Page 49 of Legacy Wolf: Semester One (Legacy Wolf #1)

RAWLING

Professor Shaw was searching through his old briefcase and cursing when I wandered into the classroom. I was early and no other students were there. I froze in the doorway, ready to back the fuck out, thinking Holden might be there too, but the professor had sent him off on an errand.

“I’m glad you’re here, Rawling. I’ve forgotten my text which I need for this lesson. Could you run to my office and grab it for me? It’s on the bookcase, second shelf from the top, with a yellow spine.”

“Sure.” Anything to get me out of being face to face with my ex.

I now had two of those—exes—and while neither relationship had been what I imagined when they began, thoughts of Holden didn’t fill my head as Phelan did.

After breaking up with the tiger shifter, I wasn’t consumed with “what-ifs.” My life didn’t change much, not that things were much different after I told Phelan we couldn’t have sex anymore. But I was sad post-Phelan.

After the professor gave me the office key, I raced along the darkened hallways.

I no longer questioned the contrast between the older Sombertooh buildings and modern technology, but instead of a keycard, Professor Shaw still used an old-fashioned metal key to lock his inner sanctum.

I recalled the day I’d met Holden and the professor had told him to lock up.

I hadn’t considered that he used an actual key.

But I suspected Professor Shaw liked the history of using a proper key.

He always seemed as though he belonged in an earlier century.

The door squeaked and complained as I opened it.

Once inside, I flicked on the lights and searched for the text.

“Second shelf from the top, yellow spine.” Books were piled haphazardly on top of others and some were wedged behind at the back.

The poor shelves groaned under the weight.

The professor needed more space and someone to dust.

I sneezed as I pulled books out and shoved them back in. Nothing with a yellow spine. No yellow ones at all. It was almost class time, and while the professor always shut off his phone, I hoped he hadn’t done it yet as I dialed his number.

“I can’t find the book,” I told him when I answered.

“Maybe it’s on my desk. I was making notes from it yesterday, or perhaps I returned it to the shelf, but the bottom one.”

There was nothing on his desk other than piles of unmarked assignments that looked no different from the ones that had been there during my first visit.

Kneeling on the floor and ignoring the dust bunnies, I scanned the spines until I found, not a yellow one, but one with a symbol.

One I recognized, though I had no memory of where I’d seen it.

It was a circle, containing ever decreasing smaller circles inside. Ignoring the minutes licking by, I pulled out the book and studied the title. Shifter Myths And Legends . I almost put it back thinking it was written from a human perspective and told tales of werewolves and the like.

But on impulse, I opened it, the pages yellowing and tattered. The table of contents was well worn, and I pictured the professor and his students running their fingers over the chapter headings before flicking to the relevant page.

A quick scan revealed it was stories originating from centuries ago when shifters roamed the earth, not as shifters as such but as animals, before they developed their human side. As a non-shifter, I was fascinated by the list of myths and legends, but one caught my eye: The Hunter .

I shivered as a chill swept over me, and my fingers trembled when I found the chapter. Skimming over the lines of text revealed a small group of animals who didn’t like the shifters-to-be developing into humans who kept their animals inside, only revealing them when they shifted.

That smaller group also evolved into humans, but discarded their animals, walking on two legs forever more. Not only did they not agree with who shifters had become, but they vowed to rid the world of shifters one at a time.

The legend went on to say that while there was no wide-scale annihilation of shifters, every generation, a hunter would kill a shifter in animal form by tricking them, making them think the hunter was a shifter and their friend.

I slammed the book shut and a puff of dust exploded into the air, resulting in another sneeze.

Leaning against the bookcase, not caring if my dreaded blazer got dirty and forgetting about the class and the text I was supposed to find, the words kill a shifter in animal form by tricking them repeated in my head.

It was eerily familiar based on what we knew about Sasha, though there was no evidence Mika had been in animal form when he died.

And that sent me spiraling, thinking of what I’d experienced during the nightmares.

The phone beeped, bringing me back to the present. I found what I needed , the professor texted. Heaving myself up, I took pics of the relevant pages about hunters, returned the book to its place, and took another photo of the spine and its position on the shelf.

I glanced around making sure everything was as it appeared when I walked in, but I was befuddled after finding that chapter, and if someone had said up was down, I would have believed them.

As I hurried back to class, my mind was full of questions.

Why did Jack, Channon, and Bardoul never mention the hunter legend?

Not knowing shifters existed excused me from knowing any aspect of shifter history.

Judging by the amount of dust on the book, it hadn’t been disturbed for ages, so the professor hadn’t shared it with anyone or dipped into the contents.

Were hunters dismissed by shifters as pure fantasy, just as werewolves were by humans? It was possible the legend had been created to put fear into the shifter population. Stay with your own kind and don’t befriend strangers because there are those who believe shifters should not exist.

Human history had plenty of examples of similar myths and especially fairy tales.

I allowed myself a small smile because in fairy tales, the warning was always, “Don’t go into the woods,” and yet shifters lived part of their lives in the forests.

Perhaps it was where they felt the most free, though Jack and other latents were the exception.

I skidded to a halt as I rounded the corner close to Professor Shaw’s classroom, remembering I’d left the key on his desk and the office was unlocked. Backtracking, I retrieved the key and the door locked with a satisfying click.

The professor raised a brow when I flung myself into the classroom, probably in a cloud of dust because Channon sneezed and Jack gave me a pointed look.

There was no way I could concentrate on the class, and luckily, Professor Shaw didn’t ask me any questions.

I kept trying to catch Jack’s eye, but she was busy scribbling notes and joining in a group discussion.

How could she be so calm when I may have found who or what had killed Mika and Sasha?

And what of me? How did my nightmares fit into the scenario?

Stop! I reminded myself that my roommate had no idea what I’d stumbled on and neither did I. Hunters could be exactly how the book described them, a myth, and I’d made a giant leap.

“Do you have anything to contribute, Rawling?” That voice was familiar, and I focused on the small group Jack had dragged me into. All eyes were on me: Jack, Channon, Bardoul, and Phelan. How had I not noticed I was sitting beside Phelan? His scent always alerted me to his presence.

But he hadn’t asked the question. That was my other ex, Holden.

“Ummm, not exactly. I was late to class and missed a lot of what was discussed.”

My admission was met with sighs and furrowed brows because I’d missed five minutes of class, maybe ten, and I’d been sitting letting my imagination run wild for the last forty.

“Sorry.”

Jack stepped in and waffled on about the topic. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be as important as showing her what I’d found. She might dismiss my theory, but every minute that ticked by was agonizing.

“Sorry about sending you on a wild goose chase,” Professor Shaw said as I was leaving the classroom.

“No problem.”

“Rawling.” I froze in the doorway as he spoke my name, convinced he knew what I’d found. “The key.”

“Oh, right.” I placed it in his palm. Ignoring Holden, I took Jack’s arm.

“Owww.” She flung my hand away. “What is with you? You normally enjoy the professor’s class and often stay late asking questions.”

“That was partly to do with Holden. But forget him and Professor Shaw. We have to get back to the room.”

“But I’ve got soccer practice in twenty minutes,” she protested.

“This is worth being late for soccer.”

“I doubt anything is worth me getting reamed out by Coach,” she grumbled.