Rooming With The Enemy Alpha

1. Mr. Perfect

(Danielle)

I’m a chemist. Well, sort of. Chemically speaking, I make terrible decisions.

Discovery of the day:

1. Too much hydrochloric acid and unchecked imagination equals a detention with your most hated enemy.

Said detention? Hazardous. Possibly fatal.

The day had started better than most—no smashed alarm clocks, no broken plates. Just me, dragging myself through another endless morning, teeth clenched and heart thudding with a restlessness I couldn't shake.

By midday, I was ready to rip my curls out strand by strand or leap off the roof—whichever came first. Anything to escape the creeping pressure that never seemed to ease.

I was coming apart.

I wanted this to stop. Everything was a disaster. My life was a disaster. And somedays, I wished I could quit and just run, to never turn back, to never wait for life to get better.

It wouldn't.

“Get it?” the teacher asked, spinning from the board like he was revealing secrets of the universe, not just ionic equations.

“No. She definitely didn’t,” Rexi muttered. I mentally flipped her off. I loved her, but she was often too sarcastic for her own good.

Chemicals and I, we had a mutual understanding: I don’t provoke them, they don’t explode on me. But today was the kind of day where even stable compounds seemed to hold grudges.

I felt it... the darkness looming over, even before it happened. My wolf was restless within me as well.

“Use exactly one milliliter of hydrochloric acid. With a pipette,” Mr. Borate droned. Not his real name, but it fit. The man had the charisma of a dehydrated salt crystal.

I mumbled, “Would rather go for a run and rip something apart with my teeth,” under my breath. Unfortunately, the person next to me, my lab partner from hell, heard it, loud and clear.

Aaron McCarter. Future Alpha of Crimson Woods. Golden boy with golden eyes. And he hated me.

Like, soul-deep, bone-etched hatred.

The kind that twisted his mouth the moment he looked at me. Like now.

And he justified his hatred. He had to.

“Try paying attention for once. It won’t kill you,” he said, his voice tight, clipped, laced with disdain.

Oh, Fu.ck him.

How I hated that voice with every inch of my cells.

I shot him a smile—sharp and predatory. “Well, look at you. Multitasking—talking and being insufferable at the same time. Bravo.”

“You’re ugly when you smile like that," he said with a frown, glaring at me, bright gold eyes burning through my skin, like he could look past the mask, past everything.

“And yet here you are, staring.”

He rolled his eyes. “Hard not to when someone looks like they got dragged backward through a junkyard.”

I leaned in, mock-confidential. “And you look like you’ve got an endorsement deal with a hair gel company and an existential crisis. How long does it take to get ready in the morning, McCarter? I am just curious.”

He didn’t take the bait. Not right away. But I saw the tic in his jaw. I was getting to him. Slowly, but steadily.

Aaron was usually the cool, calm, collected one, but it all fell apart when I was involved.

Aaron and I... we weren’t just enemies. That was too simple. What we had... it was more like a wound that refused to scab over. A wrong that was never made right.

And goddess, it used to be different once. It used to be...

I bit my lips, my heart thundering.

“Don’t think about that,” Rexi warned. "Forget about it."

How could I forget about it? Forgetting it would mean I had to forget Daisy. I couldn't.

“It’s only been two years,” I whispered inside.

“Exactly. Let it rot in the past.”

“Are you going to pour the acid or are you just going to glare at me all day?” Aaron snapped, holding out the beaker toward me, a muscle in his neck ticking.

“Oh, I’m going to pour it alright,” I muttered under my breath.

And I did. Too much, too fast. Clouds of acrid white smoke billowed out, curling in the air like ghostly fingers.

Aaron jerked back, coughing, face flushed and furious.

“Are you trying to kill me, you fu.cking i***t?" he growled, moving the beaker away from me, his eyes narrowed. He looked like he would give anything to break my nose and a tooth or two.

“I mean, if you’re offering…”

“Danielle,” he hissed, swiping at his eyes and then his now-disheveled hair. “You are completely useless.”

I stared at the beaker, the bottle, and the twisting smoke with a frown.

I wasn't exactly stupid, but I wasn't smart either. I could do without school, but I had to be here.

With a father who treated me like a stranger and a family that preferred me just outside their perfect lives, I had no choice but to be here.

When they wanted me gone, they sent me to Semer School for Shifters—a prestigious academy known for its rigorous academics and elite supernatural training programs. The program costed a lot, but my grandmother would gladly drown me in money just so that she didn't have to look at me again.

At Semer, we were taught everything. Alongside traditional subjects like chemistry and literature, our curriculum dove deep into shifter history, supernatural law, and combat training. We learned to wield swords, fight hand-to-hand, track prey through the wild, and sharpen the instincts that would keep us alive once we left these gates.

Each student was free to tailor their training, choosing the subjects that suited them best. Whether in human or animal form, we were molded to be adaptable, lethal, and aware.

I stayed because I had to. The scholarship was my only ticket out of a world filled with hollow smiles and whispered betrayals. A world where every word was a blade, and every gaze could slice you to pieces.

I had bigger dreams than what this place offered. But to chase them, I had to survive this first—survive the chemicals, the politics, the training, and guys like the one sitting next to me.

"I know," I said, looking at Aaron, cursing how handsome he looked.

Mr. Borate—Boston, whatever—was already storming toward us, his face the perfect blend of fury and exhaustion.

“You two. Detention. After school. Together.”

Fuck my luck. With a big stick up its ass. Because it would deserve it.

I knew this was coming. The Moon Goddess definitely hated me. I knew that much. I had always known.

Aaron glared daggers as Mr. Boston walked away, throwing one last look in our direction.

“You are a fuc.king curse. An actual, walking hex," Aaron gritted out, his jaw clenched tight.

“And you’re a sanctimonious, over-groomed control freak with a superiority complex the size of a watermelon.”

His voice dropped an octave. “You think being chaotic makes you interesting? It doesn’t. You’re just all noise, and I wished the Goddess hadn't wasted her time with you.”

I smirked. It hurt to do it, but I did anyway. I wouldn't let him see how much his words cut me sometimes.

“And you’re a poster boy for repression. It’s adorable, really.”

His eyes flashed—wolf glinting just under the surface. He hated that I could still get to him. That beneath all that Alpha arrogance, something still twitched when I talked.

He looked at me as if I was a lost cause. It wasn't new. He had given up on me a long time ago, even without asking my side of the story. I was guilty. Guilty.

What he thought he knew about me… he held onto it like scripture. Never asked. Never wanted the truth. He’d made up his mind, shut the door, and bolted it shut.

And the one person who could’ve proven otherwise—who could’ve defended me—wasn’t around anymore. No, she had been asleep for almost two years now.

“You’re not worth it,” he muttered, voice tight with anger. "You're not worth my time or effort.

I swallowed. Hard. Trying hard to let the hurt of his words die.

But I refused to let him see it.

“You’re right,” I said lightly, turning away from him.

Rexi hummed in approval. “Don’t let him make you small. You aren't insignificant. You are NOT.”

I wouldn’t. I couldn’t.

I had to be strong, because if I let him get to me, I knew I would wither...