Chapter 2

Two

CHRISTIAN

Y ou fucking idiot!

With a snarl, I sweep my hand out, tossing everything off my desk and onto the floor.

What a fucking idiot!

Shame wars with anger in my chest.

How could I have been so dumb?

But I know the answer to that, even if I don’t want to admit it.

I wasn’t in charge during my conversation with Isabella.

My wolf was.

He still is, if I’m being completely honest. I can sense him pacing in my mind, his teeth bared, his eyes glowing red, his nostrils flaring, desperate to catch a whiff of her.

Mate, my wolf snarls, that one word bursting with possessiveness and need. Raw, unencumbered need that borders on obsession.

No!

I run both of my hands through my hair as I try to think things through, try to get myself out of this shit show I found myself in.

Isabella can’t be my mate, dammit. She’s a student here. I’m the vice principal. It’s wrong. Taboo. Forbidden.

But you’re not really a vice principal, a dry voice retorts in my head.

I ignore the voice and continue pacing, weaving a pathway around the wayward items I threw in my hissy fit.

How could this be happening? How?

Sure, it’s not unheard of for a lone wolf to find a mate, but it’s also not typical either. Mating a lone wolf can only ever lead to heartbreak and destruction. And for a human to be mated to one? That’s a recipe for fucking disaster.

No. Not happening.

I refuse.

My wolf growls viciously in my head.

Mate, he repeats.

No.

Anger coils in my stomach, a serpent waiting to strike, as I wear down the carpeting in my office.

This can’t be happening. No. This can’t be fucking happening.

Most lone wolves are isolated from others in the community—and for good reason. Without a pack to keep them grounded, most of them turn feral. Insane. It becomes impossible for the human to differentiate themselves from the wolf. Years ago, a lone wolf refused to leave town, and he ended up slaughtering five different humans and two of his fellow shifters.

The thought of that happening to Isabella…

Bile scorches my throat, and my pacing picks up speed, as does my heart.

I never should’ve left the forest. Never should’ve returned home.

Maybe then this wouldn’t have happened.

You need to stay away, Christian, I tell myself firmly, ignoring my wolf’s vehement howl of protest. For her safety. For your sanity. This is wrong. You know it’s wrong.

She can’t be my mate.

It’s impossible.

Not when she’s already chosen for my brother and his friends.

Fuck!

For the billionth time in the last few minutes, I fork my fingers through my hair. I don’t need to see a mirror to know the strands are wildly disheveled. My father would have a field day if he were to see me like this, looking less than meticulous and perfect.

Fuck. Fuck.

Fuck!

A tentative knock sounds on the door, and I pause mid-step, my ears straining. Heart hammering. Lungs burning in a desperate bid to take in oxygen.

But I don’t need to hear her voice to know it’s her. My wolf sensed her long before I did. Already, he’s sitting at attention, wagging his tail, utterly besotted by the endearing female.

Obsessed with her.

Until he loses his mind and rips her apart.

I flinch at the mere thought.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I need to get her away from me.

So why do I move towards the door and open it, inviting her inside?

Izzy stands on the threshold, her hand raised in the air as if she planned to knock again, her jaw clenched tightly. I swallow heavily at just the sight of her.

She’s so fucking beautiful, and I feel like a creep for noticing, despite being only a couple of years older than her. Golden curls tumble around a heart-shaped face with full, generous lips and sharp cheekbones. Her blue eyes are framed by the darkest, thickest lashes I’ve ever seen. She wears jeans and a sweater that slides carelessly down one shoulder, revealing the strap of her bra.

Mine, my wolf growls possessively.

I ignore him and step aside so Izzy can enter, which she does in a flurry of anger, stalking towards the front of my desk while I remain by the door.

Now that I’m not ogling her like some fucking pervert, I notice the tension radiating off of her in almost palpable waves. A furrow lines her brow, and her tiny hands are balled into fists. Her gaze—usually warm and slightly teasing—is hard. Stony. Angry.

Fuck.

“I’m surprised to see you back,” I say, keeping my voice casual despite my turbulent emotions.

I gently shut the door and flick the lock. I don’t want to risk anyone overhearing this conversation.

“I have questions. You have answers. Seemed like a no-brainer to me.” She shrugs a single shoulder as she whirls to face me. “So talk.”

My lips twitch instinctively. “You didn’t ask any questions.”

I know I’m being a smart-ass, but I can’t help it. This girl gets under my skin, a splinter that can’t be plucked out or sanded away.

Izzy makes a strange noise that would make most wolves proud—a combination between a growl, a snarl, and a whine. Her hard, angry eyes remain fixed on my face.

“You want a question?” Each word is slow and succinct. “Fine. Which questions should I ask?”

Ah. Smart girl.

Smart and beautiful, a voice remarks in my head.

And a student, I rebuke. And, more importantly, human.

I fold my arms over my chest and lean against the door. “You should ask what I am. What my brother is. What his friends are.” I pause, considering, before adding, “What you are.”

“Fine.” She throws her arms up in the air. “What are you guys? What am I?”

“You’re human.” A fact that flays me open. “We’re not.”

She bares her teeth at me. “Then what are you?”

“You guys call us werewolves, but that’s not an accurate description. Not really.”

No one knows how the legends of werewolves began. Some theorize that years ago, a human stumbled across a group of us shifting and concocted that ridiculous story. Others claim that one of the other supernatural species started the rumor as a way to confuse the humans.

“We can shift whenever we want, not just during the full moon. Silver doesn’t harm us. We don’t need to eat human flesh or anything like that to survive. Oh. And we don’t imprint on babies.”

Self-satisfaction courses through me when Izzy’s lips twitch upwards for a fraction of a second. I’ve never actually watched the Twilight movies or read the books, but you would have to be an idiot or living under a rock not to know the entire plotline from beginning to end. And I know Isabella hates being compared to the protagonist of that story.

Ironic, considering she’s surrounded by supernaturals.

“So werewolves are real?” Her voice is a breathy murmur.

“Shifters, yes.” I push away from the wall and move towards my desk.

She pivots on her heel to keep her eyes on me the entire time, enveloping me in warmth.

“There are other animal shifters out there, but the majority of them are wolves.”

“Why is that?” For a moment, her anger subsides, replaced by curiosity.

“I can’t say for sure, though there are theories.” I recline slightly in my chair and place my folded hands on my stomach.

Her gaze drops for a fraction of a second, resting on my toned abs beneath my shirt, before she swallows and focuses once more on my face.

“And those theories are?” She infuses her voice with just the right amount of sass to make me want to spank her ass.

No, I mentally berate myself, frowning. Fuck.

I shake my head vigorously in an attempt to clear my thoughts. A futile attempt, but an attempt all the same.

“Do you know how shifters came to be?” I ask, though the question is more rhetorical than literal. I know her answer will be no.

Even still, Izzy shakes her head, her lips firming.

I begin to tap my fingers against the table.

Every young wolf knows the history of how our kind came to be. It’s common knowledge.

Facts.

Facts, I can deal with. It’s when emotions become involved that things get messy.

So I pretend I’m in one of the few classrooms at Council headquarters, discussing the origin of our species with the younger generation. It’s what I used to do when I was still in high school.

Before I discovered I didn’t have a pack.

Before I became a lone wolf.

Before I moved away from everyone I loved and found a home for myself deep within the forest, far away from civilization.

Closing my eyes helps. I don’t have to see Izzy’s frowning face and puckered brow then.

Even as I think that, I snap my eyes open and home in on her. I can’t look away, despite how badly I want to.

Fuck.

I take a deep breath, open my mouth, and tell the truth about our kind to quite possibly the only human who’s aware of us.

Here we go…

“Legend has it that, thousands of years ago, a powerful witch lost her Blood Companion,” I begin, tapping my foot to a rhythm only I can hear.

“Blood Companion?” Izzy interrupts, obviously having picked up on the importance of those two words.

“A Blood Companion to a witch is what a Heart is to a shifter.” I hesitate briefly, tapping my fingers on my desk. “Humans would probably refer to them both as a person’s soulmate.”

Her breath hitches, and I wonder if she’s remembering my words from before. When I used the word “mate.” When I claimed she belonged to the wolves.

Fuck, how could I have been so dumb?

I hurry to speak before she can put the pieces together. I’m terrified of the final image they’ll create.

“The soulmate principle stems from the belief that every person is defective until they find their other half. That their souls aren’t complete until then. Based on that, witches and warlocks believe that their Blood Companion holds the other half of a person’s magic. Once they form the bond, they’ll become immensely powerful.”

Her brows dip low. She opens her mouth, and I just know she’s going to ask about Hearts and mates and shifters. I fucking know it.

So I take the coward’s way out and continue speaking before she can.

“Thousands of years ago, a powerful witch named Letty found her Blood Companion—a warlock named Juan. Now, let me preface this by saying that witches and warlocks are different from humans. We all are, but them…more so.” I lean forward and rest my arms on the desk, holding Izzy’s stare. “The magic users receive prestige and privilege by being the most powerful. It doesn’t matter if you're rich or poor, young or old, pretty or ugly. If you have power running through your veins, you’re at the top of the food chain.

“It’s why some witches and warlocks will spend their entire life searching for their Blood Companion. Not because they believe in true love or any of that crap—but because they want to be whole again. They want their magic to be whole again.”

Now, this… This is the part I don’t want to tell Izzy. This is her first look into the paranormal world, and I hate that it’s so bleak and despairing. Yet, she needs to know the truth.

The sooner she learns about the monsters that lurk in the shadows, the quicker she can figure out how to fight them and survive.

“As I said before, power trumps everything for magic users. A lot of times, the witch or warlock will kill their Blood Companion to claim the magic for themselves.”

It’s a sad truth of not only their history, but their present as well. Though the murdering of Blood Companions is illegal nowadays, a lot of witches and warlocks will still do it and just pray they don’t get caught.

The thought of hurting my mate, hurting Izzy, makes me physically nauseous.

Izzy’s mouth drops open in shock. “That’s fucking horrible.”

“It is, but it’s the way of their kind.” I clear my throat and hurry to get us back on track.

It won’t be long until my brother and his friends come sniffing around, searching for Izzy.

And I’m certain that’s the last thing she wants.

Hell, it’s the last thing I want, as much as I hate to admit it.

“Anyway, Letty and Juan broke the mold when they fell in love. Letty’s family members—all powerful witches in their own right—were appalled by her decision. If she were to kill her Blood Companion and claim his power for her own, she’d be unstoppable. But Letty refused. She loved him too much. And she thought Juan loved her as well.

“No one was more surprised than Letty when Juan attempted to kill her. We can’t be sure what changed for him. I’m sure the witches and warlocks have extensive records of this entire ordeal, but we’ve only received verbal testimony.

“A lot of shifters believe that Juan became paranoid. Perhaps his own family was whispering in his ear that Letty planned on killing him. Or maybe he always planned to attack her. The why doesn’t matter. All we know for certain is that Juan attacked Letty in their shared bedroom with an ax.

“She fought him off and begged him to stop, but he was consumed by rage and fear and confusion. Those emotions… They can control you if you’re not careful. Consume you.”

I would know, after all. I’m experiencing all three of them in spades right now.

“And then what happened?” Izzy seems entranced by my story. Her eyes are wide and guileless and brimming with questions.

“She killed him,” I answer without preamble. “She used her magic to fling him off of her, and he hit his head against the bedside table. Died instantly. She became consumed by grief and pain and retreated in on herself, refusing to show her face to the world.

“All she wanted was her mate back. She became so lonely and despondent that she came up with an idea—what if there was a way for her to not be so alone anymore? Witches can’t bring the dead back to life, but they can dabble in soul magic…if they’re powerful enough.”

Soul magic has been a point of contention between witches and warlocks for centuries now. The current leaders—the Maiden, Mother, and Crone—have chosen to outlaw the practice of it. Too unpredictable. Too dangerous. Too unnatural.

I, personally, believe they banned soul magic simply because none of them could perform it. They hate the prospect of someone having more power than them. I can’t prove my theory, of course, but it’s the only one that makes sense.

Magic—regardless of the type—isn’t inherently evil. Only the way you wield it is.

“Soul magic?” Izzy cants her head to the side.

Sunlight reflects off her golden hair, creating a tapestry of color in the blonde strands. White and brown and even red.

Beautiful.

So fucking beautiful.

I clear my throat again. “Soul magic is…well… It’s complicated. It’s been outlawed for centuries now, so not a lot of research has been done on it. Rumor has it that warlocks and witches who possess this type of magic can see auras, gauge intentions, talk to wayward spirits, sometimes even hear thoughts.”

Izzy shudders. “That’s fucking terrifying.”

“It’s tame compared to some of the other magic witches and warlocks can perform.” I chuckle darkly and then pick up where I left off. “Legend states that Letty searched the beyond for her lover’s soul but couldn’t find it. Perhaps Juan didn’t want to be found. Or maybe the universe decided he didn’t deserve a second chance.”

I shrug. “Either way, after weeks of fruitless searching, Letty was about to give up. It was only then that she felt a presence with her. It was a female, and someone Letty was positive she never spoke to in her life. This presence could barely talk coherently, but the two of them forged a bond.

“Both of them were lonely—one stuck on Earth by herself; the other stuck in a strange plane of existence. So Letty did what she thought was best for both of them. She tugged on the entity’s soul and brought her to Earth so they both wouldn’t be alone anymore.

“Letty realized then that she felt strange. Different. There was a voice in her head that wasn’t her own. A beast, so to speak. She had instincts she never had before. Letty realized that she did bring the beast back with her—by trapping the creature in her body.”

“A wolf…” Izzy breathes in awe.

I nod once. “That’s right. The wolves are actually creatures from a different plane of existence—a different world, so to speak—that traveled to Earth. They can only survive when they’re in a host’s body. Think of it as a…parasite.” My wolf snarls angrily at being compared to something so demeaning. “We could probably survive without our wolves, but our wolves can’t survive without us.

“Over time, the bond between the human and wolf evolved until the two became virtually the same person. They have the same thoughts, wants, fears, desires.” I offer her a brittle smile. “We are the wolf now. They are us. I’m not sure we’ll ever be able to unbraid ourselves from each other.”

And I’m not sure any of us want to. Despite my fear of the future—my fear of turning feral—I can’t imagine life without my wolf. He’s a part of me, the good and the bad.

“Are you all descendants of Letty?” Izzy asks, frowning.

“No.” I shake my head with a tiny smile. “Apparently, when Letty pulled her wolf to Earth, she also transported all of the other animals as well. Wolves and horses and cheetahs and lions and even a creature that resembles a dragon. They all latched on to the nearest witch or warlock they could find—only humans with magic in their veins can survive the merging.” I spread my arms wide. “And thus, shifters came to be.”

Izzy seems to be processing the story. Her chin is tilted upwards in contemplation, and her brows are furrowed.

After a moment, she lowers her gaze back to me and says, her tone carefully neutral, “Why did you refer to me as yours? And what does a mate mark mean?”

Oh…fuck.