Page 5 of Legacy Wolf: Semester One (Legacy Wolf #1)
RAWLING
After racing to my room and changing into the college PE uniform, the wide-leg shorts billowed around my slim legs. There was enough fabric for two, maybe three people. I hitched the waistband up to my… well, my waist.
Catching sight of myself in the mirror, I poked out my tongue and tore down the stairs.
Jogging behind the buildings toward the archery range, I sensed Mrs. Ardilla had neglected to inform me of the proper apparel when I caught sight of the group.
My first instinct was she’d done it deliberately, but considering the matter further, that made no sense, particularly as she’d banged on about how I couldn’t let Phoenix House down.
Slack-jawed expressions and gaping mouths greeted me as I slowed to a walk.
“What is that you’re wearing?” A stabby finger pointed at my chest. The thunderous face belonging to the finger I assumed was the instructor. “Please don’t tell me you’re trying out for the team wearing that !” She spat out the last word.
Everyone else was clad in tight-fitting long-sleeved shirts and long pants. Nothing billowed or ballooned, and there were no high-waisted shorts.
“Perhaps he thought this was online archery, Coach.”
Atticus! Of course he was here to witness my humiliation.
His long hair was tied up and his nostrils flared.
I was conscious of my pale legs and knobbly knees, which infuriated me.
Who gave a fuck whether my skin hadn’t seen the sun for months—or ever—or whether my knees reminded people of a pair of doorknobs?
“Rawling.”
Fuck my life! Phelan. The alpha purred my name as he ran a hand through his hair, giving him a perfectly tousled look. It wasn’t humanly possible to be that gorgeous while wearing a sweat-stained shirt and sporting a smudge of dirt on his cheek.
For the first and only time, I was thankful for the acres of fabric in my ridiculous shorts because they covered my arousal.
Though Phelan’s gaze lowered to my crotch, so perhaps I was mistaken about the godsawful shorts.
Goosebumps marched over my skin and I shivered, imagining what would happen if we were alone.
“Name?” the coach barked.
“Rawling Blakesley.”
“Have you done archery before?” Her lips twitched, and everyone laughed. “No.” She hadn’t bothered waiting for my answer.
She handed me a shirt and pants. “Get changed, Rawling. Lesson one. No baggy clothes.” She waggled her finger at my hand. “And no jewelry.”
“C-C-Can’t,” I stammered. “I’d need soap and water to get it off.” That was a blatant lie, but while I didn’t have a little voice in my head advising me, instinct warned me not to remove it.
“Fine,” she huffed and handed me a roll of tape. “Cover it with that.”
Hiding behind a bush, I got rid of one outfit and donned another. I removed my watch and stuck it and the phone on top of my folded clothes.
No one paid any attention to me, so I made myself small at the back of the group while Atticus stood at a line marked on the grass.
The raw, animalistic energy radiating from him clued me in as to why Jack was attracted to him.
I was glad she wasn’t here ‘cause she might have fainted as he studied the target.
Holding the bow with one hand, he centered the arrow and pulled it and the string thingy back. I cringed as I was certain something was going to break. I made a mental note to learn archery terminology.
There was a hushed air of expectancy in the group, except for Phelan who was studying his nails. When Atticus let go of the arrow, it whooshed through the air, and I instinctively lowered my head, even though it was headed away from me.
Atticus’s effort was greeted with a cheer, and everyone clapped.
I shaded my eyes from the late-afternoon sun and squinted at the target.
Wow! He hit the bullseye. While Atticus made it appear easy, I suspected it was anything but, and I was reluctant to try out for the team with him likely making fun of me.
Maybe I could sneak off and pretend I was in the wrong place.
Phelan took his place at the line, but Coach waved him away. “The newbie has to try out.”
What? No, I didn’t. I was prepared to stand at the back and wait until everyone had had their turn and left.
She checked her notes. “Your turn, Rawling.”
I told my feet to run in the other direction, but they propelled me forward. I gulped and wiped my sweaty palms on my pants as my belly roiled.
Coach gave a brief explanation as to the technique, and I nodded, nerves having stolen my ability to speak.
“I wouldn’t worry if I were you,” Atticus snarled. “Your arrow isn’t going anywhere except right here, and he stamped his foot in front of me. He curved his arm and accompanied it with a tuneless whistle. “Much like a limp dick.”
“I’ll take your word for it,” I retorted. “My dick is never limp, but I hear there are meds for that.”
“Why you—” Phelan grabbed Atticus’s arm as the guy made a fist and his brown eyes darkened. Whatever agony Atticus carried inside him, I wouldn’t want to be around when he finally unleashed it, but I was pleased I’d bested him, if not in archery but in sassiness.
“As team captain, you must set an example for the rest of the group, Atticus,” Coach reminded him. “And restrain your beast.”
Did she say beast? Maybe that was shorthand for his beastly tendencies? But my attention returned to the feat I had to perform. Or fail at. I gritted my teeth as I imagined how Atticus would crow at my unsuccessful attempt.
“Hurry up, newbie.” Coach’s voice was tinged with boredom.
The damned target was so far away. Surely they could have brought it forward for me. What were the instructions again? Both hands were trembling as I followed the steps Atticus had, except he was a seasoned archer, and I could hardly tell the bow from the arrow.
I held my breath, willing the string not to break, the tautness mimicking the tension rippling off me. The ping of the arrow shooting forward had me peering downward, expecting the head to be gouged into the earth. But it wasn’t.
“Holy freaking cow!” someone muttered, and it sounded like Coach.
Oh no, had I hit a cow? Or worse, killed it?
There was a collective whisper from the group. “Bullseye.”
What? No, that couldn’t be? There had to be a mistake.
Atticus pushed forward. “I don’t know how you did that, but I’ll discover your little trick and expose you.”
“Nothing little about my trick, Atticus. Or my dick. But I understand your problem.” I feigned a concerned expression. “So sorry.”
Both Phelan and Coach restrained the alpha, and once again, his eyes pooled with loathing.
“You have a natural talent, newbie.” Coach scribbled something in her notes. “You’re on the team.”
“What? No,” Atticus shouted. “How can you let a lat… him besmirch the proud history of the Sombertooth archery team?”
But Coach had apparently had enough of Atticus, and she told him to leave. “This isn’t the ‘bow to Atticus’s wishes at all times’ team. Unless your attitude changes, I’m removing you as captain and installing Phelan in your place.”
“You wouldn’t dare,” he snarled. “My father?—”
Coach’s eyes flared with something scarier than what I’d witnessed in Atticus's eyes. He stood his ground for a moment, before turning on his heel and slouching away.
“Is there a Rawling Blakesley here?” a student yelled as he raced up, out of breath. All eyes went to the guy, and he visibly shrank under their gaze.
“That’s me.”
“Professor Shaw wants you in his office now.”
My digital calendar said Friday. We’d messaged back and forth. Had I made a mistake? Nope, today was Friday.
“Go. And make sure you return those clothes tomorrow, washed and ironed.” Coach waved me away.
Phelan extended his hand. One of the few students to do so. I placed mine in his and his brows shot up. Not what he was expecting. But his skin on mine sent delicious tingles throughout my body.
“I wanted the bow.” His voice was similar to a warm blanket on a cold night, and I wanted to curl up with it.
But it had an edge to it too. A hard spiky one.
“But your hand will do.” His husky voice had my dick desperate to escape my pants, and in order to not embarrass myself further, I shoved the bow at him and took off after grabbing my things.
After a few missed turns, I knocked on Professor Shaw’s door. It opened, but he was about to leave, a briefcase in his hand. Shit, was there a screw-up regarding the time?
“Sorry, Rawling. My fault. Something’s come up, and we have to reschedule. Let’s do this next week.” His phone beeped, and when he glanced at it, I caught the words “shifter” and “wolf” on the display.
Huh? I stared at his back as he loped along the hallway. In a strange way, he reminded me of a wild beast.