Prophecy Of Two Alphas

(Scarlett's POV)

The leather seat of Grandmother's Mercedes feels like a witness stand, and I'm definitely guilty as charged. Her manicured fingers drum against the steering wheel in that rhythm that means I'm about to get the lecture of my life, again.

"Three boys, Scarlett. Three." Luna's voice could freeze hellfire. "Hospitalized."

I slouch deeper into the passenger seat, watching students stream through the front doors of Crescent Ridge High. School number five in three years. Personal record. "They had it coming."

"That's not the point."

"They were cornering a freshman girl behind the gym. What was I supposed to do, Luna? Stand there and watch?"

Her silver eyes flash in the rearview mirror. Even at sixty-five, my grandmother could still make grown werewolves wet themselves with that look. "You were supposed to handle it like a future Alpha, not a common brawler."

"I did handle it." I trace patterns on the foggy window. "Those boys won't be bothering anyone for a while."

"Marcus Patterson has three broken ribs and a concussion."

"He'll heal."

"He's human, Scarlett."

Right. I keep forgetting that little detail. 

"He grabbed her wrist hard enough to leave bruises. I barely touched him."

"You threw him into a concrete wall."

"Barely."

Luna's sigh could power a small wind farm. She shifts the car into park and turns to face me fully. 

"Listen to me carefully." Her voice drops to that Alpha tone that makes my wolf want to bare its throat in submission. "You are seventeen years old. In less than a year, you'll undergo the Succession Ritual and become the most powerful Alpha the Silvermoon Pack has seen in over two centuries."

"I know..."

"Do you?" She leans forward. "Because your behavior suggests you think this is all some elaborate game. The prophecy isn't a suggestion, Scarlett. It's a promise. When you find your mate and complete the bonding, you'll unite the fractured clans and bring peace to our kind for the first time in generations."

I've heard this speech so many times I could recite it in my sleep. "And if I don't?"

"Then we remain scattered, weak, and vulnerable to threats we can't face alone." Her expression softens just a fraction. "You have a gift, little wolf. Power that most werewolves can only dream of."

She's called me that since I was five years old and first shifted.

"I have control."

"Three broken ribs suggest otherwise."

A group of girls walks past our car, all perfectly coordinated in their designer clothes and glossy smiles. 

"What if I don't want to be Alpha?" The words slip out before I can stop them.

Luna's silence stretches between us like a taut wire. When she finally speaks, her voice is gentler than I expect. "Do you think I wanted it? When my mate died and left me with a pack to lead and a daughter to raise?"

I never knew my grandfather. He died in the clan wars when my mother was barely sixteen. Mom used to tell me stories about him—how he'd sing her to sleep with old Celtic ballads and taught her to track deer through the forest. She died when I was ten, and sometimes I wonder if the weight of our family's legacy killed them both.

"That's different."

"Is it? We don't choose our destiny, Scarlett. We choose how we face it." She reaches over and tucks a strand of platinum hair behind my ear. "The Moon Goddess has marked you for greatness. Your mate is out there, waiting. When you find him, everything will make sense."

I picture the kind of guy who'd be worthy of the great Scarlett Jackson, tall, dark, devastatingly handsome. Strong enough to match me in a fight, confident enough to handle my temper. Someone like that golden god on the front steps surrounded by admirers.

"What if he's not what I expect?"

Luna's smile is mysterious. "The Moon Goddess has a sense of humor. Trust in her plan."

A bell rings somewhere inside the school, and the last stragglers hurry through the doors. My cue to go pretend I'm a normal teenager instead of a walking supernatural weapon.

"Try not to hospitalize anyone today," Luna says as I grab my backpack.

"I make no promises."

"Scarlett."

I pause with my hand on the door handle. "Yeah?"

"Remember who you are. Remember what you're destined for." Her eyes meet mine in the mirror. "And remember that our greatest strength comes from the people we least expect."

I slam the car door harder than necessary and watch her drive away. The Mercedes disappears around the corner, leaving me alone with the imposing brick facade of Crescent Ridge High. 

The front steps are empty now except for the golden god and his entourage. He's even more impressive up close—probably six-foot-three, with the kind of all-American good looks that belong on magazine covers. His letterman jacket stretches across broad shoulders, and when he laughs at something one of his friends says, I can practically hear ovaries exploding across the parking lot.

Perfect.

I adjust my leather jacket and check my reflection in a car window. Platinum hair falls in waves past my shoulders, violet eyes bright with determination. The jacket hugs my curves in all the right places, and my boots add just enough height to make me tower over most of the student body. I look like trouble wrapped in designer denim, which is exactly the impression I'm going for.

Time to claim my throne.

I stride up the front steps with the confidence of someone who's never met a social hierarchy she couldn't conquer. The golden god—his name tag reads "Blake Morrison, Senior Class President"—looks up as I approach, and I catch the exact moment his brain short-circuits.

"You must be the new girl," he says, flashing a smile.

"Scarlett Jackson." I extend my hand, letting just a hint of my supernatural strength show in my grip. "And you're Blake Morrison."

His eyes widen slightly at the pressure before I release him. "You've done your homework."

"I always do." I let my gaze drift over his perfect features, cataloging every detail. Strong jaw, blue eyes, the kind of bone structure that suggests good breeding. Luna would approve. "I was hoping you could show me around. I hear you're the person to know at Crescent Ridge High."

Blake's friends exchange glances, and I can practically smell their curiosity. The new girl doesn't waste time, and she's going straight for the top of the food chain. Smart move, their expressions say.

"I'd be happy to." Blake's smile widens. "Fair warning though, this place can be a little overwhelming for new students."

If only he knew what overwhelming really looked like. "I think I can handle it."

The warning bell rings, and students start filtering into the building. Blake offers me his arm like some kind of old-fashioned gentleman, and I take it, letting him guide me through the front doors.

Inside, Crescent Ridge High looks like every other high school in America. But underneath it all, I catch something else. Something that makes my wolf sit up and take notice.

Magic.

It's faint, barely there, but unmistakable. This sleepy little town has supernatural residents. The question is whether they're friend or foe.

"So what brings you to our little corner of nowhere?" Blake asks as we walk toward the main office.

"Family business." It's not exactly a lie. "My grandmother thought a change of scenery might do me good."

"Let me guess, you're one of those big city girls who thinks small town life is going to be boring."

I flash him a smile that's all teeth and no warmth. "Oh, I have a feeling Crescent Ridge is going to be anything but boring."

The office is exactly what I expected, uncomfortable chairs, and a receptionist who looks like she's been here since the school was built. Mrs. Henderson, according to her nameplate, peers at me over her glasses with the kind of expression reserved for known troublemakers.

"You must be Scarlett Jackson." She shuffles through a stack of papers. "I have your schedule right here, along with a map of the school. Your homeroom teacher is Mr. Peterson in room 201."

"Thanks." I take the papers, noting the way her hand trembles slightly when our fingers brush. Humans always sense predators, even when they don't understand what they're feeling.

Blake glances at my schedule. "Looks like we have third period together—AP History with Mrs. Chen. She's tough but fair."

"I'm sure I'll manage."

The first bell rings, and students start moving with the practiced efficiency of people who've done this dance a thousand times. Blake walks me to my homeroom, playing the perfect gentleman, and I let him. He's exactly the kind of mate I've always imagined—strong, confident, popular. Everything an Alpha should want.

"I'll see you third period," Blake says, flashing another one of those magazine-worthy smiles. "And Scarlett? Welcome to Crescent Ridge High. I have a feeling you're going to fit right in."

As he walks away, I watch the way other students part for him like he's some kind of royalty. The girls stare with obvious longing, the guys nod with respectful acknowledgment. He's the undisputed king of this particular castle, and now I'm positioned to become his queen.