Bite of the Alpha

Back at the School.

A deafening sound exploded through the hallway. The bell blared, and students rushed to their classes, shoving past each other like a wave of chaos.

Unlike the others, who seemed unaffected, Alexander winced and screamed at even the lowest noise. The ringing bell stabbed deep into his ears.

"Arrgh!" he groaned, clutching his head. It felt like his skull might crack open. His vision blurred. His legs turned weak beneath him, and he struggled to stay upright. If the bell hadn't stopped when it did, he was certain he would've collapsed.

Confused and breathless, Alexander blinked at the crowd. No one else was reacting like him. Why only me?

"What the…"

He pulled his hands from his ears and stared in shock—blood. Thin streaks stained the centers of his palms.

"Alex!"

The sound of his name exploded in his ears like a gunshot.

"F*ck! Stop shouting!" he snapped, eyes wide with pain.

"Well, thank God—after calling you six times, you finally heard me." Raymond stood in front of him, eyes full of concern. "Geez, are you okay?"

Alexander tried to straighten up but staggered. Raymond caught him before he hit the ground.

"I don't think so," Alex muttered.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

Raymond slung Alexander's arm over his shoulder and guided him to the boys' restroom. There, Alex rinsed the blood from his hands under the cold water, splashing some on his face. He paused mid-splash. A heartbeat. Faint, but unmistakable.

He shook it off and washed his face again, clearing his thoughts.

"First day of school, and I'm already late to class," he muttered, grabbing a paper towel.

"Yeah, yeah. If I didn't help your sorry ass, I'd be in class right now, being a good boy and learning math," Raymond said, tossing him his bag.

Alexander raised an eyebrow with a sarcastic you said what? look.

"Right, me neither," Raymond laughed, and they both chuckled, knowing full well neither of them would be sitting quietly through math if they could help it.

---

Back in the hallway, the two boys opened the door to their class. Mr. Arnold, their Mathematics teacher, stood by the whiteboard, twirling a black marker. He looked to be in his late thirties.

"Ah, geez," he muttered under his breath. Then louder: "Mr. Marshall and Mr. Owen, care to explain why you're late to class on the first day?"

Raymond spoke up first. "We ran into some issues, sir."

"Why am I not surprised?" Mr. Arnold said, dryly.

Alexander took a deep breath. I promised Aunt Laurel I'd behave, he reminded himself.

"We're sorry, sir. It won't happen again."

Without waiting for a response, they moved to their seats.

"You're on your final warning, you two. Next time it's detention. Now sit."

They were already sitting.

Final warning, huh? Tempting me this early, Alexander thought. If the bad guy comes out, there's no going back.

Still, he'd promised to try. He focused on the math problem for—he checked the time—about a minute and twenty seconds.

New record. He nodded to himself proudly.

Then he gave up. Taking out his phone, he texted Raymond, who was on the verge of falling asleep.

Alex: It was a wolf.

Bang!

The class turned to the noise. Raymond had jolted upright, startled by the buzz from his phone.

"Everything's fine," he said to the staring students. "Go on, enjoy your math."

He pulled his phone out under the desk and replied:

Raymond: A wolf? I was thinking the same thing. It must've been huge.

Alexander thought it over. Not necessary. It was just a bite. He'd get it looked at later.

He glanced at the board, feigning interest, and sent another text:

Alex: So how deep were you sleeping to make that much noise? 😏

Raymond: Deep enough to prefer it to this boring class. I'm off to sleep.

"Owen!" Mr. Arnold's voice boomed. Caught.

Alexander gave Raymond a mocking expression, eyebrows wiggling. So long, sweet dreams.

Raymond stumbled his way to the front, bumping desks on the way.

"Hi…" he said awkwardly.

"Solve the equation," Mr. Arnold said, handing him the marker.

Raymond stared at the board, then dropped the marker. He picked it up, stood straight, and locked eyes with the teacher.

"Five."

Mr. Arnold blinked. "What?"

"The answer is five," Raymond repeated. "But if you want the full working—here."

He scribbled quickly, confidently, and in seconds the equation was done. And correct.

"Told you."

Arnold stared at him a moment before nodding. "Back to your seat."

This time, the other students cleared the path for him. He strutted back, grinning. Alexander shook his head.

Asshole.

Smart as hell. Raymond could ace exams with barely a glance at a textbook. One of those "read once, understand everything" types.

Then something else caught Alexander's attention. A familiar voice near the door.

"…that's your class. I'll have someone show you around later," said Principal Laurel.

His aunt.

A sharp knock echoed through the classroom before the door creaked open. All heads turned. Standing in the doorway was Ms. Laurel, and next to her was a student none of them had seen before.

She stepped in silently—a girl with deep black plaits running neatly from the front of her scalp to the back. The braids gleamed faintly under the flickering fluorescent light, resting mid-back. Her skin was a rich umber tone, her posture rigid but calm. Her golden-brown eyes scanned the classroom quickly, coolly—unbothered by the sudden attention. There was something unreadable about her. Not shy, not nervous—just… distant.

Her white T-shirt bore the words Don't Get Close, faded slightly, like it had been washed too many times. Whether it was a statement or just fashion, no one could tell. The deep brown trousers clung to her like a second skin, practical and clean. Her short brown boots knocked softly against the tile floor as she entered the room.

Alexander watched, not with fascination, but with something closer to alertness. His instincts stirred—something about her presence didn't sit right. She looked normal enough, sure, but there was a quiet weight in the way she moved. Like someone trained to not draw attention while still controlling the space around her.

Mr. Arnold raised an eyebrow at Ms. Laurel, prompting her to speak.

"Meet your math teacher, Mr. Arnold," she said, gesturing lazily toward the front of the class, "and the usual suspects who are always one bad decision away from detention. Go on, introduce yourself."

The girl gave a subtle nod. "Hi. I'm Layla Hunt."

A few half-hearted greetings came from the students, but Layla didn't respond. She just turned and scanned the room again as if already categorizing people.

Alexander caught her gaze briefly, then looked away. He didn't flinch, didn't blush, didn't smirk—just watched. Something about her made the hair on his arms stand up, and not in any kind of romantic way. Just that quiet pressure of knowing someone was different, maybe dangerous.

"Alright, since none of you angels deserve the responsibility of not ruining my day," Ms. Laurel added, sweeping the room with a mock glare, "your teacher will assign someone to show Layla around."

" Alright Settle down," Mr. Arnold said, then turned to a boy whispering with a girl. "Martins! You'll give Layla a tour during lunch."

Douglas Martins turned in shock.

"What? I'm busy!"

"You shouldn't have disrupted class," Mr. Arnold snapped. "Either show her around or spend lunch with me in detention. Your choice."

"…Fine," Douglas grumbled.

The class fell into silence—then burst with laughter. Alexander and Raymond led the charge. Half the class tried to suppress it, fearing Douglas. But the bad boys didn't care.

And surprisingly, Douglas didn't react.

The class was stunned.

Layla's gaze shifted again—this time, locking onto Alexander.

She didn't blink.

Didn't look away.

Just stared.

Then she smiled friendly and then frowned later on.

Alexander felt it in his gut.

Trouble had just walked in.