#Chapter 2: The Strongest Warrior

Rowena

 

“I guess I should be considered the strongest warrior in the camp now, shouldn’t I?”

 

Emma and I blinked up at the tall, handsome form as he sauntered down the stairs. He took each step slowly, his footsteps echoing through the quiet hallway.

 

I couldn’t believe it; my brother, Eric, had returned after three long years.

 

“Eric?” I murmured, taking a step forward. His hair was longer now, and he was more muscular, but it was certainly him. “What are you doing here?”

 

Eric stepped down off the last stair and walked up to me with his hands in his pockets. There was a casual air about him as he approached me, and yet my heart was pounding in my chest.

 

“Miss me?” he asked.

 

I opened my mouth to respond, but before any words could come, Emma’s sharp voice sliced through the air.

 

“Eric Griffith?” she called out. “As in… the Alpha’s son from New Moon?”

 

“In the flesh,” Eric said, sweeping his blue-eyed gaze across the cheerleader. “Future warrior king, too. Don’t forget that part.”

 

As Eric spoke, Emma fell silent. Nearby, students who had begun to get out of their classes stopped, overhearing the exchange and murmuring amongst themselves. In this school, Adrian Almond was the strongest warrior; not Eric, despite his prowess back in high school. For now, at least.

 

Growing up, though, my brother had been the strongest warrior in our entire pack. He was, of course, the son of an Alpha. My father spared no expenses when it came to Eric’s training, and it was obvious.

 

“I can’t believe you’re back,” I muttered, feeling my face get hot. “All this time…”

 

“Three years,” Eric said. He reached out to ruffle my hair, and my face got even hotter. “A long three years.”

 

I almost laughed. That was the truth; it probably felt even longer for me. Back when Eric was still living with us, people had respected me, at least somewhat.

 

Even though I lacked the white-blonde hair that was distinctive of my family, sharing only the bright blue eyes, people couldn’t disrespect me with my brother around. They were too afraid of him. Behind his back, they said that they didn’t believe I was his sister, but they didn’t dare much else.

 

But then he had been called away to warrior training. He had gotten to spend three years traveling the world and training at various warrior camps while I had been stuck at home, ridiculed by my peers.

 

I had begged my father to let me go with Eric, but he had said no.

 

And each day, the bullying had gotten worse.

 

But now he was back, a day late and a dollar short. What did that mean for me now?

 

Emma, who was still standing there with a dumbfounded look in her eyes, began to put two and two together. “Griffith…” she repeated, blinking at me. “You’re a Griffith, too. But you look nothing alike.”

 

A buzz of conversation started nearby as the onlookers continued to observe. Of course no one linked me to Eric, to the prestigious Griffith family. My caramel brown curls were completely out of place, and besides, no one would believe me even if I had tried to explain.

 

So I hadn’t. At least, not until now.

 

Before I could say anything, Eric pulled me in to a tight hug. His arms were bigger than I remembered, but he still wore the same scent: a cologne that smelled like campfire ash and whiskey.

 

“I missed you, sister.”

 

I buried my face in his chest. “I missed you, too, Eric.”

 

When we pulled away, Eric’s eyes swept down to my blouse—ruined by Emma’s coffee. I had gotten so caught up in his sudden return that I had completely forgotten until now.

 

“Did you do this?” His gaze swept over to Emma, and she seemed to shrink beneath his stare.

 

“I—I didn’t—” she stammered, but Eric cut her off with a wave of his hand. He turned back to me and took me by both shoulders, inspecting the damage done to my shirt.

 

“I’ve got an extra in my bag,” he said. “You need to change.”

 

I nodded. “Thanks.”

 

Eric turned to leave then, but I stopped him. I didn’t need to say anything; my gaze darted to my notebook, which was still held in Emma’s hands. Without a word, Eric held his hand out to her expectantly.

 

She placed the notebook in his hand without further question.

 

…

 

“What was in that notebook, anyway?”

 

Eric’s voice, deeper and huskier than I remembered, echoed off of the walls of the locker room. I unbuttoned my shirt, hidden behind a row of lockers. My face turned a deep shade of red as I glanced down at the notebook that was now peeking out of my bag.

 

“It’s nothing,” I lied, swallowing. “It’s just my journal. It fell out of my bag, that’s all.”

 

Eric scoffed. “And that little girl took it?” he asked. “Doesn’t she know who she’s messing with?”

 

“No one believes we’re siblings, Eric,” I said as I shrugged off my stained shirt and grabbed the t-shirt that Eric had loaned me. “She clearly had no idea.”

 

Eric was silent, but I knew he was there. I could hear him tapping his foot, a habit that clearly hadn’t gone away over the past three years.

 

“You know, sometimes I feel like I’m adopted,” I said with a sigh.

 

There was another pause before Eric answered. “You know how mom always says that you were a gift from the Moon Goddess. Don’t doubt yourself; you’ve always been a Griffith.”

 

I let out a wry chuckle. “Why, then, are there not any photographs of me before the age of two?”

 

The tapping stopped. “You know the story, Rowena; you were in the hospital until then. Mom didn’t know if you would survive, so…”

 

“I know,” I interrupted. “She didn’t want to take photos of a baby that might die because it would just remind her.”

 

I slipped Eric’s shirt over my head. It was crisp and clean, a plain white t-shirt. It fit much too big on me, but it was better than a coffee-stained shirt. Finally, I came out from behind the row of lockers.

 

“Hey,” I said, pointing as I shrugged my bag onto my shoulder, “what’s that?”

 

Eric turned to see a flyer taped to one of the lockers. Standing—and reminding me once again how tall he had gotten—he walked over to it and ripped it down.

 

“Warrior camp internship,” he said with a shrug. “For combat management majors.”

 

I furrowed my brow and snatched it out of his hands before he could throw it away. “I’m a warrior combat management major.”

 

Eric scoffed. “You? Really?”

 

“Yes,” I said slowly, lifting my gaze to meet his, “why? Is that a problem?”

 

“No,” he said. “No problem.”

 

I returned my gaze to the flyer. The idea of an internship, especially in my major, was intriguing. “Hm,” I muttered as we began making our way toward the door. “Maybe I should try out. I wonder what the selection criteria is.”

 

“Probably the prettiest one, when it comes to combat managers.”

 

I narrowed my eyes at him.

 

“Look, I’m not saying that I agree with it,” Eric teased. “But it’s the truth. It’s all anyone cares about these days. But I mean, if it was up to me, I’d look at intellect rather than appearances.”

 

Eric’s words, although intended to be reassuring, just made me roll my eyes. “Yeah, sure. You don’t care about appearances, Mr. I-Only-Date-Models.”

 

Eric smirked, but said nothing. We made our way out of the locker room and down the hall, which was now bustling with students headed to lunch. I was still clutching the flyer in my hands.

 

“Do you think I’d make the cut for the internship?” I asked suddenly.

 

He raised an eyebrow, appraising me. “Maybe a 5% chance,” he teased. Then, his hand shot out and he grabbed my glasses off of my face, holding them out of my reach. “Without glasses, maybe 70%.”

 

“Come on, Eric,” I said, reaching for my glasses. “What are you, five years old?”

 

“Come on, you can reach.”

 

“Eric—”

 

Suddenly, I felt a bump on my shoulder that caused me to stumble. I winced and rubbed my eyes, ready to apologize—if only I had my glasses, I thought to myself, I could have seen the person coming.

 

“Sorry,” a familiar male voice said then. “Is this your new lover?”

 

Eric’s arm wrapped around my waist.

 

“Yes. She’s my most beloved one.”