Page 9 of Alpha Varsity (Wolf Ridge High #5)

Chapter Nine

A sher

I don’t sleep a minute all night or the next. I just lie awake, tossing and turning. Jacking off over and over again to try to stop myself from shifting and running the short distance back to Lotta’s casita.

Fates, I suddenly understand the human lore about werewolves–the idea of a shifter chaining himself up, so he won’t shift and go out.

That’s what I need to do. Because I’m quite certain if I let myself shift, I would smash Lotta’s door down and claim that female so hard the entire town of Wolf Ridge would hear her screams.

Monday morning, I find myself out of bed before dawn. I yank open the top drawer to my dresser and shove aside my socks. I pick up the last envelope that arrived addressed to me in my dad’s handwriting. It came about six months ago. Inside, there was no note. Just nine crisp one hundred dollar bills wrapped in a torn piece of notebook paper with scratches that look a lot like bets on them .

He’s probably cage fighting. Or stealing again–who knows.

The last envelope came eight months before this one. There’s no rhyme or reason to when they come or how much he sends. He’s never sent a letter with it. But he never was the kind of dad to say anything nice.

I guess I should be grateful he remembers he has a son.

Even before my dad got kicked out, he wasn’t much of a father figure. Now, because my mom refused to leave with him when he was banished, he’s completely out of touch. He doesn’t call or text or Facetime. We have no idea where he lives or what he does.

My mom refuses to take any of the money–she’s too pissed at my dad for what he did. She says the cash is probably dirty, and it’s for me anyway–his form of child support–so I can do what I want with it. I try to stretch it as long as I can, chipping in to buy us groceries, pay my own expenses, and buy my mom nice birthday and Solstice presents.

I crack the envelope open now. There are three hundreds left. I don’t know why I’m looking. Why my thoughts are connecting money to Lotta. Like I’m going to use it to court her. Or show off to her. Or provide for her.

As if.

Beneath the envelope is a slender chain with a thin crescent moon pendant made of real gold.

I pick it up now and bring it to my nostrils as if it might still hold Lotta’s scent after all these years. It doesn’t, but it helps me conjure that sweetness, anyway. Jasmine, honey, and the mouth-watering scent of her feminine arousal make my head swim.

I give it a rough shake .

I shower and get on my motorcycle, beating my mom to Wolf Ridge Sweet Treats. The scent of freshly baked croissants fill the alleyway where I park my motorcycle. Mrs. Angelson is already working inside, unwrapping a stick of butter to throw in the churning mixer.

Her wrinkled face lights up with a smile when I come in the back door. The rest of the town may think I’m a hoodlum, but Mrs. Angelson has always treated me like I was special. In fact, if she hadn’t stood behind my mom when my dad got kicked out of the pack, I’m not sure my mom and I would have even been able to stay in Wolf Ridge. She found extra hours to give my mom after my dad left even when she didn’t need the help. Even when making ends meet was a strain for her, too.

“Good morning, Asher. You’re up early. I thought your suspension was over today.”

I lean down and press my cheek to her wrinkled one to give her a kiss. “It is. But I came to take care of your morning deliveries.”

“Aren’t you sweet? They haven’t come yet. Why don’t you get the coffee urn filled with water.” She points to the three-compartment sink where the urn has been filling with filtered water. I pick it up and carry it to the front of the bakery where I plug it in and add the fresh coffee grounds. I turn it on to brew, so people can self-serve when they come in for their morning pastry.

My mom unlocks the front door and stares at me in surprise. “Asher! I thought you were still home in bed. What are you doing here? You have school today, you know.“

“I couldn’t sleep. I came to see if I could be of use.”

My mom‘s concerned face softens into affection. “You are a sweet boy.”

“You’re the only person on this planet who thinks I’m sweet,” I say with a grin.

Not true,” Mrs. Angelson calls from the back.

“All right, the two of you, then.” I walk into the kitchen, pick up a chocolate croissant from the tray she just pulled out of the oven, and take a giant bite. “Mmm. Delicious.”

Mrs. Angelson pokes me. “You just came here for breakfast, didn’t you?”

“Mmm. It’s absolutely perfect, Mrs. A.” The flaky pastry melts in my mouth, dark chocolate oozing over my tongue.

My mom comes into the kitchen and puts an apron on. She falls into work beside Mrs. A without being told what to do. “I can see it going either way with you,” she says, picking up the dropped thread of conversation.

“Oh, boy,” I mutter. She lectured me all weekend about the fight at school, and it seems she’s not done yet.

My mom doesn’t know I’m in a class taught by our nemesis Carlotta James. Which means she also doesn’t know she was the teacher responsible for getting me suspended. If she knew, she’d be even more upset, and I don’t like to upset my mom. She went through four years of depression after my dad left, even though he wasn’t a fated mate, and she’s barely recovered from it now.

“You have the capacity to be an alpha, but you won’t get your shot at leadership if you don’t straighten up, Asher. You can’t go around breaking wrists and smashing noses at school and expect anyone to think you’re alpha material. It takes more than big muscles and a deep growl to command respect. In fact, your size may work against you when it comes to this town. People are afraid of a big wolf who carries bitterness in his heart. ”

Bitterness in my heart? It seems like a strange thing to say.

“Fates, Mom,” I mutter. “Isn't it a bit early in the morning for you to be lecturing me about the state of my heart?”

“Yes, he needs another croissant for that,” Mrs. A says indulgently.

I take her words as permission to pilfer another one. She pours me a giant glass of milk to wash it down.

“What you really need is more protein. Is this all you’ve eaten today?” Mrs. A asks.

“I’m okay,” I mutter, downing the glass of milk. “Not hungry today.”

“You couldn’t sleep, and you’re not hungry.” My mom stops what she’s doing and puts her hands on her hips. “What do I need to know about this fight last week?”

“Nothing.” Fuck. I grab another croissant and stuff it in my mouth to avoid further discussion. I’m saved by the sound of a delivery truck pulling up in the back alley.

“There’s your Monday delivery.” I push open the back door and walk out to help.

It’s not like my mom and Mrs. A are wimps. They’re shifters, so they’re a lot stronger than human females their respective ages, but helping with heavy things is the chivalrous thing to do for the she-wolves in your life.

And these two she-wolves are the only people I’ve ever had in my corner.

Lotta

I splash cold water on my face before my last class. I’m barely functional today. I didn’t sleep last night. I’m starving but couldn’t eat breakfast or lunch because I’m nauseous as hell.

My fingers are trembly. I’m feverish.

I have that itchy feeling like I’m going to spontaneously shift again like I did the night of the full moon.

And now I’m terrified that the scent or sight of Asher in the next class will bring on something even worse. Some kind of shameful public spectacle that will lose me this job and forever shame me and my family.

I pick at the fabric of my T shirt at my sternum, pulling it out and in to fan myself and cool the sweat between my breasts.

The deep breath I draw to clear my head only makes me dizzy. And the worst part of all is the frantic thrum between my legs. The wetness there as I review over and over how it felt to be taken by the man who is my mate. The man who is barely a man.

The one who left me needy and wound up last night. And that neediness has now festered into a full fledged sickness.

I grab a paper towel and pat my face, staring at my bright eyes and flushed cheeks in the mirror.

That queasiness in the pit of my stomach churns as I think about seeing Asher. He did this on purpose. I thought it was a torture to male wolves to meet a mate and not claim her, but somehow, he’s turned the tables on me.

He’s gloating right now over what he did last night. Nipping and sucking up my inner thigh, putting his hot mouth directly over my core.

I clutch the sink as an orgasm runs through me. It’s completely unsatisfying though. The kind that only builds my need and heat.

Just get through sixth period. Then you can shift and run .

I push off from the sink and walk on shaky legs to the door. My spine stiffens as I march out of the faculty bathroom and into my classroom.

The bell rings, but Asher and his entourage don’t stop their goofing around in the back of my classroom.

“ In your seats,” I snarl with more force than the situation calls for. The class goes silent, everyone staring at me curiously as those who hadn’t sat down now slide into their seats.

“Who pissed in your Cheerios?” Asher mutters to his friends. They snicker in reply.

I bite my cheek so hard it bleeds. I make them all suffer in dead silence as I take attendance. Even after I’m done, I fix them with a stony stare for several long moments before I clip, “Work on your self-portraits.”

I disappear to the corner of the studio where I’ve set up two giant canvases as a partition for my privacy when I paint. I don’t usually go here during class—it’s unprofessional to leave the class unsupervised, but I need a moment. I kick off my heeled sandals. I’m too wobbly to navigate walking with them.

Get it together, Lotta. Don’t show weakness. Don’t let Asher think he’s won.

After drawing several deep breaths, I grab the mason jar, muddy with yesterday’s paint and brushes, and carry it back out in the classroom to the sink.

The volume in the class has steadily grown. Somehow everyone realized I won’t be teaching today, and they’ve clearly decided not to work. Or rather, they’re pretending to work as they talk.

A wave of heat rolls over me as I swish the brushes in the thinner. I immediately understand why. The hulking form of my worst student has appeared beside me. Asher pretends to look through the stack of magazines I have out for multimedia work.

“Your smell is off.” His voice is low—barely audible to me, which means no one else in the room should be able to hear him, shifter hearing or not.

“ You did this to me,” I whisper-snarl. I don’t look his way. If anyone glanced over they would see our backs angled away from each other. Two people near each other but not interacting.

He edges a little closer, reaching above me to open the cabinets above my head. His cedar and soap scent assaults me. The tension rippling through my body is too much. My fingers close in a fist around the mason jar, and I accidentally crush it in a superhuman grip.

I gasp as the glass shatters, jamming into the fleshy part of my thumb. Half of the pieces fall into the sink, the other half fall over my bare feet.

“What the fuck?”

Before I can even move, Asher picks me up by the waist and plops my ass down on the counter beside the sink.

“Why are you in your bare feet?” He sounds angry, like I’m giving him personal offense by showing my toes. But who knows what’s going through his mind right now. He probably hates the protectiveness his wolf would display over me getting hurt.

“Somebody clean that glass from the floor,” Asher orders and four students scramble to comply.

I move to hop down, my face flaming. “You don’t pick up a teacher, no matter how chivalrous you think you’re bei—Oh.” I suck in a sharp gasp. “What do you think you’re doing?”

Asher rips his T-shirt off, and he holds it beneath my hand, using it as a rag to soak up my blood. There’s nothing wrong with that instinct, per se, except that it leaves his torso bared to me.

And his chest is magnificent. The strong, sculpted pectorals are lightly dusted with golden curls. His flat nipples are taut. His scent is everywhere now, coating my face. I can’t breathe any air that doesn’t smell like him.

He bends over my hand to take a closer look, and pulls a shard of glass from my bleeding flesh.

The room tilts and spins. The air feels thick.

He’s touching me. This is what I needed. What I’ve been needing since the moment he walked out my door last night.

He pulls another piece of glass out of my hand, then stretches my wrist toward the sink.

I can’t think. Can’t function with him this close. It feels like my body is going to erupt right here in the classroom.

“Enough,” I snap, hopping off the counter and onto the floor, glass underfoot be damned. “Class, I’m going to take care of this cut. Keep working quietly .”

I beeline it out of the room in my bare feet, blood dripping in my wake. I don’t look back to see if the class is going to follow my instructions. I definitely don’t look back to see Asher‘s reaction.

I don’t think I can withstand the view of his beautiful angry visage.

I unlock and shove open the door to the faculty bathroom. My heart pounds at an uneven rhythm. My head swims. I can’t think.

I pace in a tight swift circle. The air feels too thick to breathe. I stop in front of the sink and turn the water on. Blood washes into the basin as I rinse the rest of the glass from my thumb. My chest heaves as I try to regain control.

But that’s an impossibility .

I must not have shut the automatically locking door when I came in because Asher somehow appears in the bathroom with me.

I stare as he shuts the door with a click and closes the distance between us in one long stride.

He tears off my shirt and throws it to the floor.