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 snort.

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 anger issues.

But wolves aren't normal. Not really.

Enhanced senses. Enhanced strength. Better healing. Better looks, if we're being honest.

Humans notice stuff sometimes. They just explain it away because the alternative sounds insane.

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

Cold air slaps me in the face immediately. Frost clings to the edges of the driveway, and my car makes a noise when it starts that suggests it's personally offended by mornings.

"Same," I mutter.

Everton High is a human school. Mostly.

It's also packed with wolves from three different packs, a couple vampires, a few witches, and humans who have absolutely no idea they're walking through hallways full of predators.

Most days everybody behaves.

Mostly.

The parking lot is already crowded when I pull in. Music blasts from somebody's truck nearby. Human freshmen shuffle around clutching coffee cups like emotional support animals. Somebody drops a binder near the sidewalk and papers go flying everywhere while their friends laugh instead of helping.

Normal morning.

Near the football field, two wolves from Black Creek are arguing loudly enough that I catch the scent of irritation before I even shut my car door.

I sling my bag over my shoulder and head toward the yard.

Sandra is impossible to miss.

She's posted near the jocks like she owns the sunlight, surrounded by her usual orbit of girls who laugh too loudly at everything she says. Blonde, glossy, and engineered—hair perfect, nails perfect, makeup perfect, and of course the boobs her parents bought her for her birthday.

When her gaze lands on me, her mouth curves.

Not friendly. Not warm.

Calculated.

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

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

Let her.

Deon meets my eyes over Sandra's shoulder. For half a second, he actually looks uncomfortable.

Then Sandra says something in his ear and he smirks again like nothing happened.

Typical.

Sandra and I have hated each other for years.

She likes attention. Control. Being the girl everybody watches when she walks into a room.

And unfortunately for her, I don't care enough to compete.

That bothered her way more than if I'd actually tried.

She attempted the whole bullying thing once. Whispered comments. Fake sympathy. Little social games.

Then one of her friends dumped a smoothie over Lizzie's books.

I'd shoved Sandra into a locker hard enough to dent it, broke her nose, and told her quietly what would happen if she touched my friends again.

We understood each other perfectly after that.

Now she keeps things cleaner. Smarter.

Rumors. Fake smiles. Mean comments delivered through other people.

Honestly? I'd rather get punched.

Inside, the halls are chaos—lockers slamming, people shouting, perfume mixing with cafeteria grease and wet winter jackets. Somebody runs past carrying a basketball and nearly wipes out near the stairs. A teacher near the office already looks exhausted, and it's not even first period yet.

Tara finds me first.

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

Tara lights up immediately and comes barreling toward me like a blonde missile. "CAT!"

She wraps me in a hug hard enough to crack ribs.

"You smell aggressive today," she says brightly as she steps back.

"I saw Sandra before eight a.m."

Tara winces. "Damn. That's rough."

Tara is a wolf from Red Ridge, the neighboring pack. Blonde, blue-eyed, outgoing, loud, fearless. The type of girl who could wear a crop top during a snowstorm and somehow survive through pure confidence alone.

Meanwhile, I'm dressed like I might rob a gas station later.

Somehow we're best friends.

Her eyes narrow. "Wait. Are you still grumpy about the mating ball?"

"Yes."

"You act like we're sending you to prison."

"I would honestly prefer prison."

Tara snorts loudly enough that a couple humans glance over.

Witches notice too, though.

Lizzie appears beside Tara like she materialized out of thin air at the mention of drama.

"Morning," she says softly.

Lizzie's half witch, half shifter. Magic active, wolf latent. She's shy and smart, the kind of girl who used to hide behind books and oversized hoodies until Tara basically dragged her into the world by force.

Lately, Lizzie's been changing.

New clothes. Better posture. More confidence.

Still nervous, though.

I can hear it in the way her heartbeat speeds up when too many people brush past us in the hallway.

"You okay?" Lizzie asks carefully.

I shrug. "Define okay."

That earns a small smile from her.