CHAPTER 5: BONFIRE NIGHT (1)
1006words
The sun had set by the time Damon returned to our room. I'd spent the evening reviewing class materials, desperate for any advantage tomorrow's assessment might offer. My strategy: compensate for lack of brawn with excess brain.
"Ready?" he asked, shrugging on a leather jacket that made his shoulders look even broader. Seriously, did the guy have to look like he'd walked straight out of a werewolf romance novel cover?
I nodded, suddenly nervous about socializing. Watching my brothers with their friends had taught me how male wolves interacted—the rough humor, the constant competition—but experiencing it firsthand was different. What if I laughed at the wrong joke? Used the wrong slang? Accidentally curtseyed?
"You look like you're heading to your execution," Damon observed, amusement dancing in his eyes. "It's a bonfire, not a firing squad."
"I'm fine," I insisted, grabbing my jacket. "Just... thinking."
"About sock things again?"
I glared at him. "You're never going to let that go, are you?"
"Not a chance, Sock Boy." His grin was infectious. "Still better than what I could be teasing you about."
"We had an agreement!" I hissed, glancing around as if someone might overhear.
"Relax. Your traumatic exposure to my godlike physique remains our secret," he whispered dramatically, placing a hand over his heart.
"Godlike?" I snorted. "I've seen Greek statues with better—" I stopped myself just in time. "Never mind."
"Better what?" His eyebrows shot up. "Please, continue. I'm fascinated by your art history knowledge."
"Let's just go to the bonfire," I muttered, pushing past him.
We walked in silence through the darkened campus. The night air carried the scent of pine and distant water, and somewhere in the forest, a wolf howled—a student practicing their shift, most likely.
"So," Damon said as we followed a narrow path down toward the lake, "what made you transfer mid-semester?"
I'd rehearsed this answer. "My parents' diplomatic assignment changed. It was either come here or continue homeschooling."
"And you chose here? Brave."
"Why brave?"
He glanced at me, moonlight catching his profile in a way that made my breath catch. "Alpha Academy has a reputation. Not everyone survives the training."
"I'm tougher than I look," I replied, more confidently than I felt.
"We'll see tomorrow, won't we?" There was no malice in his tone, just curiosity. "Though I've got to say, your sock-throwing technique was impeccable. Maybe they'll add that to the assessment."
I bumped his shoulder with mine before I could think better of it. "Keep it up and you'll see my advanced sock techniques. Straight to the face."
He laughed, a rich sound that warmed me from the inside. "I'm terrified."
The path opened to a small beach where a bonfire blazed. About twenty students gathered around it, some sitting on logs, others standing with drinks in hand. Music played from someone's portable speaker, and laughter carried across the water.
"Blackwood!" several voices called out. Damon raised a hand in greeting, immediately at ease.
"This is Ari," he announced to the group. "New transfer. Western packs. Expert in sock-related warfare."
I shot him a death glare as several people laughed.
"Beer?" A tall wolf with red hair offered me a bottle.
"Thanks," I said, taking it but not drinking. I needed to keep my wits about me.
I found a spot on a log beside Noah, who introduced me to the others nearby. Most were first or second-years, a mix of Alphas and high-ranking Betas. The conversation flowed around me—classes, professors, upcoming full moon runs.
"So what's the deal with the missing princess?" someone asked, and my attention snapped to the conversation.
"Heard she's hot," the redhead commented. "Silver-blonde hair, blue eyes. Total knockout."
"And totally off-limits," another added. "Dominic Blackwood would rip your throat out for even looking at her."
Damon, who'd been quiet, spoke up. "My brother's not that bad."
The group fell silent, many seemingly forgetting his connection to the topic.
"Sorry, man," the redhead said. "No offense meant."
Damon shrugged. "None taken. But the princess isn't his property. The arrangement was political."
"Still," Noah said, "weird that she disappeared right before the wedding. You think she ran away?"
I stared into the fire, heart pounding as they discussed me without knowing. It was surreal, like attending my own funeral.
"Wouldn't you?" a female voice said. I looked up to see a striking girl with dark hair—one of the few females at the Academy, likely a professor's daughter or staff member. "Married off to someone twice your age? It's medieval."
"It's pack politics," someone countered. "Alliances matter."
"So does choice," the girl argued. "Maybe she wanted to choose her own mate."
"Like that matters for royalty," the redhead scoffed. "They're just chess pieces for their Alphas to move around."
"It should matter," Damon said quietly, his eyes finding mine across the flames. "Everyone deserves to find their true mate."
Something in his gaze made my breath catch. Did he suspect? Could he feel the pull between us as strongly as I did?
"Maybe she found her true mate and ran off with him," suggested another student. "Romantic, right?"
"Or maybe," I found myself saying before I could stop, "she just wanted freedom to choose her own path."
All eyes turned to me, and I realized I'd spoken too passionately.
"I mean," I backpedaled, "that's what I'd want. If I were her. Which I'm not. Obviously. Because I'm a dude. A very manly dude who... likes sports and... punching things."
Noah snorted into his beer. Damon's eyebrows shot up, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Punching things?" he repeated. "Is that what you were attempting in combat class today?"
The group laughed, and thankfully the conversation shifted to upcoming competitions. Noah offered me a bag of chips, and I realized I was starving.
"Not drinking?" he asked, nodding to my untouched beer.
"Not tonight," I replied. "Assessment tomorrow. I need all the help I can get."
He nodded approvingly. "Smart. Coach Thorne can smell alcohol from a mile away. And weakness from two miles."
