School, Status, and Sharp Teeth

I wake up with a headache that feels suspiciously like punishment for last night's fake smiling.

A hot shower helps. I scrub sleep from my skin, dry my hair, and yank it into a high ponytail. Black sports bra. Black underwear. A faded Metallica T-shirt that's soft from years of washing. Tight blue jeans, leather jacket, and my favorite boots.

In the mirror, I look... like myself.

Not a Luna-in-training. Not a doll. Not an accessory.

A girl who could break a boy's wrist and still pass math.

June's voice slides through my thoughts like silk over steel. We look good.

I tilt my head. "Do we?"

Obviously. She sounds offended that I'd even ask. We rock, bitch.

I can't help the grin that tugs at my mouth. June has a talent for making confidence feel less like arrogance and more like truth.

My long blond hair behaves for once, brushed straight into the ponytail. My skin's warm-toned, my eyes a hazel-green that shifts depending on the light. I don't bother with makeup—my lashes are dark and long enough on their own. Lip gloss, and I'm done.

I've never thought of myself as hot. More like... normal. Girl-next-door with a temper.

But wolves aren't normal, not really. Even when we pretend we are. Enhanced senses. enhanced strength. Enhanced looks, if we're honest.

Humans notice. They just don't understand what they're seeing.

I grab my protein shake from the fridge because I'm already running late, then bolt out the door and into my car.

Everton High is a human school. It's also a melting pot of secrets. Wolves from three packs. A couple of vampires. A handful of witches. We recognize each other by scent, by energy, by something that hums beneath the skin.

Humans? They're blissfully unaware.

Most of the time.

I park, sling my bag over my shoulder, and head across the yard.

Sandra is impossible to miss.

She's posted near the jocks like she owns the sunlight, surrounded by her little orbit of girls who laugh too loud and smile too sharp. She's blonde, glossy, and engineered—hair perfect, nails perfect, makeup perfect and of course boobs she got as a birthday present from her parents. She moves like she expects the world to part for her.

When her gaze snags on me, her mouth lifts.

Not friendly. Not warm.

Calculated.

She leans into Deon—one of the vampire jocks—and drapes herself over him like she's claiming territory. It's not subtle. It's meant to be seen.

I keep walking like I didn't notice.

June growls low in my mind. She's still trying.

Let her, I answer. I'm not in the mood for her circus.

Deon meets my eyes over Sandra's shoulder. For half a second, something like regret flickers across his face.

Then Sandra laughs into his ear and the moment is gone.

I don't let it get under my skin. I never dated Deon seriously. We mostly trained together at my kickboxing club and flirted because it was easy. Safe.

Sandra has a habit of turning "easy" into "messy."

Her real weapon isn't strength. It's social gravity. She pulls attention like a tide, then drowns people in it.

She tried to bully me a couple years ago. It lasted one day.

One.

I'd shoved her into a locker and broke her nose and told her quietly and precisely, what would happen if she touched me again.

She never did.

Now she keeps it polite to my face—civil, even. But she talks behind my back. I can smell it on her the way her scent spikes when I walk by. Fear, resentment, and something that tastes like obsession.

Inside, the halls are chaos—lockers slamming, people shouting, perfume mixing with sweat and cafeteria grease. I weave through it like I've done a thousand times.

Tara finds me first.

"Hey, girl!" I call, lifting a hand.

Tara is a wolf from Red Ridge, the neighboring pack. She's blonde, blue-eyed, and built like a cheerleading poster. Outgoing, loud, fearless. The type of girl who can smile at you and make you feel like you've known her your whole life.

She comes barreling toward me like a missile. "CAT!"

She wraps me in a hug. I grunt, but I don't pull away.

"You look like you want to bite someone," she says brightly, stepping back to study me.

"I had a meeting with my mother and fashion magazines," I reply.

Tara's eyes light up. "Oh! Mating ball planning?"

I groan. "Don't say that so loudly."

She laughs. "Relax. Humans don't know what we're talking about."

Witches do, though.

Lizzie appears at Tara's shoulder like she's been summoned by the sound of drama.

Lizzie's half witch, half shifter. She inherited the magic fully but sadly a latent wolf. She's shy and smart, the kind of girl who used to hide behind books and hoodies until Tara decided she was going to drag her into the world by force.

Lately, Lizzie's been changing—new clothes, new confidence. She's still Lizzie, but there's something sharper in her eyes now, like she's tired of being overlooked.

"Morning," she says softly, then glances at me. "You okay?"

I shrug. "Define okay."

Lizzie smiles faintly. "Right."