Alma

Chapter Five: Alma

Alma:

It had been four days since my fight with the Oni, and so far its been fine. I’ve been running with Dante or Mark each night, and my wolf is being mostly tolerable, although I can feel the lack of bonds affecting her. My home pack connection is barely holding on, and the decaying bond is physically painful, which agitates my wolf to no end. She wished the pack would hold the ceremony already-- I don’t even need to be present for it.

For the third time I wake up and have no clue where I am, but I know it isn’t my room because it smells wild. I startle up and look around and find that I am still in the woods, again. But, unlike the last two days, I am a naked human, wearing nothing but the giant wolf curled around me, asleep. Crap. I need to phase again, without waking up my temporary Alpha. Actually, scratch that, I need to phase again, regardless, because my clothing was destroyed in a game of tug of war between me and a stupid tree where my clothes got stuck.

I call on my wolf and she gladly allows me to slip into my fur. The process of course wakes Dante, but I don’t really care because sunrise is approaching, and with it, training. He sneezes as he wakes up with some of my fur in his nose, and I cough out a laugh before squeezing out from the circle he had made around me as I rise. Dante follows after catching sight of the fast approaching sun and we trot to the metal lockers, where he phases back and dresses quickly. He goes to walk away when I bark, catching his attention. He looks confused for a second before understanding dawns on him. “Oh right. Come on then.” Opening the locker with a light screech, my pack mate grabs my ID card and swiftly we go to my dorm before he lets me in both the building and my room. I nod my thanks as he sets the card down on a table and leaves, rushing to get to his room before someone realizes he was missing.

Not having time to sleep off the change, I force myself to phase back, which is extremely painful and can take up to an hour, if it works. This time is about twenty minutes and I complete the phase back, thanking whoever or whatever; I have to rush, because I only have twenty minutes to get to training. I hurriedly brush my hair, put it in a ponytail, and dress in my training outfit, a simple gray tank top and sweatpants, before grabbing my gym bag and running as fast as I could to the building. My limbs feel heavy on account of phasing, and I already know today is going to be a bad one.

I arrive in the knick of time, and rush to the open spot on the bench as the professor of this course, a slight snow woman, or a yuki onna, who refuses to hide behind a mortal shell. Her hair is a bright silver white, and her skin is nearly transparent, with exception to the swirling black and color images that are tattooed everywhere except her face. Her eyes are ice blue and I know for a fact that one wrong glance or even one touch can freeze a person in place. Literally. Ms. Anxeki is the most badass woman I know, and I even consider her a friend. She is one of the only professors here who I know I can go to for help for anything at all without worry of news getting out to others. Because of her, I am able to properly defend myself, something I am eternally thankful for.

However, Ms. Anxeki, also known as Nao to the few of us she works with personally, which is basically me and a few first years who need to catch up or work further on certain skills, is in a rough mood today. She barks at us to get straight to work, rather than her normal stern yet kind way of telling us what to work on. Today, she didn’t care as she marched to the corner of the room and I found myself wanting to go and see what is troubling her, and how I could hopefully help, preferably by tearing someone or something apart for her.

Ms. Anxeki’s gaze meets mine and she taps her wrist before gesturing to her office, telling me she wants to see me in her office after class. Oh no.

My sparring partner today is a meek female coyote shifter. She has ashy blonde hair that is natural, a uncommon color for coyotes, but not unseen. That hair, pulled back into a ponytail with a black scrunchy, frames a pretty, round face that houses orange-brown colored eyes that reflect the light because they are shining with fear and uncertainty. She dips her head in a submissive gesture every time my wolf tries to test her limits; this submissive attitude makes her movements slow and lacking confidence. After a good twenty minutes, it's getting on my nerves; however, I am afraid to let it show because I am unable to handle a crying female.

I decided to take her attention away from sparring. “My name is Alma, by the way. What’s yours?”

She dips her head once again and my wolf wants to nip her to correct her behavior like a pup. “Um… my name is, uh, my name is Maria.”

I smile with my lips closed so I don’t scare her by showing her my teeth, which are beginning to descend. She is scared and I can smell it. “What year are you, Maria?”

I ask her this as I show her once again how to get into a proper fight stance, with her feet shoulder width apart, her dominant foot back slightly with more weight on it, and both fists up, dominant hand lower and closer to her body so she could effectively throw a punch with all of her weight behind it, causing more damage to her opponent. But, her fear increased with each interaction and instruction to the point where she couldn’t even make a fist right!

I form her fist for her as she answers. “Third year.”

That chafes my patience and I want to snap at her. Third years should know the basic fighting stance. I chalk up her seeming inability to anxiety. My wolf still wants to snap at her-- this stance has been driven into our heads and bodies from the first day at the age of 16. It should be blood and bone memory by now. “That’s a couple years under me. Do you have any offensive or defensive moves that you know?”

Maria shakes her head and my patience is gone. “Well, try to block me then. Don’t let me break through your defenses. Got it?”

My words are harsher than I intended, and Maria gulps before nodding. Then I show her different punches and kicks, all drastically slow and weak, explaining exactly what I am doing the entire time. By the time the hour is up, Maria knows exactly three things: Basic stance, how to throw a punch, and how to get the f**k away from a kick. “Start coming to the extra lessons during Club. You need to get caught up, otherwise you will end up being destroyed if ever attacked. It’s important you know how to defend yourself.”

Being a submissive female is worse than being a dominant female-- a male not only can attack her, but he can simply command her to do what he wants and she would have to fight her own coyote to disobey. Seeing my sincerity, Maria nods again, and runs away with a small yip.

After cleaning and picking up the training mat Maria and I used, I casually amble to Ms. Anxeki’s office, knocking on the door before I enter. “You wanted to see me?”

I do love the offices the professors here have. Ms. Anxeki’s office is black, white, and wood, and always smells like ink. The books surrounding the room show various techniques and fighting styles, along with history books on Yokai, including a well-worn history book on yoka onna. The one small window behind the desk has frost on it year-round thanks to Nao’s abilities as a yoka onna. Small white lights line the top of the room, adding a comforting yellow glow to the room in absence of natural light.

I lean against the door jamb as Nao looks up from a small stack of papers on her desk when I enter. “Yes, I’m afraid I have some upsetting news.”

Her eyes are extra blue, the whites missing, and her hair is frosting over. She’s nervous about what she has to tell me. That’s not good. My wolf begins pacing, whining a little with each exhale. I think back to what she could know about, and think about the Oni. He is one of the newest fights I’ve had on campus. In the past three months I’ve probably whooped the asses of ten or so dickheads. The number of skirmishes? Closer to twenty-five or thirty. Most of the time, one good punch and a flash of dominance and a male backs down, but sometimes I’m not so lucky and end up needing the infirmary. Luckily, I’ve only had to go to the infirmary twice-- once for poisoning from a gorgon, and the second was for a puncture wound from an Earth Fae that sent a tree flying out of the ground and through my stomach. I needed surgery to repair the damage.

“Is it about the Oni yesterday? He had it coming, Nao, I swear.”

“What Oni?” She asks with some alarm. s**t. What had her so nervous then?

“Nevermind. I will tell you about it today during practice. There is also a new third year joining the club because she knows nothing.”

The only response is a distracted nod, so I change the subject. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

“Your grandparents have died, Alma, and the new Alpha of your pack has surrendered you to the school.”

That would explain the decaying pack bond. My wolf begins to panic in my mind, but I manage to hide it from Nao. My grandfather had been the Alpha of my pack, and my uncle, who was Beta, is now the Alpha. Uncle Andy had despised my father’s mating with my mother, and blamed me for his death. It was no surprise that he would kick me out of the pack. I was just hoping I would have another pack before my grandparents passed; we had started looking for other packs before I came to the school, but no one was willing to take me in because of the rumor between my parents, and my mother’s parents disappeared when their daughter was executed.

“What does this mean, Nao.” I demand the information, rather than ask. I hated the thread of panic in my voice. My control on my wolf was deteriorating, and quick.

“You will stay here year round until a new pack can be found. You will report to me when you leave campus during breaks, and during the week. You will submit to me and do what I tell you to do, otherwise you will be branded a Rogue and turned out.”

I swallow hard. Being branded a Rogue is as good as having a target painted on your back, because everyone will be gunning for you. Nevermind the fact that there are no pack bonds to be formed, meaning my wolf and I would slowly go insane. Nowhere is safe for a Rogue, and more often than not, Rogues go feral-- the ones that don't are typically groups from the same pack that are turned out.

Being branded a rogue is a pretty complicated process. First, your pack needs to reject you. After the rejection, there is a ceremony to strip all of the pack bonds from the wolf; the end of the ceremony is binding the ability for the wolf to make new pack bonds, sentencing them to insanity or a slow, painful death. There have been instances where a rogue finds there mate, breaking the binding on bond-forming, but these are rare-- most of the time the ceremony stripping the pack bonds is enough to drive a wolf feral immediately from pain and instability.

But, I could listen to Nao. I’ve known her for five years; I trust her to make decisions on my behalf with my safety in mind, just like a Luna would. It didn’t matter that she wasn’t a shifter, she had my wolf’s respect, and that was important. I felt my wolf reach out with a pack bond, and Nao looks concerned as she pulls away from it, sending the bond back to me. My wolf flinches from the rejection, turning frantic as she struggles to draw strength from her pack.

“I will listen and obey,” I say quietly.

“I’m sorry, Alma, truly. Now, get washed up and off to class.”

I nod and hurry out of the office.