Page 15 of Legacy Wolf: Semester One (Legacy Wolf #1)

RAWLING

Jack and I had had a fun day in town, except for the awkwardness when we met Atticus and Phelan.

But after her outburst in the room and mimicking what Professor Shaw told me about not removing my ring, I was convinced there was something going on with her, not the professor.

Regarding the professor’s insistence I keep the ring on, I assumed that was due to him being my godfather’s good friend and him still grieving his loss. As I was.

Jack’s sudden mood swing that day might’ve been because she was pregnant. Rather than ask her directly and risk another outburst, I studied her. Her college uniform was no tighter than usual, though that meant nothing. Too early for a tiny baby bump.

In the dining hall, I watched what she ate and if she exhibited any signs of nausea. But she got so pissed at me staring as she put every forkful of food in her mouth, she moved to another table, saying she needed space.

This evening she was working on a group assignment in the library with three other students, so I was left to my own devices.

My gaze went to my suitcase and the book contained in the old satchel. Pulling it out, I sat on the bed, poring over the contents. My godfather was a doodler, and I laughed at some of the comments he’d made during classes.

This lecture is so boring .

The professor has a stain on his tie .

Gods, I hate this uniform. It’s so itchy!

I could definitely relate to the last one, and I glared at the hated blazer hanging behind the door.

Even though we were separated by a generation, his life and schedule at Sombertooth were eerily similar to my own, except he never mentioned any sniffing.

I paused at a page where he’d detailed his archery techniques and took a pic on my phone.

I’d study them before my next practice session.

Much as I assumed my so-called archery method—which was to close my eyes and let the arrow do its thing—was a fluke or beginner’s luck, I hit the bullseye almost every time.

But I hoped by reading Rawlins’s notes, I’d get an insight into what else I should be doing.

There was a pic of him and a youthful Professor Shaw, arms around one another and shirts off near the woods behind the college. Once again, I wondered why he’d never mentioned his friendship with the professor.

I closed the book, but it slid onto the floor with a huge thump, and as I picked it up, the lining on the back cover had separated a little. Curious, I peeled it back to reveal a sheaf of papers in my godfather’s handwriting.

At first glance it appeared to be a novel, a fantasy one. Rawlins had never given a hint he wrote fanfiction. Or perhaps he’d had hopes of getting the book published. I was overcome with sadness at all the things he didn’t get to do.

Tucking my pillow under my head, I prepared to read. Perhaps by immersing myself in his words, I’d feel closer to him, and I twisted the ring, remembering what Professor Shaw had told me.

As I skimmed over the pages, I was impressed with Rawlins’s writing.

He’d created a world similar to Sombertooth, with men and women who had animals inside them.

Not like werewolves, where they only came out on a full moon and killed people or turned them into werewolves.

He called them shifters because they could shift between their human selves and their animal.

There were wolves, bears, foxes, frogs, mice, and even a dragon.

Sometimes he referred to the animals as a beast.

I paused, trying to recall where I’d heard that word recently. Someone had used it at Sombertooth, and I’d assumed they meant the person was bad-tempered or worse. That was also slang for someone’s cock.

Archery! That’s where I’d heard it. Coach had used it referring to Atticus.

Maybe it was Sombertooth jargon, but my mind drifted to Phelan’s tattoo depicting a wolf. As he was in Phoenix House, I wondered why his tat wasn’t that mythical bird.

I shrugged and settled back to read, but the more pages I scanned, the more dismayed I became, and I shivered as goosebumps scuttled over my skin.

Rawlins included his name in the text and spoke of his wolf, saying how he always wanted to shift.

He used the expression “taking his fur.” It was so realistic, I almost stopped reading, half expecting a half-man, half-beast to break down the door.

There was a word I’d not heard before: latent. It was a shifter who couldn’t shift or wasn’t in touch with his animal.

Once again, shivers ran up and down my spine as I clutched the papers. I gulped because I’d heard people start to say something and been cut off. Lat… was what they said. Then there were the words I’d glimpsed on Professor Shaw’s phone: wolf and shifter.

The papers drifted onto the bed as I tried to piece things together. Maybe this was to do with the secret society. They took on roles and pretended to be shifters. Did the role-playing and the pretense seep into school life? That had to be it.

I shoved the papers in the book and put everything in the suitcase. Laughing at myself for getting worked up over a fantasy, I took a shower. One of my grade school teachers used to tell me I had an overactive imagination when I came up with a tale about a wild animal in my room one night.

But as I got dressed, I thought back to the night I’d arrived, when that woman with the glasses on her head and the high heels had referred to Jack as a bear.

Other than the night she lost it regarding me stinking up the room, Jack was pretty even-tempered.

Maybe she’d freaked out at the woman’s perfume.

No, the woman said Jack had signed in when she wasn’t there. They hadn’t met.

Climbing into bed, I pulled the covers over my head to avoid talking to Jack when she came in. My dreams were filled with wild animals running toward me, tearing at my skin and leaving me bloodied, until I woke up yelling, my PJs drenched with sweat.

“Rawling? You’re having a nightmare. It’s okay. I’m here.” Jack’s hand was on my shoulder, and she flipped on a lamp.

“Right. It wasn’t real.” But it sure felt like it.

Jack handed me a drink of water and asked if I wanted to talk about my dream.

“No. I’m fine, thanks.” I took another shower, getting rid of the sweat, and lay in bed, not sleeping, until my alarm rang.

The next few days I walked around in a daze, noting the Sombertooth students who had visible tats. There were many of them. Some, like Phelan, might have had them hidden under their clothes, and that included Jack. Atticus would know if she did. Oh no. Why did I think that? Gross!

After I finished class one afternoon, I was standing at my window. Below me there was a group of students dashing toward the woods, tossing off their shirts and pants, before disappearing between the trees. A Sombertooth ritual like swimming in icy water in the dead of winter?

Grabbing a notebook, I scribbled the incidents I’d witnessed. Things I’d ignored or put down to me not being accepted because I arrived in second semester now appeared in a different light. I got Rawlins’s fantasy novel and compared the two.

“No,” I said out loud. I’d had too many late nights.

I was exhausted and letting my mind drift into dangerous territory.

If I continued this way, I’d be charging into Atticus’s room, demanding to see his wolf.

I giggled as I imagined his face as he stormed off, yelling that I needed to see a doctor.

Maybe I did need meds or to lie on someone’s couch and talk about my problems. Perhaps this was what grief did.

It took hold of your inner thoughts and twisted them.

I was so young when my parents died, I didn’t recall the aftermath.

Just warm arms enveloping me and whispered words saying I was safe.

But that person was gone too.

I tossed my notes in the garbage but thought better of it and put them in the suitcase with Rawlins’s book. If Jack saw it, she’d worry about me, and there’d be questions. But of all the people at Sombertooth, she was the only one I could talk to. The one who saw the real me.

Needing to get out of the room, I traipsed down the stairs just as the group I’d seen earlier jogged toward the buildings. They were clutching their clothes but were naked, their bodies smeared with dirt, and Zev had a leaf in his hair.

I avoided taking a peek at Phelan’s junk as Atticus sneered and said, “Bet you wish you could join us!”