges, for God’s sake—and because my teachers were hastily transferring me into different classes, just like Grey expected, I kept having to re-orient myself. My repeatedly scribbled-upon campus map looked like abstract art by now. When I finally found my new English class, I was several minutes past the bell.
Clunking solo through the door in the middle of a discussion was not how I wanted to make my entrance.
Everyone stopped to stare. Then there were whispers I’m sure I wasn’t meant to hear, but my werewolf ears picked up every word. Who on earth is…? What’s with the crutches? Wait, I’ve seen her around town, but…what’s she doing here?
I struggled to take a steadying breath. Unfortunately, I did it through my nose, and the flood of scents nearly knocked me off my feet. It was a mélange of body spray, perfumes, sweat, dust, autumn, old books, the ghostly imprints of hundreds of people who’d passed through this room, and the thrumming awareness of everyone who was here now. I caught a whiff of something familiar, too, but I lost it in the powerful urge to sneeze. With my hand pressed to my face, I turned to find a seat and hide as fast as possible. I had to get the attention off me.
It might have worked, too, if someone hadn’t stuck a foot out to trip me.
It was a dizzying moment, not just from the fall but from another flicker of recognition. I didn’t have time to pin it down. The way I slipped meant I jammed one crutch behind a desk leg, and I went down tugged in all directions. I could feel bone crunch as I hit the floor. I hollered. I couldn’t help it.
Then I looked up.
Mr. Trouble, in all his blond-haired, obnoxious glory, stood over me and stared.
“Are you all right?” someone called. Someone else hooted and applauded. The teacher tried to clear people away, and others tried to help, but he stayed put—so he saw exactly what he was waiting for.
My broken arm was rebuilding itself before his eyes.
The sick part of being a werewolf is that everything breaks so quickly—it has to, in order to rearrange itself and re-form. That means a lot of easy injuries. Both the breaking and mending hurt like hell, which was why I was swearing through clenched teeth and hoping no one else saw the bone fragments retreating through my skin. Soon I had blood on my forearm that didn’t correspond to a wound anymore, and I had to wipe it off before the girl beside me saw. I really hoped she didn’t notice I did that on the sleeve of her friend’s coat.
Then the teacher bellowed the answer to my biggest question of the last few days.
“Brandon Rayner!” he yelled, and Mr. Trouble stood slowly upright, his expression disgustingly triumphant. He immediately started playing innocent.
“I was just stretching my legs,” he claimed dismissively, while all of his friends chimed in to agree.
I grimaced. The lie was bad enough, but it was the smirk that made my fists clench and my blood roar. I bit the insides of my cheeks so hard I could taste the blood, struggling to keep my temper in check.
What I heard next didn’t make me feel better, either.
“He tripped her on purpose,” said the girl helping me up. “I saw the whole thing, Mr. McKay.”
I stopped fuming and started blushing out of embarrassment instead. I couldn’t have done worse at avoiding attention if I’d tried. This girl might as well have had Queen of the School blinking over her head in neon lights. Everyone moved aside to give her space, and she made her pronouncements with total confidence, like the idea that anyone would contradict her hadn’t even crossed her mind.
I started entertaining fantasies of boring straight through the floor with the power of my mind, then disappearing under the crust of the earth to die.
“Miss Hilliard,” said the teacher. “Are you certain?”
She nodded once. She had gorgeous red curls that actually bounced. I hated her instantly.
“All right. Mr. Rayner, come with me. And—Miss—”
He didn’t even know my name yet. It was probably for the best. I muttered, “I’m fine,” then tugged out of the girl’s grip so I could make my awkward way down the row of desks. I sat at the very end, trying to hide underneath my hair. It’s dark and messy, for the record. Wouldn’t bounce if you paid it to.
From there, I ignored everyone’s curiosity until the end of class, when the bell announced my chance to escape. Of course, before I could, my red-haired Knight Defender and her friends caught up with me.
“Hey,” she said. I winced. “Sorry about Brandon. That’s a lousy introduction.”
I made a noncommittal noise. She took it as agreement. “He’s kind of a jerk to everyone. He isn’t usually that bad, though.” She made an intent little frown. “Did you know him already or something?”
I was spared from having to answer by Brandon’s friends barging towards the doorway. One sent me stumbling against the wall, and I couldn’t help but make a silent, but very visible, growl. All three boys went wide-eyed and unsettled. Then they turned tail and disappeared.
My new, self-appointed friend stood with her hands on her hips, giving me a long, appraising look. I was expecting her to ask what that had been about. Instead, she nodded as if in approval.
I hadn’t seen that coming.
“Tell you what,” she said. “Lunch. You, me, the girls. I’ll introduce you to the people around here who don’t suck. You need to know more about this place, anyway. Can’t get through being the new girl without some help.” She beamed at me.
Before I could catch my breath I was swept along to the commons as if everything actually was going according to plan. Her plan, anyway. At least things were working out for someone.
I just hoped I wasn’t getting into even more trouble. After all, I’d learned the hard way that even pretty smiles could have nasty fangs waiting underneath.
*
“So…welcome to the zoo,” said my Knight Defender, with far more irony than she realized.
I walked into Gilman High’s lunch room beside her, bracing myself. It was a huge, open space, brightly lit and filled with people. I suppose the normal crowd would find it comfortable. For me, mostly, it was loud. Sensitive hearing is good for quiet details, but in a room full of noise, everything quickly blurs into mush. The same, unfortunately, can be said for smells. Besides all the people, there was the food—some appetizing, some not, some known, some mysterious, and all of it clashing until I couldn’t tell whether I was starving or nauseated. I hoped it was the former. I wasn’t about to make friends a
nd influence people by puking on their shoes.
“I’m not sure you got my name,” my host said, while I swallowed and tried to blink my eyes clear. She held out a hand to shake. “I’m Lacey Hilliard. You can call me Cee.”
Oh, God. “I’m—”
“B, right? Your brother mentioned you in orchestra a while back.” She beamed. “B and Cee. That’s—” Going to make me sick, I thought. She just plowed ahead. “Here, let’s get a table. You can sit next to me and we’ll talk.”
I did, taking an uncomfortable seat on the bench while Cee introduced everyone.
Madison was apparently Cee’s oldest friend in the bunch. I wondered if it was just habit keeping her around, though, because she seemed awfully irritable—especially at me, for taking up valuable table space. The others were less defensive. Emily, a tiny blonde thing, actually gave a wave. She looked about thirteen, but assured me she was as old as the rest of us. Apart from Cee, anyway, who was a year younger, since she skipped a grade at some point.
Of course she did.
The other friendly one was Lin, who made a point of telling me it wasn’t Lynn. “I’m adopted,” she said. “My parents wanted to give me a Chinese name that still blended in, but all it means is that no one spells it right.” Her exasperated eye-roll actually eked out a smile from me.
Lacey finished naming a couple hangers-on, then hesitated, like she’d been about to introduce one more person before remembering she wasn’t there. It was odd, but she covered it with a smile and a change of topic before anyone could say anything about it.
“Anyway, there’s lots we could tell you,” Lacey said. “If you’re still messing with your schedule, I could let you know which teachers are the best.”
“And which to avoid,” Lin muttered.
“Or if you want a tour of the campus later, or—”
“Actually, I want to know more about Brandon.”
That stopped the conversation cold. Everyone made faces, ranging from uncomfortable to disgusted. Lacey in particular went pensive. “I’m sure you do. But where to start…”
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