The Alpha’s Puck Bunny

Ava

Dear Moon Goddess,

I have a question.

Do you ever regret assigning wolves to people?

Not in general. I’m sure the whole mystical-bond-between-human-and-animal thing sounded wonderful when you first came up with it. Powerful. Sacred. Maybe even poetic.

I’m asking whether you’ve ever looked down at a particular person and thought, Actually, no. That one was a mistake.

Because I’m beginning to suspect that’s what happened with me.

Perhaps you had a wolf prepared and then misplaced her. Maybe there was a clerical error. Maybe she took one look at the family you’d chosen for her and decided she preferred the celestial waiting room.

I wouldn’t blame her.

Being the Headmaster’s daughter was difficult enough without also being the only eighteen-year-old at Blackwood Alpha Academy who still hadn’t awakened her wolf.

There were freshmen who had shifted before me.

Freshmen.

Tiny fourteen-year-olds who still got lost trying to find the west stairwell could turn into full-grown wolves while I couldn’t even manage a meaningful growl.

My mother called me a late bloomer.

The academy called me wolfless.

The hockey team called me something worse.

I closed my black notebook the moment my bedroom door opened.

Mom leaned into the room, already dressed for work in fitted black trousers and a cream blouse. Her dark hair was twisted into a neat knot at the base of her neck, and she held a travel mug in one hand.

“You’re going to be late.”

“I’m aware.”

“You’re still sitting on your bed.”

“I’m also aware of that.”

Her eyes dropped to the notebook in my lap.

“Writing?”

“No.”

“Ava.”

“It’s private.”

“I didn’t ask to read it.”

“You were thinking about asking.”

“I was thinking you might feel better if you talked to an actual person.”

“People interrupt.”

She sighed but didn’t push.

Mom had perfected that particular sigh over the last two years. It was the sound of a woman trying very hard not to let her concern become pity.

I hated pity more than I hated the rumors.

At least rumors could be denied.

Pity sat in someone’s eyes and waited for you to notice.

“Breakfast is downstairs,” she said. “Your father already left for the morning meeting.”

“Of course he did.”

Her mouth tightened slightly.

That was the problem with living in the Headmaster’s residence. There was no separation between home and school. Our house sat on the eastern edge of Blackwood’s grounds, close enough that I could see the academy’s stone bell tower from my bedroom window.

Most students lived in the dormitories, which meant they had roommates, midnight conversations, inside jokes, and people knocking on their doors without permission.

I had my parents.

There was nothing like eating breakfast across from the man responsible for disciplining half the student body to make senior year feel socially fulfilling.

Mom stepped farther into the room.

“You know he isn’t avoiding you.”

“I didn’t say he was.”

“You didn’t have to.”

I shoved my notebook into my backpack.

“He has an academy to run.”

“He also has a daughter.”

“Who still hasn’t shifted.”

Her expression softened.

There it was.

I looked away before the sympathy fully settled across her face.

“Ava—”

“I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to keep saying that.”

“Yes, I do. Otherwise people start giving speeches.”

“I wasn’t going to give you a speech.”

“You were about three seconds away from reminding me that wolves awaken in their own time.”

“They do.”

“And that mine will come when she’s ready.”

“She will.”

“And that being a late bloomer doesn’t mean anything is wrong with me.”

Mom set her mug on my desk.

“There is nothing wrong with you.”

The certainty in her voice should have comforted me.

Instead, it made something ache behind my ribs.

I stood and pulled my oversized charcoal hoodie over my uniform shirt. The hem fell low enough to cover most of my pleated skirt, while the sleeves swallowed my hands.

Mom watched me adjust the hood.

“You know that isn’t part of the uniform.”

“Dad hasn’t suspended me yet.”

“Your father has asked you not to wear it.”

“And yet, here we are.”

“Ava.”

“It’s cold.”

“It’s September.”

“The building is aggressively air-conditioned.”

Her lips twitched before she could stop them.

I considered that a victory.

The hoodie wasn’t really about the temperature.

It was armor.

Blackwood’s academy uniform had been designed by someone who believed every girl wanted the shape of her body displayed beneath a fitted white shirt and narrow navy blazer. Most of the girls probably did. They shortened their skirts, rolled their sleeves, and somehow made the same uniform look like it had been tailored specifically for them.

I wanted fabric between me and everyone else’s eyes.

The hoodie hid the softness around my stomach, the curve of my hips, and the chest that had been attracting unwanted attention since I was fourteen. More importantly, it gave me somewhere to disappear when the whispers started.

Mom picked up her mug.

“Eat something before you leave.”

“I will.”

“Something other than toast.”

“I’ll consider putting butter on it.”

She gave me a look.

“Protein, Ava.”

“Yes, Mother.”

She turned toward the door, then paused.

“Your father and I are not disappointed in you.”

I stared down at the zipper of my backpack.

“I didn’t say you were.”

“No. You just keep writing it in every room you walk into.”

The words landed harder than she probably intended.

Before I could answer, she left.

For a long moment, I stood in the center of my bedroom and listened to her footsteps fade down the stairs.

Then I reopened my notebook.

Correction, Moon Goddess:

My wolf may not be hiding from me.

She may simply be waiting until I become someone worth finding.

I stared at the sentence.

Then I crossed it out so hard the pen nearly tore through the paper.

That sounded pathetic even for me.

I shoved the notebook back into my bag and headed downstairs.

By the time I left the house, the academy grounds were crowded.

Students crossed the stone paths in groups, navy blazers and silver ties moving between old oak trees and gothic buildings. Blackwood had been built more than a century ago by one of the first packs to believe young wolves needed more than combat training. The original structure looked like a castle someone had reluctantly converted into a school.

Gray stone walls.

Tall arched windows.

Creeping ivy.

A bell tower that made everything feel older and more important than it was.

Somewhere behind the academic buildings, a wolf howled.

Another answered from the training fields.

My shoulders tightened automatically.

Most students heard those sounds and felt connected to something.

I heard them and wondered what was missing inside me.

I kept my head down as I joined the path leading toward the main building.

“Morning, Ava.”

I glanced up.

A sophomore I vaguely recognized smiled at me before hurrying after her friends.

The moment she reached them, one of the girls leaned closer and whispered something. All three looked back.

I didn’t need supernatural hearing to know what they were discussing.

Everyone at Blackwood knew who I was.

Not because I was popular.

Not because I was interesting.

Because I was Headmaster Peters’s wolfless daughter.

That was the thing about rumors. Eventually, they replaced your name.

I adjusted the strap of my backpack and took the longer route toward the academic wing.

It brought me past the arena.

The Blackwood Ice Center was newer than the rest of campus, built in steel and glass rather than stone. Sunlight reflected off the wide front windows, and the academy’s silver wolf emblem stretched across the doors.

My pace slowed.

It always did.

The rink had been part of my life before Blackwood became a place I dreaded walking through.

Dad had coached hockey before taking the Headmaster position. When I was little, I spent more evenings in arenas than I did at home. I learned to count from scoreboard clocks, tied my first pair of skates before I could spell my last name, and understood icing before most children understood multiplication.

The rink smelled like cold air, sharpened blades, and rubber mats.

To everyone else, it was where the Wolves practiced.

To me, it was the only place at Blackwood where the whispers became quiet.

The moment I sat behind the glass and the puck dropped, I stopped being the Headmaster’s daughter. I stopped being the senior without a wolf. I stopped wondering whether people were staring at me because of my body, my hoodie, or the latest rumor.

There were only line changes, defensive formations, and the clean scrape of skates carving into fresh ice.

Hockey didn’t care whether I had shifted.

The ice never pitied me.

That was why I attended every home game.

Not because I wanted a hockey player.

Because the rink was the closest thing I had to a shelter.

Unfortunately, the hockey team had turned that into another reason to laugh at me.

Voices carried from the courtyard ahead.

Male voices.

Loud ones.

I considered turning around.

Then I heard the sharp clack of a puck striking stone.

Too late.

The Blackwood Wolves were gathered near the arena entrance, dressed in academy uniforms but carrying hockey bags over their shoulders. They were impossible to miss, mostly because they seemed to believe every open space belonged to them.

Corey Mason stood beside the fountain, laughing at something Aaron Blake had said. Two other players were passing a puck between their sticks despite the fact that Coach Daniels had repeatedly forbidden them from doing it outside the arena.

And in the middle of them stood Jace Walker.

Captain of the Blackwood Wolves.

Future Alpha of the Silver Ridge Pack.

The kind of boy who had never once questioned whether a room would make space for him.

He was tall, broad-shouldered, and unfairly good-looking, with dark hair that never seemed to stay where it was supposed to and blue eyes that always looked amused by something. Usually someone.

Girls loved him.

Teachers tolerated him.

The hockey team followed him.

Jace had the kind of confidence that came from being told his entire life that he was destined to matter.

He caught the puck against the blade of his stick and looked up.

His eyes landed on me.

The smirk came immediately.

I tightened my grip on my backpack.

Keep walking.

Do not react.

Do not give him anything.

“Well, look who’s here.”

Corey followed Jace’s gaze.

His grin widened.

“Our favorite puck bunny.”

A couple of the guys laughed.

My face heated.

I hated that part most.

Not the nickname.

Not even the laughter.

The fact that my body betrayed me every single time.

Jace rolled the puck beneath his stick.

“Morning, Puck Bunny.”

I kept walking.

“Didn’t hear me?”

I heard him perfectly.

Every wolf in the courtyard probably heard him.

“I said good morning.”

I stopped.

It was a mistake.

I knew it before I turned around, but something in me had already reached its limit.

Maybe it was Mom’s pity.

Maybe it was the girls whispering on the path.

Maybe it was the fact that the rink—the one place that belonged to me—had become another weapon in Jace Walker’s hands.

I faced him.

“Are you ever going to get tired of saying that?”

The courtyard quieted.

Not completely.

There were still footsteps and distant conversations, but the hockey team went silent.

Jace lifted an eyebrow.

Apparently, I’d surprised him by producing a full sentence.

“Depends.”

“On what?”

“Whether you ever stop reacting.”

Corey laughed.

I looked at Jace.

“You know I’m not a puck bunny.”

His smirk shifted, but only slightly.

“Do I?”

“Yes.”

I stepped closer before common sense could stop me.

“I attend games because I like hockey.”

“That’s what they all say.”

The guys laughed again.

My embarrassment sharpened into anger.

“I knew how to throw a puck before you knew how to skate.”

Aaron made a strangled sound that might have been a laugh.

Jace’s eyes narrowed just enough to tell me I’d hit something.

“You think so?”

“I know so.”

He rested both hands on top of his stick.

“Pretty confident for someone who spends every game hiding behind a notebook.”

“I’m not hiding.”

“No?”

“No. Some people are capable of watching hockey without needing everyone in the arena to notice them.”

Corey’s mouth dropped open.

Aaron looked down, but I saw his shoulders shake.

Jace stared at me.

My heart pounded so hard I was certain he could hear it.

Every instinct told me to leave before I ruined the moment by stammering, tripping, or bursting into flames.

Instead, I tilted my head.

“Though I understand why that might be difficult for you.”

His teammates erupted.

This time they weren’t laughing at me.

Jace’s jaw tightened.

The satisfaction lasted approximately two seconds.

Then he stepped forward.

He didn’t touch me.

He didn’t have to.

Jace had a way of taking up space that made everyone else feel smaller.

“Careful,” he said quietly.

My throat went dry.

“Why?”

“People might start thinking you enjoy my attention.”

I forced myself not to retreat.

“Girls tell you you’re special every five minutes. I’m sure you can survive one person not being impressed.”

Aaron coughed into his fist.

Jace glanced at him, then looked back at me.

Something unreadable flickered behind his eyes.

For one strange second, he didn’t look amused.

He looked curious.

Then his grin returned.

“See you at the rink, Puck Bunny.”

There it was.

That stupid nickname.

That stupid heat rushing into my cheeks.

But this time, I didn’t look away.

I bent down, snatched the puck from beneath the toe of his stick, and tossed it hard against his chest.

Jace caught it automatically.

“I’ll be the one watching the game,” I said. “You should try doing the same.”

I turned and walked toward the academy doors.

My knees felt weak.

My lungs forgot how to work.

I was almost inside when Corey shouted behind me.

“Captain, I think your puck bunny just checked you without skates!”

Laughter exploded across the courtyard.

I didn’t turn around.

I pushed through the doors and kept walking until the noise faded behind me.

Only then did I release the breath trapped in my chest.

My hands were shaking.

That should have bothered me.

It didn’t.

For the first time in two years, Jace Walker had been the one left standing there without an answer.

I smiled before I could stop myself.

Maybe my wolf wasn’t the only part of me that had been sleeping.