The Claiming Curse

Dear Readers, The story you're about to read is a sample of my complete story. You can find the complete version of it on kind le. If you like what you read here, please jump over there and give it a shot! BECCA I stare out the window watching the rainy, busy streets of New York, mesmerized by the path the raindrops make as they dance along the glass pane. I rub my eyes as I struggle to focus on the babblings of my professor's boring lecture. I've been freaking exhausted the last couple of days. Now mixed with the rain there’s no stopping my brain from practically shutting down. "Oof,” I f*****g hate these little desks, because I keep hitting my knees on the metal bar attached to the front. The jocks are always getting to this class early because they want to grab the good tables. It’s really the only class I think they come to at all, but that means I get stuck in this tiny space that was built for a second-grader.  "Ahem.” I look up to see my professor eyeing me up. Apparently, my fidgeting is starting to aggravate him, but for the first time ever I simply don't care. Exhaling a deep breath, I blow a long strand of my red curly hair off my face. I curse the rain that has now made my hair frizzier than normal. Even my clothes are still soaked from the trek to class from the dorms. I’m kind of regretting my simple "jeans and t-shirt" look because I might have… oh I don’t know, worn a raincoat, maybe some boots.  But nope, I’m committed to my look. It helps me fold into my surroundings, going unnoticed, but please don't mistake my need to go unseen for lack of strength or confidence. There’s a reason, or shall I say a method, to my madness. Okay, hear me out. I threw myself into my studies here at NYU, and with the little friends I have here, it's been easy for me to blend into city life. I like it that way because, in a way, it helps me forget— home. The city is the exact opposite of my hometown. I come from a small, tight-knit community where everyone literally knows everyone. This can be a bit annoying if you just don't quite fit in, and let me tell you, over the last couple of years, I find that I don’t. So, I figured now that I’m getting older, it’s time for me to make a life for myself outside of everything I’ve ever known. Here in the city and away from the place that once held so much hope for me, I have a chance to walk away from the past and make a real future for myself. The only thing is that since I’ve moved to the city, I really have not made any ride-or-die friends here. No one to tell my secrets to or go wild and crazy with, and no matter how much I want to blend in, I still crave companionship. In two weeks, I'll be turning twenty-one. I could give two shits about going drinking, but it would be fun to hang out with friends here.  My friends from back home have been begging me to visit. They would take me out in a heartbeat. We would've made crazy memories and had a great time. The guy’s back home are some of my best friends, and boy can those fuckers drink. I can't hold my liquor like they can. No, it's not because they are big, huge, strong guys. Well, they are, but that’s not my point. We're far more different than you would think. So different that it drives me crazy, and why I’ve been avoiding taking the trip home.  Have you ever heard the story of 'Little Red Riding Hood?' Yeah, well, back home, everyone is the big bad wolf—everyone but me. I was born into a werewolf family, crazy right, but I swear it's all true. It’s always been easy for me to believe in crazy fairy tales and ghost stories, especially when you know the truth about what goes bump in the night.  Now, I’m sure you're dying to ask, why I’m not a werewolf? It's a valid question, and the short answer is— I HAVE NO FREAKING CLUE! Yeah, I got nothing for ya. When I turned eighteen my wolf didn’t appear. See, normally, when a werewolf turns eighteen, you gain your wolf, and you become whole. It’s supposed to be an amazing feeling. You can finally shift into your other form, even talk to them almost like you’ve got your very own Jiminy Cricket living in your head, guiding you, and teaching you right from wrong. Okay, maybe not that dramatic, but it’s supposed to be a whole other soul living inside you. It’s supposed to be the most amazing feeling.  Days before my 18th birthday, I was involved in an attack on our pack. I took the brunt of an explosion. Everyone just figured after I turned eighteen that my wolf would appear, I would magically wake up from the coma I was in, and she (my wolf) would help me heal. But my eighteenth birthday came and went, and my wolf was a no-show. To say I was crushed is an understatement, and even though my close friends and family have tried to make me feel a part of the pack, I just felt different.  I started to retreat farther into my books, and over the last three years, I have begun the transition of life into that of a human. Yes, technically, I'm in the supernatural world family, but many supernatural creatures live among humans, going unnoticed, and not just werewolves. Vampires, witches, fairies, they’re all real, living among us. A lot of them live seemingly normal lives. So, I figure if they can do it, why not me?  A considerable part of my identity has been pack life, but I cannot serve my pack now. I'm a liability without supernatural strength. Don't get me wrong, I'm much stronger than the average human. Even though my alpha, the leader of my pack, lets me know I'm as much a part of this pack as he is, I still feel different. They taught me to defend myself and I’ve gotten very good at it, but I'm no match for a shifted werewolf. I know that if there were ever an attack, people would be worried and try to protect me. This could cause them to lose focus and hurt themselves or even worse. I do not want to put anyone at risk. A loud horn honking and some people yelling down on the street below pull me from my thoughts. I look down at my notebook, stunned at what is staring back at me. I can feel my eyes fill with tears. I brush them away, quickly looking around the classroom, hoping no one has noticed. I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to relax, but I can't, and the visions that have been haunting me grow in my mind anyway. My brother Sean and I are first-generation Irish to be born in the US. My parents left Ireland after rogues destroyed their pack during the First Rogue War in the early 1990s. The rogues pretty much took everyone out. Packs were slaughtered, and very few wolves survived. It got so bad that there are no genuine packs in Ireland to this day. The elders moved the remaining members to other packs around the world and my parents were moved to the US. They joined their cousin's pack, Silver Moon, under my dad's cousin Alpha George. They were welcomed with open arms. We are the Beta family or second in command, and for the most part, our life has been great. "Ms. O'Reilly," the professor yells as he slams a book on the desk in front of me. I shift in my seat uncomfortably. Damn, I should have just claimed a personal day and stayed in bed today.  "Yes, sir," I say in a whisper. "Are you going to pay attention today, or will you need to retake my class?" I narrow my eyes to slits as I sit up a bit taller. Normally he doesn’t piss me off, but today I'm feeling saucy. I decide to throw a little spice his way, "no.” I say with a shrug of my shoulders. "No, you're not paying attention, or no, you will not need to retake my class?" Professor Joseph snaps back. I try to contain my eye roll the best I can, but he’s pushing my buttons this morning. My professor is a short, round man with a receding hairline. He wears his wardrobe like a uniform, a white button-down shirt with a stain somewhere on it at any given time. A cardigan sweater or sweater vest is worn in all types of weather. Oh, and let's not forget the tan trousers cuffed at the ankle.  Professor Joseph is the head of the literature department, and loves busting on students for not paying attention in class. But at the moment, I guess I'm driving him up the wall because I haven't responded to his question yet. I'm just so damn distracted today. I feel out of sorts, almost as if someone is watching me, giving me a weird sensation.   I look around; everyone is either distracted by the professor or staring down at their desks. But the sensation of being watched is getting stronger. I glance around the room again but see nothing. Then something catches my attention out of the corner of my eye. I squint through the raindrops on the window; there’s a person I believe to be a man staring right up at me. His face is hidden with the hood of his sweatshirt. Snatching my glasses off, I clean the lenses then slip them back on, squinting hard to make out the face of the man that’s caught my attention. He has the same build as my brother, but I know it can't be him. Out of nowhere, a bus pulls up to the curb to unload its passengers, blocking my view, and just like that; they're gone; he's gone. I jump to my feet frantically, looking back and forth. He? Was I sure it was even a he? No, but I had a feeling.  Goddess, why didn't I just stay in bed today. I look back to the front of the class when I hear a loud bang—causing half the room to jump. Professor Joseph is standing by his desk, looking beyond pissed off at my odd behavior. "Ms. O'Reilly, you have two seconds to pay attention, or you shall recite a classical work." I spin on my heels to look back out the window, but whoever I saw before is gone. I rub my hands up and down on my jeans, trying to make the uneasy feeling go away, but I think I'm making it worse. I can feel my face turn red as I pivot once more to face the front of the room.  I hear Professor Joseph clear his throat again, but I cut him off before he gets a chance to speak, "which classical work, sir?" To say that he was stunned at my response is evident by the look on his face. The cranky professor reaches into his bag and grabs a book. He pulls out Tolkien's The Two Towers. I adjusted my glasses higher up on the bridge of my nose, cause I know what’s coming and I’m so ready for it.  Professor Joseph flips through the book and stops on a page. "Rebecca, recite from memory the last paragraph on page 545 starting with, let me think." He smirks because this was the first time, he has ever called me out, and he just loves new blood. Sometimes it's a quick little sonnet that most already know, but apparently, I have pissed this man off to no end today. I brush my hair out of my face and just stand there for a moment, while absentmindedly playing with the chain around my neck, letting him think he’s got me. "Rebecca, sometime today, please, or you will receive an absence for this class," Professor Joseph snaps.  "Page 545, the last paragraph" I take a deep breath, straighten my back, and allow a small smirk to cross my face, catching Professor Joseph off guard. I grip the charm that dangles from the chain and look him right in the eye. "'Let me think!' said Aragorn. 'And now may I make the right choice and change the evil fate of this unhappy day!'” I feel like I’m on cloud nine as I let the words flow that I know by heart. I have read this book a million times. The students turn in their seats as I continue to speak the words of Tolkien, shock clear on their faces and I’m enjoying this a bit too much. As the last word leaves my lips, I can’t help but smile because I know I just nailed that. I tuck my necklace back into my shirt and look around the room. I notice everyone's eyes ping-ponging between Professor Joseph and me. His jaw is wide open, and then he cracks a smile. "Excellent Ms. O'Reilly, five points to Gryffindor." The class erupts into laughter as the timer on his desk goes off, signaling the end of class. I quickly grab my things and attempt to throw them in my bag. Unfortunately, I'm in such a rush I miss the bag altogether, and half my papers end up on the floor. I quickly bend down to gather them when it feels like I'm punched in the gut all of a sudden.  Glancing down at the page I was doodling on before has me rendered speechless. I had drawn a very rough image of what looks like a Celtic knot. It looks just like the one Sean had tattooed on his back. The damn thing took up his whole back. I teased him about it when he first got it, but now I just want to f*****g forget. I shove the paper into my bag and run out of the classroom. Why would I draw that? Why today, why? I think to myself as I navigate the crowded hallways. Then, consumed in my thoughts, I walk straight into a damn open door. "Dear godde…" My eyes snap shut as a pair of hands shoot out to grab ahold of me just as my ass is about to make contact with the hard floor.  I slowly open my eyes and what I’m surprised to find is that I didn’t run into a door at all. I ran into a man. I'm a bit shocked at his speed. The downfall to not having my wolf is that I can’t tell if there are other supernatural creatures around me. And there is no way in hell I'm just going to blurt out, "Hey, are you supernatural?"  I slowly drink him in; I can't help the warm feeling that comes over me. He looks about twenty-two years old and is well over six feet tall, six-four, maybe six-five, with a ridiculously strong build, dark brown hair, and blue eyes. I feel my knees buckle, but I don't fall because he's still holding onto my arms. My dumb ass didn’t walk into a man; I walked into a damn god. Correction… I freaking ran right into him, but as I get another look, I'm kinda glad I did.  "Mmmm." Did I just swoon? What the hell is wrong with me? Get a grip, Becca! I'm a tomboy, not some girly girl that gets all caught up in— oh, those eyes, I could get lost in them. They look like sunflowers against a blue sky. I have never seen anything like it before. I can't help but bite my lip as I take more of him in. He's wearing dark jeans, a gray hooded sweatshirt with a black leather jacket. He's dripping wet from the rain outside and damn, this man is the epitome of delicious.  "I'm… ummm, I'm so sorry," I stutter when I finally find my words. He slowly lets my arms go, and I quickly squat down, collecting my papers that once again are all over the damn place. I’m mortified that I was so preoccupied that I didn't notice him, and now I'm aggravated that my clumsy ass is all frazzled. I avoid men like the plague. Could you imagine me bringing home a human guy to my alpha-blooded beta father? It would be like throwing him to the wolves… LITERALLY. "Mine…." He breathes heavily.  "Hu?" I question nervously like a little schoolgirl.  "Nothing, never mind. I'm sorry I didn't se…" I don't give him a chance to finish his statement. Call it nerves but I cut him right off and start rambling.  "I'm sorry, truly. It was all my fault, really. I was rushing and walked right in front of you. I do that when I'm thinking too hard about something." Damn it, Becca… shut up already. He chuckles as he bends down to help me pick up the pages. Looking up, he stares into my eyes, "Mine…" He says one more time, but it’s the way he says that one word makes my core clench with need, and I'm not ashamed to admit it. "Mine? Who, me?" "Ah, that one… that one is mine," he repeats, as he points to my hands. I snap out of my stupor and look down, I notice that the folder I'm holding doesn't belong to me at all. I'm internally rolling my eyes at myself. How could I be so stupid? I'm getting caught up in this man's lumberjack bad boy vibe, his sapphire blue eyes and his deep voice. It’s causing me to lose my damn grip on reality. On top of the fact that the word mine has a whole different meaning in my world, and the way he keeps saying it… I think I may need to change my panties. As my self-control starts to kick back in, I'm hit with the most delicious scent. Ooo it smells like the sweetest apple pie, "mmmmm," I practically moan. As we stand up I see the sign for the dining hall just over this guy’s head. For a hot minute, I thought he smelled like that. I get so easily distracted by food. I shake my head, trying to focus and pull myself out of this haze I keep slipping into. I can feel my face turning red. Goddess, I'm a freaking mess today. "Hi, I'm Be-Becca," I stutter as I extend my hand. "Mine"  "Yes, yours…" Oh Lord, help me. I think I'm going to self-combust. He says something, but I can't hear him past the beating of my own heart. Then he coughs, trying to grab my attention.  "Um, mine is uh… my name is Connor. Nice to meet you."  Shit, here he is trying to introduce himself and I’m acting like a lovesick pup. He reaches to shake my hand, and as our skin touches, a shock shoots up my arm. You know, like when you walk around on the carpet with your socks on and then touch something metal. I wouldn't say there were sparks when our skin touched, but damn, it was some type of electricity. It moves up my arm to my chest. It just keeps pulsating from our contact. It’s overwhelming, and at this moment, I want nothing more than for him to touch me for the rest of my life. I never want to forget this feeling. This means one thing and one thing only… I need to get the hell away from here as fast as possible. As he takes back his folder with the other hand, our eyes lock again, and my knees wobble. Connor cracks a small smile at my reaction to him. Oh damn, yup, I need to leave.  Trying to regain any shred of dignity I may have left, I pull my hand away fast and massage my fingertips. I can't help but think how old this all is, but I notice that Connor is also rubbing his hands. His eyes fall to my neck, and his eyebrows pull together in confusion. Or is it recognition? I don't know. I know that I'm doing way too much overthinking this morning as it is. There is no way I can keep analyzing this situation. Then, he reaches up to the charm on my necklace. He moves in closer to look at it. Oh yeah, he has entered my personal bubble, his warm breath fans my face, and I feel that pull deep in my core again. Yet, shockingly enough, I'm absolutely okay with this. "A Celtic cross," he says barely above a whisper. I try so hard not to moan from the rasp in his voice. b***h you're going to need a mop soon… get a grip. I quickly pull the charm from his grasp, put my bag back on, and apologize again for our collision. Needing to get the hell out of here as quickly as possible, I push past him and head towards my dorm as I run up the stairs that lead to the breezeway.  "Wait!" he yells. I glance back down to see Connor watching me push through the crowd and out the door. “Hope to run into you later,” he calls out to me, but this time I don't look, I just keep walking. Wanting nothing more than to lay down and forget all about today… well, most of the day anyway.