by Tamara White
Hidden Wolf
Tamara White
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Afterword
Books By Tamara White
© 2020 Tamara
All rights reserved.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
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Acknowledgments
For Mackenzie.
You may have crashed into my world early, but I wouldn’t change it for the world. You are the light in the darkness. My special little moo moo.
Chapter One
I sit in the idling car, my hand gripped onto my bag, wishing for a way out of this.
“Don’t make me go. Don’t send me to my death.” My father scoffs, but I continue on, desperate to find a way to escape this punishment. “Throw me in a pit with rabid wolves, but don’t make me go in there,” I plead, addressing the man who raised me. I turn on the waterworks, hoping he won’t send me into that tall, redbrick building, that he won’t send me to my doom.
My father stares at me with scrutinizing brown eyes, knowing I’m faking this whole outburst. It happens every year, so he’s used to it now.
“Eliza, it’s a school. Not a damn prison. Now get out of the car before I drag you out of it and make a scene in front of your classmates!” He smirks evilly. “Imagine how cool you’d look to your possible friends when they see a blubbering girl clinging to her pops.”
“You wouldn’t dare.” But, maybe, he would do such a thing. He likes embarrassing me just as much as I enjoy annoying him.
“Oh, nothing would give me greater pleasure.”
He turns the ignition off and goes to open the driver’s side door, but I lunge for him, gripping his hand tightly. “Okay, fine, you win. Just stay in the damn car.”
He grins gleefully at having won this round, but I will find a way to pay him back. Maybe when he finally gets a new girl in his life and brings her around to meet me. It’s always fun to mess with his girls. I let them in on my plan so as to not scare them away completely, but hey, if they can’t handle the fun my father and I like to indulge in, then that’s their loss.
Most people don’t understand our relationship or the way we meddle with each other’s lives, but it’s simple. Anton, while my father figure in life, is not my biological father. Sadly, I have no clue who my biological parents are due to the fact that I was dumped in the woods as an infant.
Anton happened to be camping in the area when he heard my cries and came to my aid. He told me that at first glance he saw a little baby wrapped in a blanket with bright hazel eyes and a tuft of strawberry blonde hair. However, in the blink of an eye, I shifted into a wolf pup.
He knew immediately what I was, what with him being a wolf hunter and all. He was going to leave me in the woods to die of natural causes, but he simply couldn’t do it. Against his better judgment, he picked me up and took me home with him.
And he’s been part of my life ever since.
Letting go of my dad’s hand, I groan in mock exasperation as I get out of the car. Every year we move to a new school, not settling down for too long. I should be used to the routine by now, but I don’t think it will ever be something I get used to. Moving to a new town, settling into a new home, and making new friends is not easy. Repetitive, yes, but never easy.
I haul my bag over my shoulder, slam the door shut, and crouch down to level a mock glare at my father. “I’ll see you later, Anton.”
He chuckles at the use of his name but doesn’t say anything. Instead, he starts the car and takes off out of the parking lot like he was never there to begin with. I can feel eyes on me, but I simply ignore them. It’s the typical new girl scrutiny that comes with being in a small town.
Anton does his best to be a father figure, but it’s hard for him sometimes. He was only nineteen when he found me. He was still basically a child himself. I imagine it shocks everyone who sees such a young man as my father. I’ve had many people confuse him for my older boyfriend, something that skeeved us both out.
It still surprises me that he never once thought to abandon me on someone’s doorstep rather than keep me. Hell, he could have killed me at any moment in my life because of what I am, but he hasn’t once tried.
Instead, he took me in and raised me with the love I would expect from any parent. Anton ensured I had everything I needed in life. He enrolled me in school, he made sure I had all the food I could need, and he gave me more than some parents give their real children.
Then, of course, he also gave me the things my wolf side needed. He never once lied about what I was, always telling me I was a wolf and he a wolf hunter. He taught me how to control the instincts that came with being a shifter, to keep the hunger fed so I wouldn’t feel the need to shift and hunt.
On the full moon, he always lied to people, especially the other hunters, telling them he was going out of town to hunt a particular wolf he had heard of that was terrorizing other cities and such, but he made those excuses for me. He took me to places with overpopulated animals so I could hunt in safety on a full moon.
If one of his hunter friends knew the real reason why he left town, they’d kill him and me without a second thought. They wouldn’t listen to reason or try to understand that I helped my father hunt the animals that were killing humans. That I had never taken a human life. They would see a wolf and deem it a threat that must be eliminated.
When I was old enough, Anton made it clear that if I ever gave into the ways of the other wild animals and harmed a human, then he would have to turn me over to the hunters. Which is why I’ve done my best not to let that urge consume me.
The warning bell for homeroom rings, startling me out of my head. Damn, I really need to start paying more attention and not letting myself get absorbed in my thoughts. Dad says that’s my main weakness. I zone out way more than I should. He thinks it could possibly be a wolf thing, but since he’s never actually stopped to study them, he’s not exactly sure.
Doing my best not to bump into anyone, I hurry up the icy steps and into the school building. I’m lucky I already got to explore the grounds when we arrived last week, or I’d be scrambling around like a chicken with its head cut off.
The principal was here the day we brought in my transcripts and filled out all the required paperwork. He was kind enough to show my father and me around the school grounds, letting me figure out where everything was. He made a point of showing me where homeroom would be, where my classes were, and just exactly where my locker was so my first day would be a little less overwhelming.
I was slightly concerned by the overly friendly nature of Principal Gibbons, but Dad assure
d me that he must just be friendly by nature. Not all principal’s we’ve encountered have been that welcoming.
Still, I’m grateful for the tour because today I won’t look like an idiot stumbling to classes, unsure where everything is. It’s like I’m just coming back for another year at this school, despite being the new student. I’m not exactly known for being the most approachable person, so making friends isn’t very likely.
I make it to my homeroom class just as the bell rings. The room is already filled with students, most of whom don’t hide their curiosity and openly stare my way. The girls look on with a mix of intrigue and jealousy, the bitter scent of their emotions a little off-putting, whereas the guys watch me with a blend of lust and excitement, the scent wafting from them overly sweet. I slump my shoulders and put my head down before moving to the back of the room. I sit in one of the last available seats, trying to tune out all the whispers about the new girl as best as I can while attempting to orient myself with the scents in the room.
In my last school, it didn’t matter where I sat because everyone knew me—or of me. They knew not to mess with me. People here, though, don’t know any better.
The full moon is two weeks away, so I shouldn’t be any more volatile than normal, although being a wolf shifter means it’s in my nature to be a bitch. Well, not really, but Dad said that embracing my anger is better than letting it eat away at me and then exploding when it’s not the full moon.
From the stories Anton has told me of my kind, we’re a very angry race of beings. He only knew of wolf shifters’ existence because his father trained him to hunt them. His whole lineage is made up of wolf hunters going back at least five generations, so for him to take me in, well, it’s a big betrayal to them.
I’ve asked him many times if he regrets making such a decision, but he assured me that there has never been a time where he looked back on his choice and wished he’d made a different one. Even if I can be a pain in the ass compared to other teenagers.
The last few students straggle in and take their seats. I hoped my novelty, new girl status would fade pretty quickly, but judging by the way people keep glancing back at me with curious stares, it’s not going to go away as rapidly as I wanted.
Unsurprisingly, a few popular girls have taken notice of me and apparently the clothes I’m wearing. Even though they’re whispering, I can hear every word they mutter to each other. Not that I really give a shit what they think of my clothes.
I’m comfortable, and that’s all that matters. So what if I’m wearing a red tee and blue jeans? Am I some kind of fashion guru who coordinates their wardrobe? No, I’m not. I’m a girl who has wide hips, a big ass, and generous tits. I just want to be able to move in my clothes. Not be hindered by them.
Hell, if they had my body shape, they would understand just how fucking hard it is to find clothes that do their bodies justice, but no, they’re all thinner than twigs. Fabric melds to their body shape. If I get a shirt that fits my boobs, then it is most likely gonna be loose around the rest of me and hang over my ass. That’s just how it is.
I’m so absorbed in my thoughts that the sound of the homeroom teacher calling my name surprises me. “Elizabeth? Elizabeth Martin?”
I turn my gaze her way, ignoring the girls who are still muttering bullshit back and forth between them.
“Uh, yes? That’s me,” I respond hesitantly.
Our homeroom teacher is a short, blond-haired woman who looks to be in her late forties, maybe early fifties judging by the spattering of gray lining her hair. Her sparkly blue eyes are the same color as the sky and show such kindness that I can’t help but smile her way.
According to the schedule I was given, her name is Mrs. Lawson. The principal wrote all my teachers’ names next to the classes so I wouldn’t be confused or have to ask, which was pretty great of him. Makes me look less like a fool if I have a question.
“I was just telling the class that you were a new transfer this year. Would you like to tell us where you’ve come from?” Her eyes show such gentleness and compassion, it makes it impossible to refuse her.
“Ah, well, I’ve moved around a lot, so I’m actually from a few different places, but most recently I’ve moved from Wilmington.”
The teacher nods, waiting for more, but I don’t know what else I to say. I mean, does she want me to tell her how excited I am to be there? Which I’m not. I could tell the class I’m a werewolf, but I doubt that would go over too well either. I simply remain quiet, hoping she’ll go back to the roll and whatever else the homeroom teacher does.
She smiles at me, and I think she can tell I’m done, so she moves on, turning her attention back to calling out names. She chats to certain students, asks how their break was and other meaningless chitchat, all while I observe the other people in the room.
None of them hold much interest for me. I just want to get the lay of the land, so to speak, and know who’s in charge around here. A quick glance tells me all I need to know. And that’s simply that this high school is like every other one I’ve been in.
At the top of the food chain, you have the bitch squad, aka the cheerleaders. They’re comprised of the pretty girls, the ones who can get on the cheerleading squad based on their looks or by who they know. The ones who think they are above everyone else. Usually, they’re led by the head bitch or queen bee who is deemed the prettiest girl in school by, well, herself most likely. It’s not like there is an actual competition.
Then, of course, we have the dick squad, aka the jocks. The boys who play some kind of sport which automatically makes them manly. Depending on the school, the only sports that classify them as jocks are football, baseball, or possibly soccer. However, one school I attended in Texas didn’t care what sport a male played, they were simply a jock if they played. I knew a guy friend who played badminton and thought it was hilarious because neither he nor I deemed such a thing a sport.
There were also the other typical categories. Your nerds and your geeks. Yes, they are apparently two different things, as I have learned in the past. Nerds are classed by their grades and whether they are high achievers, whereas the geeks are labeled such by the pop culture they like. Whether they can recite movies, books, TV shows, or are simply just excited by characters that aren’t real, well then, they automatically get grouped into the geek category. It’s ridiculous if you ask me.
You can similarly find your do-gooders, your tattletales, your bullies, and the typical bad girl or bad boy. To be honest, there are so many cliques that it would probably take me years to go through them all. The only thing that matters, though, is that regardless of who you are, the moment you step foot into a school, you’re immediately labeled and, in some cases, that label will haunt you until you leave school.
“Who is she though? Why would she start a new school year dressed like that? Is she trying to commit fashion suicide?”
My gaze goes back to the dark-haired girl who seems obsessed with my outfit. I’m so severely tempted to walk over and ask her what her problem is, but then that would clue her in to the fact I can hear her across a classroom.
She’s talking to a guy at her side who seems bored by her rant. “I don’t know, babe. It’s the start of the year. If you want to know who she is, go and introduce yourself. Stop being creepy and staring over at her.”
I smirk and lift a hand to cover it, faking a yawn. It wouldn’t do well for the girl to see me smiling at what her boyfriend said. He’s right though. She could just introduce herself, but something tells me I’m not going to get a polite introduction. If she’s a queen bee, then I’ll probably get the tough talk, maybe a little intimidation to put me in my place—neither of which I’ll take lying down.
At the ringing of the bell, I let out a sigh of relief. I need to get out of here quick to avoid the queen bee’s attempt at a takedown.
I get out of my seat, taking my bag with me. We have a five-minute window between classes to go to our locker and store our items or swap them o
ut for new ones. It’s a good idea really. Principal Gibbons explained they implemented the system because while it gave students a chance to change books, it was also a prime opportunity to use the bathroom. It was supposed to cut out bathroom breaks in the middle of class.
I shove my bag into my locker, pull out a blank notebook and pen, and then head straight to class. People take notice of me as I walk past, but I refuse to acknowledge any of the looks thrown my way. I can hear what’s being said from most of them, and it’s purely curiosity of who I am. Some want to approach me, others are content to observe me, and the girls are a mix of jealous and intimidated.
I have never understood why some girls are so obsessed with how another looks. Why does me being decent to look at have anything to do with the type of friend I’d be? I’ve never understood that logic.
As I walk into my first class of the day, I wonder whether this year will be different. Will I go the year with friend to trust and share my troubles with, or will I be isolated once again?
Maybe the fates could be kind to me and let me meet someone who wouldn’t care about my second nature. Not that I’ll be shouting it from the rooftops, but it would be nice to find another person other than my father to entrust such a secret to.
Chapter Two
Four classes down, and I can finally eat. After English and history, I seriously regretted not eating a bigger breakfast. By the time Art finished, it seemed like lunch would never come, but now math class is over, and I can dig into my food.