Chapter 2 - A Hand I Didn’t Take

Rae

Julien Bennett’s hand remained extended between us, steady and patient despite the entire courtyard watching.

For a moment, I stayed where I was.

Accepting his help would have been easier than getting up alone. It also would have turned a humiliating fall into something everyone would discuss for the rest of the day.

Julien wasn’t simply another student offering a hand.

He was Ravenwood’s future Beta.

People noticed what he did, who he spoke to, and where he chose to stand. If I accepted, the gesture would stop being kindness the moment someone repeated it.

I planted my palm against the stone and pushed myself upright without touching him.

“Thanks,” I said, brushing the dust from my hands. “I’ve got it.”

Something shifted in Julien’s expression. He didn’t look offended or embarrassed. If anything, the refusal seemed to make him more curious.

He lowered his hand without argument.

I retrieved my bag and headed toward the academy doors before the crowd could decide I owed them another performance.

“What the hell was that?” Rebecca called behind me.

I kept walking.

“She’s human,” Stephanie added. “Why are you touching her like she isn’t?”

Their voices carried easily across the courtyard, sharpened by the silence that had gathered around them.

“Does it matter?” Julien asked.

“It matters when you make yourself look desperate,” Quinn replied.

Brax laughed, although there was little amusement in it. “Didn’t realize helping someone off the ground required council approval.”

A few students laughed with him. The sound held an uneasy edge, as though they weren’t sure which side of the argument would be safer.

I should have kept walking.

Instead, I glanced back.

Julien was still watching me. His attention lacked the disgust or pity I knew how to handle. He studied me as though I had presented him with a question he intended to answer.

Grant stood several feet behind him with Quinn wrapped around his arm.

His gaze was on me too.

The moment our eyes met, the ache from the fall seemed to migrate into my chest. His expression gave me nothing. No concern, no recognition, and no sign that he remembered the girl who had once taken his hand without wondering what it might cost her.

I turned away and entered the academy.

Our first class was held in one of the oldest rooms in the main building. Tiered rows of wooden desks curved around a wide teaching floor, while tall windows cast pale morning light across walls lined with maps, faded portraits, and framed copies of ancient pack treaties.

A brass plaque beside the door read:

Supernatural History

Professor Anastasia Mansfield

Chrissy slipped into the room behind me.

“You walk fast when you’re angry.”

“I’m not angry.”

“You nearly took out a first-year with the door.”

“He should have moved.”

“That sounds remarkably like anger.”

I chose a desk near the back wall and sat down. Chrissy dropped into the seat beside me, close enough that her shoulder brushed mine.

“You okay?” she asked more quietly.

“My hands hurt.”

“That wasn’t what I meant.”

“I know.”

I opened my notebook and inspected the scrapes across my palms. They were shallow, but small grains of dirt still clung near the base of one thumb.

Chrissy reached into her bag and produced a packet of tissues, a pencil, two peppermint candies, and a tiny bottle of antiseptic.

I stared at the collection. “Do you carry an entire infirmary in there?”

“I believe in preparation.”

“You forgot your class schedule this morning.”

“I prepare selectively.”

She cleaned the worst scrape before I could protest. Around us, students filled the remaining desks, conversations organizing themselves along familiar ranks and alliances.

The four Ravenwood command heirs sat together in the front row.

Grant occupied the seat nearest the center aisle. Julien settled beside him, followed by Brax and Linc. The arrangement looked natural because they had spent most of their lives preparing to lead together.

Alpha.

Beta.

Gamma.

Delta.

Quinn sat directly behind Grant, close enough to lean forward and whisper in his ear whenever she wanted his attention.

I looked down at my notebook.

Chrissy capped the antiseptic. “There’s a festival at the end of the week.”

The abrupt change of subject almost made me laugh. “Is that supposed to heal my hands?”

“No, but it might improve your mood.”

“I doubt it.”

“The academy hosts the Harvest Moon Festival every year. There’s food, dancing, competitions, and visiting packs.”

“That sounds crowded.”

“It is.”

“Then you’ve made a poor argument.”

Chrissy leaned closer. “You can’t spend the whole year avoiding everyone.”

“I’m sitting in a room full of people.”

“You chose the desk farthest from all of them.”

“That’s strategy.”

“That’s hiding.”

“It’s survival.”

The word came out more sharply than I intended.

Chrissy’s expression softened. “I don’t want you to be alone here.”

I looked at the band of light stretching across my blank notebook page. “I’m used to it.”

A door closed at the front of the room.

Every conversation stopped.

Professor Mansfield crossed the teaching floor with a stack of books balanced against one hip. She appeared younger than I expected, perhaps in her late thirties, with dark auburn hair pinned neatly at the back of her head and a long charcoal dress that brushed the tops of her boots.

She placed the books on her desk and surveyed the room.

Her gaze paused when it reached me.

The examination lasted only a second before she continued.

“Supernatural History is not a collection of bedtime stories,” she began. “It is the study of how power survives after the people who wielded it are dead.”

Nobody moved.

Professor Mansfield turned toward the blackboard and uncovered a large reproduction of an ancient stone carving.

A woman stood at its center beneath a crescent moon. Four wolves surrounded her, each positioned at one of the cardinal points. Symbols had been carved above their heads.

I recognized the first immediately.

Alpha.

The others followed in order.

Beta. Gamma. Delta.

Professor Mansfield pointed to the woman.

“This carving was recovered from a ruined temple three hundred years ago, although the stone itself is believed to be several centuries older. It depicts a figure referred to in scattered texts as the True Luna.”

A few students shifted in their seats.

Quinn whispered something to Rebecca, and both of them smiled.

Professor Mansfield heard them.

“Something amusing, Miss Carrow?”

Quinn straightened. “Only that my grandmother used to tell me stories about the True Luna when I was little.”

“And you believe adulthood has made you too sophisticated for legends?”

Quinn’s smile faltered. “I believe stories are stories.”

“An impressive conclusion for your first day.”

A quiet laugh moved through the room.

Professor Mansfield returned her attention to the carving. “The accounts differ. Some describe the True Luna as a ruler. Others claim she appeared only during periods of war or division. Every surviving version places her at the center of four command wolves.”

She indicated the symbols one by one.

“An Alpha to lead. A Beta to counsel. A Gamma to defend. A Delta to guard what others could not see.”

My gaze drifted toward the front row.

Grant, Julien, Brax, and Linc sat beneath the morning light in the same order shown on the carving.

The similarity meant nothing. Every organized pack had the same four command positions. That was why the symbols existed.

The moonstone moved against my chest.

I froze.

A slow pulse of warmth spread through the pendant, stronger than what I had felt in the courtyard. It lasted only a heartbeat, but the sensation was too distinct to mistake for body heat.

My hand rose to the stone beneath my sweater.

Professor Mansfield continued speaking.

“Scholars have argued for centuries over whether the Sacred Pack was a political council, a magical bond, or an embellishment added by later storytellers. No complete account survives.”

“Because it never happened,” someone near the middle of the room muttered.

Professor Mansfield looked toward him. “Perhaps.”

Her gaze moved over the class and settled briefly on me again.

“Legends are rarely accurate,” she said. “That does not make them meaningless.”

The stone cooled beneath my fingers.

Chrissy noticed my hand at my collar. “Are you okay?”

“The chain caught on my sweater.”

It was the first explanation that came to me.

She accepted it and turned back toward the front.

I tried to do the same, but the carving had changed the atmosphere of the room. The woman at its center had no face, only the faint outline of long hair and a circle carved over her heart.

Four wolves surrounded her.

My pendant had reacted the moment Professor Mansfield named them.

I forced myself to take notes.

By the end of the lecture, I had written three pages on ancient pack alliances and almost nothing about the True Luna. Professor Mansfield assigned a reading on historical myths before dismissing us.

The room erupted into motion.

Students gathered their bags and crowded toward the aisles while Chrissy continued talking about the festival.

“There are game booths too. You could stay for one hour.”

“I could also remain safely in the dorm.”

“You make the dorm sound like a fortified bunker.”

“That is part of its appeal.”

“So what if you’re human?”

The voice came from beside my desk.

I turned.

Julien stood in the narrow space between the rows. I hadn’t heard him approach over the noise of the class.

His gaze moved once toward my scraped palm before returning to my face.

“You’re still a student here,” he said.

Several conversations nearby quieted.

Chrissy looked between us with obvious interest.

I closed my notebook. “Technically.”

“That’s generally how enrollment works.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.” His tone remained calm. “I don’t agree.”

He glanced toward Chrissy. “You were discussing the festival?”

“She was trying to convince me not to spend Friday night hiding in our room,” I said.

Julien’s mouth curved faintly. “A difficult campaign?”

“Nearly impossible,” Chrissy answered.

“You should come,” he said.

He was looking at me.

The room seemed to narrow around the words.

Helping me in the courtyard could have been dismissed as instinct. Inviting me to a festival in front of half the class was deliberate.

Movement in the front row caught my attention.

Brax leaned back in his chair, watching us with open amusement. Linc had gone still beside him, his pale gray eyes resting on me with quiet interest.

Grant said nothing.

He didn’t need to.

His attention had sharpened the moment Julien approached my desk. One hand rested against the strap of his bag, his knuckles whitening slightly around the leather.

Quinn noticed too.

Her gaze moved from Grant to Julien and finally to me.

Brax broke the silence. “You asking her before the rest of us even make plans, Bennett?”

Julien didn’t look away from me. “Apparently.”

“Bold.”

“It’s a festival invitation, not a territorial challenge.”

Brax glanced toward Grant. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Grant’s expression hardened.

Heat crept into my face as more students slowed on their way out, eager to watch whatever this had become.

“I’m not going,” I said.

Julien studied me for a moment. “Because you don’t want to?”

“Because I don’t belong there.”

His expression changed slightly, the curiosity giving way to something more serious.

“That wasn’t the question.”

I tightened my grip on my notebook. “My answer is still no.”

Julien accepted the refusal with a small nod.

“Suit yourself.”

He returned to the front row without another word.

Grant watched him sit down before looking at me.

The distance in his expression remained, but something colder had settled beneath it now, directed at Julien rather than me.

I had rejected the invitation.

For reasons I couldn’t begin to understand, Grant still looked as though Julien had crossed a line.