Chapter 19: A New Hunger

I stare at him, trying to figure out what his angle is. It’s strange that Marcus didn’t even follow him when he followed me. This could just be another dumb prank, but I don’t remember him telling Marcus or anyone that I was his fated mate. He wanted to keep it under wraps so his pack and ours wouldn’t mock him, along with basically everyone else at the academy.

“I don’t remember doing any rejecting,” I mutter and start walking faster toward administration.

I need to find out what my classes are and my schedule, not deal with this shit. At least he doesn’t follow me.

I get my schedule and find out that I changed my course from Business Administration to Pack History and Governance.

I blink at the paper a couple of times. “What the fuck?”

The woman behind the desk looks up at me. “Is there a problem?”

I look down at my schedule again, hoping the words will somehow change if I stare at them long enough. “I changed my course?”

“Yes.” She glances at her computer. “You requested the change last year.”

I slowly look back at her. “Why?”

She gives me a confused look. “You'd have to ask yourself that.”

I chose Business Administration because it was practical. I could finish my studies, get a job almost anywhere, and eventually leave the pack without having to explain my entire life to anyone. That was the plan. I wanted out.

So why the hell would I change to Pack History and Governance? I must’ve really been off my marbles. This course ties me to the pack in a way I no longer wanted to be at nineteen. Was Trojan’s dick so good that I no longer wanted to leave?

“Are you okay?” the woman asks.

“Yeah.” I fold the paper and shove it into my bag. “I just don't remember changing it.”

She shrugs like that's the least strange thing she's heard all morning. “You seemed pretty sure about it when you submitted the request.”

I don’t say anything, just nod and walk to class. As if all this isn’t enough, I have to take another one of Professor Whitmore’s classes. The land where pranks and bullying are overlooked and the joke is always on Billie.

I push open the classroom door and immediately recognize most of the faces inside. Marcus and Macy are already there, sitting together near the back, while the rest of the class looks almost exactly the way I remember it.

I scan the room and spot my old seat.

I walk toward it slowly, eyeing the desk like it might have a personal vendetta against me. I run my hand over the surface, check underneath it, then glance around the chair before attempting to sit.

Marcus notices and starts laughing. “What are you doing?” he asks.

“Checking for surprises,” I answer without looking at him.

His laughter gets louder.

Macy leans over to him and wrinkles her nose. “It smells like breastmilk in here.”

A few people laugh, but I ignore them and pull out my notebook.

“Billie,” someone calls from a few desks away. “Is that your natural scent now?”

It seems having babies has given everyone permission to discuss my breasts and bodily functions. Fantastic.

Macy laughs under her breath. “Maybe the Alpha likes the smell.”

Marcus snorts beside her, but I don't bother looking up.

The classroom door opens, and the laughter dies down as Professor Whitmore walks in carrying a stack of papers. His eyes move over the room before landing on me.

His mouth curves into a slow smile. Moon Goddess, I hate this man.

“Well,” he says, placing the papers on his desk. “Look who's decided to join us.”

I roll my eyes and look back down at my notebook. “Unfortunately.”

A few students snicker, but Whitmore starts the lecture instead of giving me shit.

For the next twenty minutes, I have absolutely no idea what the hell he’s talking about. He writes dates and names across the board, explaining how certain pack laws came to be and why some of them still affect us today. I copy down a few things just to look busy, but none of it feels familiar. Not even a little bit.

I stare at the notes on my page, wondering how the hell I ended up choosing this course when I don't even remember studying any of this. Then I smell blood.

My pen stops moving. At first, I assume someone has cut themselves somewhere in the classroom, but the scent gets stronger. It's fresh and warm, and my mouth suddenly waters. I swallow and sit straighter, my eyes scanning the room. What the actual fuck?

The scent pulls at me again, making my stomach clench. I've smelled blood plenty of times before, from cuts, injuries, fights and all sorts of things. Werewolves don't react to it like this. Blood isn't food to us. We eat normal human food, meat, whatever the hell we want. A bloody nose has never made me want to sink my teeth into someone.

But I'm sitting here thinking about blood like I'm hungry.

I turn toward the window, following the scent to a girl who has fallen on the pavement outside the classroom. She pushes herself up and looks at her hand, where my eyes zoom into a small cut across her palm. She brushes the dirt from her clothes before wiping the blood against her skirt.

My mouth fills with saliva as I grip my pen tighter and force myself to look back at the board, but I can still smell her. The worst part is that I want it.

“Billie?” Whitmore's voice makes me look up.

He's staring at the broken pen in my hand.