Mines Parking

You think you've had a bad day? My name is Braddock Westfield, Billionaire Alpha (head werewolf) of the Crescent Moon pack I've searched for my fated mate for 22 years and finally conceded to the elders to choose a Luna to produce an heir. The night before our union my pack was attacked by rogues (werewolves with no pack, no morals, mostly criminals), we suffered no losses except my Gamma (Lead Warrior), who now we need to pick up 100 miles away in a small human town at a Diner. I receive a call as I pull into the parking lot, that my chosen mate has been kidnapped by rogues on her way to my pack. Pissed off, I enter the Diner, an intoxicating scent hits me and my wolf howls in my head "MATE" (22years of searching and on my Union Day, you find her). Two men crash threw the door inside the diner, yelling "Charlie get your ass out here now, we're not done with it yet." The old woman behind the counter grabs a shotgun and makes them leave. A waitress comes out bringing food and that intoxicating scent, my heart clenches when our eyes lock and our mate bond snaps tethering our hearts together, as I look at her broken nose, bruised face, split lip, swollen green glistening eyes. I need to get her to leave with us, promising to keep her safe, revealing I'm a psychiatrist with facilities, to help her rebuild her self-esteem and build her confidence to help her, move past her obvious trauma. Explaining she's a werewolf and I'm her fated mate and at least 20+ years older than her, that may be more challenging. Let's not forget, I now need to find my kidnapped chosen that I need to reject. All this before 9am.

It’s Monday and my first day of my new school. I drive my car around to where everyone else is parked, so I find myself a parking spot. Then I find the front office and go in and get my schedule. My first class is math, so I walk into the room and I’m the first one in there so I walk up to the teacher and hand him my paper to sign that I have to take back to the front office this afternoon. “Hello Miss. Billie Green I’m Mrs. Smart. It’s very nice to meet you.” The math teacher says, then sings the paper. You can go find yourself a set. I would try to find one in the front on the left-hand side. The kids pretty much already have the back full.” She tells me, and really it’s okay. I kinda like the front anyway. I make my way to a seat that looks vacant and sit down. Kids start piling in about five minutes later. And walking to their seats, there’s a tiny little girl that comes and seats down behind me. She introduces herself as Shaylee Apple. “Hello Shaylee Apple I’m Billie Green.” I tell her and hold my hand out to shake hers. I turn back around in my seat about the same time as a tall guy that has dirty blonde hair cut into spikes all over, ash gray eyes, so gray I can see the color all the way in my seat. He’s wearing a tight fitted gray shirt, and blue jeans. He has a very handsome face, but then he looks at me and instantly I see hatred in his eyes. What the heck, he doesn’t even know me. .

A month before the SATs, I, Jenny Reid, could see my score. Literally. It was just floating right above my head. But there was a catch. Every time I cracked open a prep book, my score would drop by ten points. But if I skipped a day of school? It jumped right back up by ten. So, I played the system. For a whole month, I barely lifted a finger. And on the day of the test, the number glowing over my head was a solid 1560. When the scores finally dropped online… I'd scored a 500. And the 1560? That was my little sister Patricia's score. My parents lost it. As punishment, they got me a grueling night-shift job at a local electronics factory. That first night, a bunch of guys I'd never seen before cornered me in the parking lot and beat me half to death. Fading in and out of consciousness, I heard my sister's voice right by my ear. "You just had to one-up me, didn't you? Thought you were so smart… but you never figured out I was the one controlling that number over your head." The truth hit me like a physical blow. The score had been her trick all along. I opened my eyes—and I was back. One month before the SATs. The number above my head read exactly 1300. "Hey," my sister said, all fake sweetness. "Want to study together tonight? We can go over the practice tests." I looked at the stack of papers in my own hands. Without a word, I pulled out my lighter and set them on fire right there in the driveway. "Exams are coming," I said, watching the flames. "I'm not studying." My score ticked up to 1310. My sister's face was this perfect mask of disappointment, but the second I turned away, I caught the sly smile she couldn't quite hide. She had no idea… the real performance, the one I'd been rehearsing just for her, was finally about to begin.