Crescent Wolves (Supernatural Shifter Academy Book 1)

by G. Bailey

  "Now, just for safety, I need you to swear on this stone never to speak of our conversation," he picks out a witch stone from his pocket. Witch stones are a foolproof way of making sure someone keeps their promise. If you try to break the promise, the Witch Stone will take your life. I grit my teeth and take the stone into my hand.

  "I promise never to speak of this conversation," I say, feeling the stone warm in my hand.

  "Perfect," he grins, taking the stone from me and putting it in his pocket. "I do hate gossip. Secrets have a way of becoming messed up truths if they are spoken too much."

  "And how many secrets do you have, Mr Hawkthorne?" I ask and he simply smiles.

  "Too many," he answers and turns around, walking in the other direction. I watch him walk away, the magic in the air thicker than the salt in the sea air I loved when I was a kid.

  I might be a siren, but I just got lured into a trap and I have a sinking feeling Millie will pay the price.

  Chapter 11

  Even though I slept like a zombie most of the day, I’m still tired when I get back to my room after dinner. I have enough energy to drag myself to the washroom--there’s one in the girls’ wing and one in the boys’ wing, with multiple showers and stalls--and take a much needed shower before returning to my room and crawling into bed. I feel a little more at ease after dinner--a lot more, actually. The idea of actually having acquaintances here, let alone friends, wasn’t something I was expecting, and the dinner conversation with Hazel and Landon was a pleasant surprise. All I can do now is hope that the rest of my classmates will be equally accommodating.

  The breakfast bell rings at seven on the dot the next morning, and for the first time in my life I actually feel a surge of excitement about going to class. I shake my head as I climb out of bed and pull on my crisp new uniform. Who would’ve thought?

  The rest of the dormitory migrates back to the dining hall, where a full English breakfast spread is laid out, and it takes me a while to locate Hazel in the throng of people. I make a mental note to ask her which room she’s in--maybe next time I can meet her beforehand. We could make a routine out of it, I think, with a sense of almost absurd glee.

  Eventually I find her, and the two of us chat about things that seem frighteningly banal compared to the world we’ve found ourselves plunged into. She seems more interested in which upperclassman pissed off which professor than the fact that we’re about to go to a shapeshifting class, at a secret boarding school on a private island. It’s not going to seem this strange forever, I remind myself as we bring our dishes to the bus tubs. You feel this way every time you change schools.

  Sure, but most schools aren’t full of dragons and werewolves.

  “So what do you have first?” Hazel asks as we step out into the entrance hall. The sunshine of the quad is streaming in through the windows, nearly blinding in its intensity.

  I rummage in my bag and withdraw my schedule. “Looks like… ‘Introduction to Vampire Shifting’,” I read.

  “Nice,” Hazel says, nodding approvingly. “Between you and me, the vampires are the most annoying guys at this school.”

  I raise my eyebrows. “What makes you say that?”

  She rolls her eyes. “They all have the dark, brooding thing going on. The girls always go for that in the movies, but in real life it’s a hell of a lot more bothersome. You wouldn’t believe what it does to your social life to never smile. Usually by the time they graduate, they’ll have figured out that being a dick isn’t a good way to make friends.”

  I chuckle. “I guess I’ll have to try to avoid falling into the stereotype.”

  “Please do,” Hazel agrees, laughing. “Although between you and me, there’s no harm in eating the eye candy.”

  “Eye candy?”

  She tips me a wink. “Wait and see.”

  I’m almost more nervous about finding the classroom than about going to the class itself… almost. Thankfully, I spot Samantha hanging around in the back, monitoring the outgoing students, and approach her with the kind of frantic desperation that’s only found in a kid on her first day of school. She laughs when she sees me. “Let me guess,” she says, “you’re not sure where the classroom is.”

  I nod. “How old is this building, anyway? It’s so complicated.”

  “It dates back to the 1500s, believe it or not,” she replies. “It was originally used by a coterie of witches living in the Scottish Isles. Which classroom are you looking for?”

  “1301,” I reply. “Huxley’s the professor.”

  Samantha nods, although she briefly pulls a face that could be a wince. “I see.” My stomach drops. Coming from a faculty member, that’s not a great sign. “It will be on the ground floor,” she says, pointing in the direction I came from. “Down the hall--the odd numbers are on the left.”

  “Thank you,” I say, and scurry off. I nearly have to go all the way to the end of the hall before I find the classroom, but I manage. Barely. The classroom is well lit, with a tantalizing view of the campus outside. Old wooden desks sit in neat rows, with a teacher’s podium at the front of the classroom. Behind it stands a stern-faced older gentleman dressed in the dark faculty uniform. His hair is white and a little messy, and even from a distance I can see that his face is lined with wrinkles. Weird, I think. I thought vampires were supposed to be immortal.

  Most of the other students have already settled in by the time I arrive, and they look up with vague interest when the door opens. Professor Huxley glances over at me, his eyes narrowing for a moment before going wide with recognition. “Ah, Ms. Ash! It’s nice of you to join us!” He bustles up to me, not giving me a chance to get a word in edgewise. “The registrar had told me we had a new face in our class, but I must have forgotten. Too many things to think about at once!” Putting an arm around my shoulders, he turned to face the assembled students, who had all gone quiet. “Everybody, this is Amelia Ash. I’m told she’s an exceptional student, so follow her example.”

  I clear my throat, already turning red. “I’m sorry,” I say, turning to the professor, “I think you have me confused with someone else.”

  Professor Huxley frowns, his big, watery eyes looking both curious and half-mad. “Don’t be ridiculous. I was told we would have an Amelia Ash in this class, so if that’s not you, then who are you?”

  I can feel the eyes of my classmates on me, and whatever excitement I was feeling before evaporates under their gaze. “My name is Millie Brix,” I reply, handing him my schedule. “I’m in your class this period.”

  He sniffs, holding the paper at a distance and squinting at it. “Well, I’ll be,” he says, shaking his head. “My apologies, Ms. Brix. It’s so dreadfully difficult to keep all the new faces around here straight. Well, go ahead and take a seat. There’s an open desk in the back, next to Hunter.” He points toward the back of the classroom, at an empty desk in the corner.

  Good, I think. At least I’ll be in the back. I hurry toward it, eager to have the others stop staring at me, and find myself sitting down next to a silent boy who’s hunched over the desk closest to the window. His hair is a shock of bronze red, the color of a new penny, and his eyes are bluer than I would have thought humanly--or inhumanly--possible. His attractiveness is more alien than some of the other guys I’ve seen around the academy, a more clear reminder that he’s not a human… and as I glance around the room, I see that the others have a similar otherworldly beauty. Now I understand what Hazel was saying about eye candy. Hunter’s features are sharp and chiseled, and his skin is so pale that he might be mistaken for a corpse. Go figure, right?

  As if sensing my eyes on him, he hunches lower over his desk, his eyes sliding over to look at me. Raising my eyebrows, I look away, remembering what Hazel said about new vampires’ attitudes and doubting that I’ll be cozying up to anyone in this class anytime soon.

  Professor Huxley has returned to the podium, rustling a stack of papers, he’s clearly scatterbrained, but so far he seems more or less harmless.
I’ll take it, even if it means being mistaken for someone else. Hell, maybe that would even be a blessing. “Now,” he says, “while we’re waiting for Amelia, let’s start the lesson off with a simple exercise. Today we’ll be discussing blood drinking, but no vampire worth his salt drinks blood without first knowing how to use his fangs.” He spreads his arms out, a gleeful look on his face. “With that in mind, I’d like you all to partner with the person closest to you and take turns manifesting your fangs. Just your fangs, mind you--you’re all beginners, and I don’t want anyone else sent to the nurse this week. I’ll be making rounds to monitor your progress. Don’t worry, Millie,” he adds, looking at me, “if you’re stuck, just follow along and you’ll get the hang of it. Practice is the best way to learn!”

  He makes a shooing motion with his hands, signal enough to get started. Immediately, the classroom erupts with activity as the students turn to their partners and begin the exercise. I find myself looking to my right to see if my other neighbor seems friendlier than this Hunter guy. No such luck; she’s already partnered up with someone else, barely sparing me a second glance.

  Shoulders slumping, I turn back around to Hunter, who still looks like someone just told him his mother died. “Hi,” I say tentatively. “I’m Millie. Should we…?”

  Hunter takes a long breath before turning to me. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure. Fine. You first.”

  “I, uh…” I clear my throat. “I’m totally new to this. I mean, I… I don’t know how to…”

  “Fine,” says Hunter, crossing his arms, his expression still stoic. “I’ll keep my expectations low.”

  I can feel the blush returning to my cheeks as I glance around at the other students. Some of them are already baring their fangs, while others seem to have gotten too gung ho and are struggling to transform the right parts of their bodies. I know this is supposed to be a beginners’ class, but I don’t even know where to begin. The only time I’ve transformed, I had adrenaline on my side, and I hadn’t been thinking about it. I don’t know if I could transform now if my life depended on it. “That’s the thing,” I say, biting my lip. “I’ve never done this before.”

  Hunter snorts. “You had to have. You’re here, aren’t you?”

  Now I can feel myself getting frustrated. “Come on,” I say, “the professor said you’d be able to help me. Don’t tell me you knew how to transform after a single time!”

  “No,” he replies. “And I still don’t, so I’m about as useful as you are right now.”

  I blink. That wasn’t what I had been expecting. “You can’t make fangs?”

  “Or anything,” Hunter answers dryly. “Hence, I suppose, why I’m in the back of the classroom.”

  “Oh.” I frown. “How long have you been here? At Shifter Academy, I mean.”

  “Going on a month now,” Hunter replies, his expression still stony. “And from the looks of it, I’ll probably be stuck here in this intro class for the rest of my life.”

  “Well, I guess that makes two of us,” I remark, and there’s a flicker of something that might be a smile on his face, but it’s gone before I can identify it. “I guess I’ll ask the professor,” I say, and raise my hand, but the professor is busy giving pointers to a pair of students in the front who are having the same problem.

  “...You have to feel the magic inside you first,” he’s saying. “It’s a little different for everyone, but it’s always a sort of energy in the pit of your stomach. Once you feel it, you have to visualize the transformation you want to make.”

  Squaring my shoulders, Hunter forgotten for the moment, I close my eyes and fish for that cool pool of unfamiliar energy I felt on the day I first transformed. But it’s nowhere to be found, and even as I set my jaw and furrow my brow, I can’t for the life of me make myself feel it. It’s hard to even remember what “it” felt like.

  I’m just starting to grow frustrated when the classroom door opens. I open my eyes and look up, Hunter following my gaze, to see a hauntingly beautiful red-haired girl standing in the doorway. Her eyes are the same ocean-blue color as Hunter’s, and she has the curves of a classic pin-up girl, the kind of body that probably earns her stares everywhere she goes. Her eyes settle first on me, and then on Hunter next to me, and her face immediately twists into a look of disdain. “So,” she says, crossing her arms, “the freak is in our class.”

  Chapter 12

  I have to give her credit for her audacity, even if I’m shrinking in my chair, staring across the room at the newcomer like she might attack me or something. Professor Huxley looked up from the pair of students he was helping and gave a sniff. “Amelia Ash, I presume?”

  The girl gives Professor Huxley an appraising look, one eyebrow raised. “That’s right,” she replies, her Irish lilt unmistakable. “Sorry I’m late.”

  The professor eyes her for a moment before replying slowly, “All right, then. I suppose you can just take a seat where you like. We’re doing a basic shifting exercise--fangs only. I assume you know how to--”

  Amelia shoots him a look of barely disguised condescension. “I think I can handle it, yes.” With that, she strides across the room to where Hunter and I are seated. By now, most of the other students have returned to their activities, unbothered by the new student or simply past caring.

  Professor Huxley returns to desperately trying to coax his charges back into human form, and aside from an occasional sideways glance from the others, we’re left alone. Amelia stops in front of my desk, looking down at me. She’s tall--tall enough to cast a shadow over me--and she looks at me like I’m something unpleasant she’s just found on the sidewalk. “You’re in my seat,” she tells me, crossing her arms.

  Huh? I shift uncomfortably. “I didn’t realize we had assigned seats. The professor just told me--”

  “I’m going to be honest with you,” she says, “I don’t really care what the professor told you.”

  Shit, I think, a sinking feeling in my stomach, she’s going there. It should probably be obvious by now that I don’t handle confrontations too well, and this was no different--I found myself slowly sinking in my chair, as if by hiding I could somehow avoid a conversation that has already become uncomfortable. “I… I’m sorry,” I stammer, looking around the room. It looks like there’s one other open desk on the other side of the classroom, which I point to. The truth is, the idea of drawing any more attention to myself right now is enough to make me want to cry. “I think that one’s free.”

  Amelia doesn’t even glance that way, instead turning to Hunter, who’s been watching the exchange with a look of vague discomfort on his face. “Hunter,” she says, “tell her to move.”

  Hunter turns to me, an apologetic look flashing across his face, and opens his mouth to speak, but I beat him to it. “It’s okay, it’s fine,” I rush to say, already struggling to gather up my stuff, which has somehow spread out. “I’ll… uh… leave you alone, I guess.” I turn to Hunter. “It was nice to meet you,” I say hurriedly, and turn to go.

  Amelia’s voice stops me in my tracks. “Are you really doing this in front of me?” I turn back to her, and her mouth twists like she’s just tasted something sour. She shakes her head, laughing a little. “You know, I’m not sure if you’re incredibly brave or incredibly stupid,” she tells me, eyes narrowing.

  “I…” I look to Hunter as I stand up, hoping he’ll step in and intervene, but he’s just watching the exchange, his brow furrowed. So much for that. “I’m sorry,” I begin, wanting to be anywhere else in the world right now. “I didn’t realize--I, I mean, I didn’t mean to offend you or something--”

  “Offend me?” She snorts. “How adorably naive. I’m not worried about you offending me, Millie Brix,” she says, leaning forward and punctuating the last two words for emphasis. How does she know my name? Come to think of it, why did she call me a freak when she saw me.

  Come on, I think to myself. The cat’s out of the bag, that’s how. Briefly, I wonder if Hazel or Landon might have let
something slip, but I push the idea away. They wouldn’t have.

  “My brother, though,” Amelia says, nodding at Hunter, “that’s a different story. I would recommend not dragging him any further into your shit.” I open my mouth to reply, but she doesn’t stop. “I heard about you,” she says, eyes flashing. “You’re the hybrid everyone’s been talking about. They’re being generous, I think. ‘Mistake’ might be more appropriate. Stay away from my brother if you know what’s good for you.” That’s all she has to say. The conversation apparently over, Amelia turns, tossing her scarlet hair over one shoulder and dropping into my desk, crossing her legs like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

  “Still no progress, huh?” I overhear her asking Hunter, but I don’t wait to listen to his response. I’m already shuffling over to the free desk on the other side of the room. A few other students are staring at me, having watched the exchange, but Professor Huxley is still blissfully distracted, now at the podium desperately trying to sort out a pile of documents. Maybe it’s for the best that he didn’t witness that. The last thing I need is a teacher rescuing me from bullying on my first day here. That’s a guaranteed way to ruin one’s reputation at a new school, if experience has taught me anything.

  So much for making new friends, I think, awkwardly inviting myself into another group and returning to my efforts to make my fangs appear.

  No such luck on that front, either.

  The rest of my vampire shifting class goes by in a blur, but at least there are no further incidents after the Amelia Ash debacle. Occasionally I look over at her and Hunter, seeing her making animated gestures in her attempts to show him how to make his fangs appear, something she seems to be able to do effortlessly. Eventually we stop the practical drill and do a guided meditation, something I never would have imagined them teaching in school, before a brief overview of the way shifting magic moves through the body. The information is interesting, but I’m too rattled from the confrontation to do much more than take notes and bite my nails.