Guarded by Two Alpha Knights

Chapter 5

Ara's POV

My heart pounds ferociously in my chest as I stare at Jack, whose features are so ridiculously handsome.

His eyes blaze like sapphires beneath perfectly tousled hair, and his jawline could sharpen a pencil. He looks like he is chiseled by the hands of a divine artist. He’s unfairly good-looking, which really doesn’t help my situation.

When we reach an open area, Jack finally lets go of my hand, leaving me feeling unexpectedly bereft. I cautiously voice the suspicion that’s been nagging at me. "Are you the lycan prince from the wheat field?"

Jack rolls his eyes in mock exasperation, "I'm honored you remember." Then suddenly, he fixes me with an angry glare. "Why didn’t you come the next day?"

He advances on me with the predatory grace of, well, a lycan, pushing me back until I’m pressed against a tree. I'm trapped. My eyes dart around for an escape route, but Jack seizes me before I can take a step.

"Agile, but still too slow," he remarks with a smirk.

I squirm in his grip, but it's like trying to escape from a particularly charming bear trap. "What do you want?" I demand, attempting indignation.

"Is this how you talk to your savior?" he drawls with faux hurt.

"Savior?" I scoff, thinking the word sounds as inflated as his ego. "If you hadn’t picked a girlfriend with the suspicious paranoia, maybe her brother wouldn’t be on my back!"

"What are you even talking about?" Jack frowns, exuding genuine confusion. "Bianca isn’t my girlfriend."

"Oh, a situationship, then," I say, rolling my eyes. "That doesn’t make this better. She’ll just be more possessive."

"I have nothing to do with her!" Jack protests, sounding exasperated.

I scrutinize his expression carefully. He seems sincere, even if I don’t particularly want him to be.

"Whatever," I say with a dismissive wave. "I just want to focus on my studies, graduate, and get into college. It seems wise to keep plenty of distance between us."

My declaration seems to rile him up. "Keep your distance from me?" he echoes, his words practically dripping with sarcasm. "You’re an ungrateful, foolish stutterer who couldn’t spot a good thing if it slapped you in the face with a spotlight."

I roll my eyes so hard. "A good thing? Please, you'd need a search party and a divining rod to find anything good under that pile of self-importance."

"Self-importance?" Jack snorts derisively. "Coming from you, that's like being called short by a dwarf."

"Wow, stutter and a height joke in one breath. Bravo, Jack, really pulling out the big guns today," I retort, my voice laced with sarcasm thicker than cold honey. "How long did it take to come up with that one? Did you rehearse in front of the mirror?”

"Not as long as it takes you to get a sentence out," he shoots back, a wicked grin playing on his lips.

I step closer, matching his intensity. "At least I think before I speak. Meanwhile, you're gifted with a mouth that runs ahead of your brain like an unattended shopping cart."

"My mouth works perfectly fine," he says, leaning in as if daring for round two. "It’s you who's got the manual settings on conversational pauses."

“At least people listen,” I snap, pushing him slightly to emphasize my point. “Probably because they’re as shocked as I am that you can string a coherent thought together.”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of thoughts,” Jack replies, giving me a gentle shove back. “Mostly about how much I lo—”

“Loathe?” I interrupt, cutting him off before he can finish something I'd regret hearing.

It’s open warfare now, all barbs and bites circling like we’ve forgotten how this even started.

Our argument escalates, sparking off like a wildfire. There’s an intensity, an emotional tennis match where the ball is a jumble of words, and we both keep missing the point.

Suddenly, logic takes a backseat as our rhetorical battle turns physical. It’s less of a fight and more of a very aggressive dance with flailing arms and awkward shoves.

In the midst of our heated shoving match, I catch sight of a familiar figure in the distance—headmistress Jenny Alder, marching toward us. Dread floods my veins, and I freeze.

Shit. But it’s too late. She approaches, wearing a frown that’s become her signature accessory. I am officially toast.

“What are you doing here?” she demands, scanning us with the precision of a lie detector. “Flirting or fighting?”

“Flirting,” Jack says with a devilish grin.

“Fighting,” I answer defiantly.

Miss Alder raises an eyebrow at our conflicting responses. “I guess one of you is lying. I'll ask again, what are you two doing?”

“Flirting,” I amend hastily.

Simultaneously, Jack changes his answer. “Fighting,” he states.

I sigh inwardly at our complete lack of coordination. Despite being similar in some ways—like knowing how to adapt our stories to suit each other—we’re constantly out of sync, like a pair of mismatched socks.

“Interesting. The truth is getting blurrier,” Miss Alder comments with dry amusement. “Either way, public insults won’t do, even for couples.”

“We’re not a couple,” I insist, as if distancing myself from potential cooties.

“Thank you for clarifying, but I don’t care,” Miss Alder gives a tight-lipped smile. “The point is, you broke school rules. Though no major harm was done, thanks to my timely intervention. You’ll both report to detention in my office after class tonight.”

“This isn’t fair!” Jack protests. “Lots of people get into fights. Why am I the only one targeted?”

“Because I didn’t see them. And because your mother wants me to keep an eye on you. Which explanation do you prefer, Jack?” Miss Alder asks while casually inspecting her nails.

“If my mother actually cared, she’d keep an eye on me herself instead of hiring someone else,” Jack retorts with sarcasm to spare. “And you’re just sucking up to her for a promotion.”

Miss Alder’s lips press into a thin line, and she carefully regards Jack over the top of her gold-rimmed glasses. “In theory, I could report all your antics to her, but since this is minor, I’ll keep it between us. Sound fair?”

“I am fine with that,” Jack agrees.

“Good,” Miss Alder says, turning her attention to me. “But you, Ara, will be coming to my office after class.”

“What are you going to do to her?” Jack frowns, adopting a more protective tone.

“That’s not for you to worry about,” Miss Alder waves him off.

Jack squints his eyes as he declares, “Then I’m going with her.”

Miss Alder arches an eyebrow, amused. “Wasn’t that my decision from the start?”

“I’m not going to be punished with her,” Jack clarifies. “I’m going to enjoy the show.”

Miss Alder scoffs, glancing at her watch. “See you in five hours. I’ll give you thirty minutes for dinner.”

The looming detention hangs over me all afternoon. I’m nervous, unsure what awaits me. No doubt, whatever the punishment, Jack will derive immense satisfaction from it. Worse still, he might spread the word, making me more susceptible to the school’s resident bullies.

I lack family support, have upset some of the popular students, and now face detention…

Can I really make it to graduation at The Ivy Private High School?

With anxiety in my stomach, I skip dinner—silver lining being it saves me some money. Instead of enduring the cafeteria chaos, I stay in the classroom working on assignments until John Nash, the teaching assistant, approaches.

“Why are you still here, Ara?” he leans over the desk with mild curiosity. “Need assistance?”

“No, I am fine, Sir.” I smile, shaking my head, taken aback that he knows my name. We’ve never spoken before.

“Settling into the new school alright?” he asks. Then pauses, realizing something. “Oh, if you were, you’d be in the cafeteria…” he mumbles embarrassedly. “Sorry, did I just say that out loud?” he rubs the back of his head awkwardly.

His oddness is oddly charming, and I smile back at him.

“Anyway, if you need help, feel free to ask.”

“Thanks, Sir,” I say.

“I’ll be off then,” he says, producing a chocolate bar from his pocket and handing it to me. “If you’re hungry but avoiding the cafeteria.”

With that, he hurries off, leaving me smiling gently. There’s a warmth settling in despite the day’s chaos.

At 5:50, I wait by Miss Alder’s office door. Arriving early is my tactic for calming nerves by scoping out the environment. Giving each room's anxiety-inducing corners a thorough study always makes speaking easier.

At 5:55, Jack arrives. He gives me a look before saying. “Didn’t see you in the cafeteria.”

“I’m not hungry,” I reply, inwardly surprised he noticed my absence.

“Irregular meals aren’t great for your health,” he remarks.

“Says the guy perpetually guzzling soda,” I return.

He smirks, retrieving a bag of black pepper chips from his backpack and offering it to me. “Here.”

I eye him suspiciously, “Why are you being generous?”

“Because you’re a self-care-challenged nitwit,” he says, shrugging. “I don’t want you fainting from low blood sugar. Ambulance calls and paperwork are a hassle.”

“How thoughtful,” I reply sarcastically, tearing open the chips.

“How do they taste?”

“Great,” I admit. “Thanks.”

At precisely six, Miss Alder arrives, gestures for us to enter, and lays out the punishment.

"Tonight, you are to clean this office," Miss Alder declares, her voice ringing with the authority of someone who’s given this lecture more times than she can count. She sweeps her hand around the room. "Let me outline the tasks for you."

She points toward the sink area, where a precarious tower of unwashed mugs teeters ominously, "Start by washing all those mugs," she instructs, her eyes narrowing slightly as she catches sight of a moldy science experiment growing in one of the cups. "And make sure to scrub thoroughly. I don’t want to see any mysterious residue from whatever mutant coffee concoction has been festering there."

“After you’ve dealt with that potential health hazard," she continues, "move on to reorganizing the bookshelves. Return all books to their rightful places instead of letting them languish in that disgraceful heap over there." She gestures to a pile of books so disorderly.

She steps further into the room, her heels clicking against the ground. "Next, pay close attention to dusting every surface, including the blinds. They've accumulated enough dust to sneeze the entire school." To emphasize her point, she runs a finger along the window ledge, leaving a clear trail.

"And last but not least," she adds, with a slight scowl as she eyes the tangled mess of cables beneath her desk, "untangle and organize those cords. They look like they’ve been doing jazzercise routines on their own."

Pulling back to the doorway, Miss Alder pauses, fixing me with a sharp gaze. "Am I clear?"

It's less a question and more a dare to ask for clarification.

"Yes, very clear," I respond.

"Good," Miss Alders says, offering a tight smile. "I'll expect everything to be spotless by morning. Good luck, Ara."

With that, she sweeps out of the room, leaving me to face the Mount Everest of clutter and chaos. The room suddenly feels a lot smaller and infinitely messier now that it's officially my problem

Jack, standing beside me and he is clearly amused by my predicament. With a grin spreading across his face, he quips, “Get to work, CinderAra. Can’t wait to see your tidying show.”

I turn to him, not missing a beat. “Sure, my evil stepsister,”I retort, which earns me a genuine laugh.