Chapter 1

• IRA
• "Miss Beckley? Ira, are you still with us?" Mr. Mr. Macon's sharp voice sliced through the fog clouding my mind, yanking me back to reality with all the subtlety of a sledgehammer.
• "Huh? Wha—?" I blinked rapidly, my vision coming into focus just in time to see thirty pairs of eyes staring at me with varying degrees of amusement and secondhand embarrassment.
• Great. I'd zoned out yet again in the middle of his physics class, and this time everyone had noticed.
• "Sorry Mr. M, I'm just super beat today," I admitted with a sheepish grimace, trying my best to stifle a yawn that threatened to escape. Yesterday's marathon shopping expedition with Mom had left me running on nothing but caffeine and sheer willpower.
• She'd been absolutely determined to give my wardrobe a complete overhaul, insisting we ditch all my comfortable, well-worn clothes for what she called a "more mature look" in preparation for my coming of age ceremony. The woman had been relentless, dragging me from store to store with the enthusiasm of a general leading troops into battle.
• By the time we finally staggered back home, arms laden with enough shopping bags to stock a small boutique, my closet was crammed full of dresses, skirts, and blouses while my drawers overflowed with shorts, jeans, and tops I'd never asked for. The physical exhaustion from lugging all those bags was nothing compared to the mental drain of trying on outfit after outfit while Mom critiqued every choice.
• Mr. Macon gave me an understanding nod before diving back into his lecture about Newton's laws of motion. Physics was actually one of the few subjects I genuinely enjoyed, which made my current inability to focus even more frustrating.
• Finally, the shrill bell rang out, signaling the end of another school day and my long-awaited freedom from academic torture.
• "Yes! Warriors training time!" I thought to myself, feeling a surge of adrenaline coursing through my veins, temporarily reviving my depleted energy reserves. Nothing could cure exhaustion quite like the prospect of a good fight.
• Being part of the elite Wild Claw wolf pack was a source of immense pride and one of the few things that could rouse me from my perpetual state of fatigue. We were an ancient lineage renowned for our size, strength, and the vast expanse of territory under our control. My dad was the pack's head warrior, an utterly fearless fighter who commanded respect and fear in equal measure from wolves across the region.
• As a kid, I'd been in complete awe of him, certain he was the toughest, most unbeatable warrior alive, second only to our pack's ruling Alpha. I'd spent countless hours watching him train, memorizing every move, every strategy, dreaming of the day I could fight alongside him.
• When I'd first tried to join the warrior ranks years ago, plenty of the older wolves had openly doubted whether my slight, wiry frame could possibly handle the intense physical demands. Their skepticism only grew when they got their first look at my wolf, Tara, who didn't exactly radiate the intimidating presence typical of warrior she-wolves.
• But Tara and I had trained relentlessly, fueled by the doubters and their whispered predictions of our inevitable failure. Slowly but surely, we transformed ourselves into a formidable team on the battlefield. We proved every single naysayer wrong through sheer determination and our unbreakable bond.
• Tara was headstrong and sassy, flat-out refusing to follow orders she deemed stupid, even from the Alpha at times. Part of me secretly wished someone possessed enough authority to rein in her rebellious streak, but I knew her fierce independence was at the core of who she was. It was also part of why I loved her so fiercely.
• We shared an intuitive connection that went beyond words, moving as one seamless unit where her instincts became mine and my strategies became hers. Our bond transcended the physical realm entirely.
• "There's my warrior princess," Tara's husky voice purred in my mind, jolting me from my thoughts. "Ready to show these amateurs how it's done at practice today?"
• I grinned, feeling the lingering tendrils of fatigue evaporating at her energizing presence. "You know it. Let's remind them why we earned our spot on this team."
• I was gathering my books when a familiar voice made me pause.
• "No way, Ira Beckley! Falling asleep in class again?" Lisa's incredulous voice rang out as she approached, shaking her head in mock disappointment. "What's next, drooling on your textbooks?"
• "Oh, not you too," I groaned good-naturedly, shoving my books haphazardly into my bag. "First Robert, then Mr. Smith, now Mr. Macon. At this rate, my reputation as the ultimate classroom delinquent is gonna spread across the entire campus."
• Lisa chuckled, her eyes dancing with amusement. "Well, it serves you right, missy. Maybe this'll finally teach you about burning the candle at both ends." She reached out and effortlessly slung my bag over her shoulder as we headed for the exit, only for our path to be blocked by a nervous-looking first-grader.
• "Uh, Miss Beckley?" The boy mumbled, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "Mr. Mr. Smith wants to see you in the teachers' lounge. Right now."
• "Aw man, what now?" I muttered, my stomach sinking at the prospect of enduring another lecture about my chronic exhaustion and inability to stay conscious during lessons.
• Lisa's eternally optimistic voice immediately cut through my spiral of dread. "Don't worry, Ira. I'm sure it's nothing too serious. When have you ever gotten in actual trouble?" She flashed me a reassuring smile that somehow made everything seem manageable.
• I sighed heavily as we made our way down the corridors, desperately hoping to avoid any more weighty discussions about my declining academic performance. Lisa's relentlessly positive attitude was almost infuriating at times. How could she be so consistently upbeat about everything?
• "You really don't let anything ruffle those feathers, do you?" I muttered, unable to hide the admiration in my voice for her unshakeable optimism.
• She flashed a mischievous grin. "That's because there's no point stressing over things you can't control. What's the worst they can do, kick you off the Warriors squad?" She let out a bark of laughter at the absurdity of the idea.
• I managed a half-hearted smile as we reached the lounge, apprehension growing with each step toward the door. Something about being summoned felt different this time, more serious than my usual academic infractions.
• The second I walked in, three sets of concerned eyes zeroed in on me with laser-like intensity. Mr. Mr. Smith, Mr. Robert, and Mr. Mr. Macon all wore matching expressions of grave severity, their lips pressed into thin lines of barely concealed worry.
• Mr. Smith was the first to speak, wasting no time on pleasantries. "Ira, you've seemed... different lately. Distracted, unfocused. Your mind appears to be elsewhere entirely." His voice carried a weight that made my stomach churn with unease. "Are you feeling alright? Is everything okay at home?"
• Shit! My harmless habit of dozing off in class had apparently escalated into a full-blown intervention with these overzealous teachers. I could feel their collective concern pressing down on me, suffocating in its intensity.
• I quickly mumbled some nonsense about being exhausted from yesterday's shopping marathon and birthday preparations, hoping it would be enough to satisfy their curiosity and get me out of there.
• Mr. Smith opened his mouth, clearly intent on probing deeper into my obviously fabricated explanation, but I didn't give him the chance.
• "I'll be fine, really! Just a little pre-birthday anxiety, that's all. Thanks for looking out for me, though." I blurted out the words in a rushed stream, talking over whatever he'd been about to say while already backing toward the door.
• Before any of them could respond or ask follow-up questions, I turned and practically bolted from the room, letting out a huge sigh of relief once I was safely back in the corridor with blessed distance between myself and that suffocating conversation.