Wolf Prints

The Alpha's Dragon

    In all my life I have come to accept two absolute truths. One, werewolves are dangerous creatures and should be approached with great care. Two, and most importantly, I was one of those dangerous creatures. Because of this, my control had to be absolute.

    Which is why I kept my anger on a thinly concealed leash that day at school. It was something I was doing in spades recently – reining in the desire for bloodshed. The very picture of compliance, I sat rigidly in my chair, teeth grinding together, but a placid, almost bored look on my face.

    The ease I had adopted the ability to mimic submission amused and surprised me. Chastity didn't seem to realize every move I made toward her since she "defeated" me the night of the full moon was laced in barely masked sarcasm. Maybe I'd learned more from Draken then just the art of self defense? Or maybe I'd lose control soon and kill the girl who stood in front of me, a smirk on her perfect ruby red lips, hips cocked to the side, hand poised expectantly in front of her. She teetered on her heels. They matched her lips today, and came to dangerous five inch points. A cream backpack dangled from her perfectly manicured fingers and I stiffly reached forward to accept it from her, immediately dropping the heavy bag unceremoniously to the ground beside my foot.

    Oops.

    "Careful!" She hissed an underling threat, eyes hostile as she eyed me up and down, obviously finding my jeans and oversized jacket lacking. Compared to her custom made silver and tan skater dress I suppose I did look scruffy. Or maybe it was my mess of dark hair I had taken all of thirty seconds to unceremoniously thrown into a messy bun on top of my head that had her eying me like I was something nasty she discovered on the bottom of her Louboutin pumps. Either way, she was far from impressed. "You better not have broken anything in there." She crossed her milky white arms and stepped back expectantly, waiting impatiently for me to follow her out the door.

    Blake was leaning against the door frame, watching me with his lips quirked in humor. He thought this was funny.

    I did not.

Class had just ended and we should be making our way to French class, but I was in no real hurry as I slowly placed supplies inside my own bag. Drake was nestled at the bottom. I was careful to keep from jostling him too much but still managed to wake him. He yawned, tiny razer teeth sharpened to points on full display. He sleepily blinked eerie, red, goat slit eyes that were fast becoming as familiar to me as my own. I smiled as in less than a second he turned invisible and raced up my arm. The ghostly feeling of a silky tail wrapped around my neck. He bristled from his perch on my shoulder, and though Chastity couldn't see him, she took a rapid step back as if preparing for an attack. I choked back a laugh. What kind of werewolf could order me around but was afraid of a baby dragon?

Drake had to have been feeding off my own anger. I'd be lying to say I hadn't noticed his perpetual tense attitude as of late. All week I had been forced into being Chastity's slave girl. I had maintained this position with barely restrained fury. Even now my wolf was growling from the deep crevice of my subconscious, demanding this pathetic girl's head. Instead, I stuffed down my anger and rose from my seat, slinging my backpack over one shoulder and Chastity's across the other.

Technically she had won the dominance battle, and I accepted this with as much grace as I could muster. Which, as it turns out, isn't much.

Raven was not impressed by the sudden change in the social hierarchy. She had been giving me weird looks for days now. A question was on the tip of her tongue, but she hadn't voiced it until now.

"Luna?" She prodded in a low voice as she matched my steps following Chastity down the hall to our next class. Blake strode dutifully beside her, casting glances my way every few seconds. The honey blonde mass of curls stomped in front of him, hips swaying like she was prancing down the catwalk. She pretended she was oblivious to the two girls trudging behind her with far less grace, but I knew otherwise when she lilted her head ever so slightly so she could hear our conversation better.