Werewolf Academy Book 3: Instinct (15 page)

“Right in here,” Lyra said.

Alex followed her to an empty room and laid Kalia on the bed.

“It’s bad,” Kalia moaned.

“I’ll help it go away,” Lyra told her.

At the professor’s nod, Alex slipped out of the room. The second he was in the hallway, Boris grabbed the front of his shirt in two fists and slammed him against the wall.

“Why does she have a headache?” the Alpha demanded. “I know she doesn’t get them for no reason.”

“Because I won’t take her to the dance,” Alex growled. He gripped Boris’ hands and tried to pry them away from his shirt, but Boris wouldn’t budge.

“Is she not good enough for you?” Boris yelled.

Lyra’s head poked out of the door. “Guys, take your dispute elsewhere. You’re not helping Kalia with your fighting.”

A chagrined look crossed Boris’ face and he set Alex down.

“Sorry, Professor,” he said.

Alex shoved past Boris with more force than was necessary. The Alpha let him go.

Chapter Twenty

ALEX WAS GLAD JAZE wasn’t in his office. He opened the panel in the dean’s wall and slipped inside. Hurrying through the tunnels, he bypassed the control room and reached the secondary vehicle storage room where Trent worked on his projects. The werewolf was nowhere to be seen. Alex crossed to the motorcycle that stood near a pile of motor pieces. The helmet was resting on the foot peg and the key was in the ignition as though Trent guessed Alex might need it.

He pushed the door that opened a hidden passage in the side of the wall. Alex strapped on the helmet and started the motorcycle. The growl of the motor helped to ease the tension in his muscles. He kicked it into first gear and sped down the tunnel.

Light broke around him when he burst through the second door that led to a dirt road hidden at the edge of the forest. The tires skidded in the snow, but Alex didn’t ease up. He gunned the motorcycle down the dirt road and onto the main one where it wound away from the Academy.

Escape. That was all he could think of. Emotions swirled through him with the force of a blizzard. He couldn’t put the Academy and everyone inside behind him fast enough. He kept pushing the bike until he was in the highest gear, speeding down the freeway at far faster speeds than an officer would allow. It wasn’t the safest ride considering the patches of snow that drifted across the road. Alex found himself hoping he would wreck, that he would feel something besides the emotions and memories that pressed in on him from every side, threatening to suffocate him.

“Alex, you okay?” Trent’s voice buzzed over the headset.

Alex was half-tempted to turn it off. He reached up a hand, but hesitated without touching his helmet.

“I feel like I left a part of me in that pit, Trent.”

The words were low, harsh. It tore Alex up to admit them, to tell his friend that he was less than the werewolf Trent looked up to.

“I know you did.”

Trent’s words surprised him. “You do?”

“Yeah.” The honesty in the werewolf’s voice pierced through Alex. “I’ve heard your screams at night.”

Alex swallowed. He wondered how many of his other pack mates had heard the nightmares that plagued his sleep. He let out a slow breath. “I don’t know what to do. I feel like I’m falling apart or I’m going to explode at any second.”

“Boris doesn’t help.”

Alex nodded at his friend’s insight. “Yeah.”

“It’s not smart to hit a punching bag that can pummel you back.”

Alex chuckled at Trent’s words and the tightness in his chest eased a bit. “He let me go before one or both of us ended up in the medical wing.”

“It gets slow in there. I don’t think Professor Lyra would mind the company, but your mom might.”

Alex nodded. “She doesn’t need to know what I’m going through.”

“Why not?”

The front tire hit a particularly icy patch of road. It took Alex a moment to steer out of the slide. He slowed down a bit.

“Because I don’t need anyone else thinking I’m crazy.”

“You’re not crazy, Alex. You went through something bad, really bad, and you’re trying to get over it. It’s PTSD.”

“PT what?” Alex asked, amused that his friend had actually given him a diagnosis.

“Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Soldiers get it from the things they see at war. It doesn’t surprise me that you have the same problem.”

Trent’s understanding made Alex feel just a bit better. “Okay, Doctor. So what do I do about it?”

“First of all, you don’t need a doctor; you need a psychiatrist. You’ve got to talk to someone about what you went through. It helps to get the memories out in the open so you can deal with them.”

Alex fought back a laugh at the seriousness of the werewolf’s tone. “And second?”

“Meds, heavy meds. The heavier, the better,” Trent concluded.

Alex burst out laughing, then so did Trent. “The heavier, the better?”

Trent chuckled. “Definitely. You need all the medication you can get, my friend.”

“Good to know,” Alex said.

Silence fell between them for a few minutes. It felt better to know that someone cared about where he went and what he was going through. He knew he could talk to Cassie, but she and Tennison seemed happy and he didn’t want to worry her. The same went with Meredith. She had gone through so much that he didn’t want to bring up her experiences and make her go through them again.

Trent’s voice was quiet when he asked, “How long are you going to be gone?”

“I’m not sure,” Alex replied. “I just need some time to think.”

“I’ll cover for you.”

Alex swallowed against his suddenly tight throat. “Thanks a lot.”

“Anytime,” Trent replied. He was silent, then said, “If you need to talk, I’m here.”

Alex nodded, but didn’t answer. He drove the motorcycle through the afternoon, skirting small towns along the same path he had taken the first time Trent showed him the bike. He eventually reached the city and steered through the crowded streets feeling more confident than he had the last time. Dirt-blackened snow filled the gutters but the streets and sidewalks were clear.

The droves of people hurrying to their destinations did so wearing thick coats, gloves, hats, and boots. Alex felt conspicuous in his thin tee-shirt and jeans, but the cold didn’t bother him. He pulled up to the park half-expecting to see the same students playing soccer. Instead, the snowy expanse was broken only by the tracks of dogs and cats that were no longer in sight. Someone had built a snowman near one corner of the park, but it had been tagged with green spray paint in some sort of a gang symbol.

Alex pulled his motorcycle next to the curb and climbed off. It felt strange being there alone after the excitement of learning a new game and making friends last time. He walked through the snow, kicking at it with the toe of his sneaker. The place felt like his memories, haunted almost, like the students who had been there were merely ghosts playing with his mind.

Frustrated, Alex climbed onto the motorcycle once more and drove to the little café. The red neon sign flashed ‘open’, but he didn’t have any money. Unwilling to make that mistake again, Alex was about to gun the motorcycle toward home when he noticed a man bending over a car across the street.

The man rose and Alex realized with a start that it was Ruse, one of the thugs who had tried to steal his motorcycle. He had the same buzzed haircut with the stars on the sides of his head, but he looked different in slacks and a white shirt that was somewhat tucked in. Ruse fiddled with the engine for a few moments, then hurried to the driver’s side of the car and attempted to start it. The engine didn’t make a noise.

He swore and hit the steering wheel. “Late again,” he growled, running a hand across his shaved head. “I’m seriously going to lose my job this time.”

“I didn’t think someone like you had a job,” Alex called from across the empty street.

Ruse glanced in the direction of Alex’s voice. When he realized who was speaking, he climbed out of the car. Alex was surprised to see a wry smile fill the man’s face as he glanced from Alex to the motorcycle.

“Didn’t think I’d see you again,” Ruse admitted.

Alex nodded toward the car. “Is that yours or are you trying to steal it, too?”

Ruse shoved his hands in the pockets of his coat and leaned against the beat-up car. “It’s mine.”

“Why should I believe you?” Alex asked suspiciously.

Ruse looked as though he was debating whether he owed it to Alex to explain or not. He finally walked around to the passenger side of the car.

“Because if you call the cops and tell them I’m stealing it, I’ll never get to work,” Ruse said. He pulled something out of the glove box and held it out. “Check it.”

Alex hesitated before crossing the road, but there was no one in sight and he already knew he could take on the thug if Ruse proved to be up to his old habits. Alex accepted the paper. It was a vehicle registration under the name Roosevelt Gans.

“Who’s Roosevelt?” Alex asked dryly.

Ruse sighed and reached for his back pocket. Alex took a step back in case the thug decided to pull out a weapon. Ruse gave him another wry grin when he saw the movement. “It’s alright. It’s just a driver’s license.” He handed it to Alex.

Alex studied the picture. It was a younger shot of Ruse with a red bandana around his neck and diamond studs in his ears. The name said Roosevelt Gans.

“Anyone who calls me Roosevelt besides my mother learns pretty fast not to,” Ruse told him, taking the license back.

“So if you have a car, why try to take my motorcycle?” Alex asked.

Ruse shrugged. “Times are tough. Paychecks don’t quite make ends meet the way they should. I figured we could sell a bike like that for a pretty penny.” He gestured toward it. “Custom jobs bring in the cash.”

Alex tried to understand. “But it’s not yours.”

Ruse shut the door and leaned against it. “I was going to make it mine before you went all Kung Fu on us.” His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “Tell me something. Are you a werewolf?”

Alex’s blood ran cold. He debated whether to run for his bike or take the man down.

Ruse held up a hand. “Easy now. You don’t have to flip out. My boys and I were having a debate. It’s no big deal.”

“Admitting to being a werewolf would be a big deal,” Alex replied evenly.

Ruse shook his head. “What am I going to do? Call the cops? You’re not the only one looking over your shoulder, if you know what I mean.”

Alex knew he shouldn’t trust the man. He had already tried to steal the motorcycle, forcing Alex to almost reveal himself to the students at the café. Yet his instincts were silent; he felt nothing threatening about the man as long as he kept his distance.

Alex finally nodded. “I’m a werewolf.”

“I knew it!” Ruse whooped. “Wait ‘til I tell them!”

Alex stepped into the street, but Ruse held up a hand.

“I don’t mean right now. You can stick around.” Ruse shook his head. “Geesh. A little touchy, aren’t you?”

“Wouldn’t you be?” Alex asked a bit defensively.

Ruse was quiet for a moment, then nodded. “If the whole world was trying to use me for target practice? Yeah, I guess so.”

Alex studied the car. “So what’s wrong with it?”

Ruse crossed his arms and glared at the engine as though anger would make it suddenly start working. “I don’t know, but my shift starts in a half hour and if I don’t make it, I’ll lose my job. My ma’s sick and we’re behind two months on rent. One more and we lose the apartment, too.” He glanced at Alex. “Know anything about cars?”

Alex shook his head, then paused. “I don’t, but I have a friend who does.”

He jogged across the street to the motorcycle and shoved the helmet on his head. “Hey Trent, you there?”

“Yes, I am,” Trent said in a relieved tone as if he was worried Alex had disappeared off the face of the earth. “What’s up?”

“I need help fixing a car,” Alex said, crossing the street again.

“A car? What’d you do?” Trent asked, his voice nearing panic. “Did you wreck into someone? Do they know you’re a werewolf? Is this going to be on the news?”

“Slow down,” Alex told him. “No one wrecked, and no one knows what I am.” He grimaced at the lie, but didn’t need Trent worrying even more. “I just found someone who’s having problems starting their car and I thought you could help.”

“What, you’ve turned into some sort of superhero now?” Trent asked wryly. “Rescuing the meek so they can drive through the snow?”

Alex rolled his eyes. “Exactly.”

Trent snorted. “Alright, tell me what we’ve got.”

“I’ll have Ruse tell you. I’m not the best with cars.”

Alex took the helmet off and handed it to Ruse. The man took it and put it on with an amused expression. “Who’s this?”

“Who’s this?” Alex heard Trent demand from the other end.

“Ruse, uh, Roosevelt Gans,” Ruse replied. He glanced at Alex and gave an embarrassed smile.

“Okay, Roosevelt, what do you drive?”

Alex leaned against the building and watched Ruse walk through the instructions Trent gave him. He wondered if Trent was enjoying ordering the man around. Ruse checked everything the werewolf told him, tinkered with a few parts, and in a couple of minutes, the engine turned over.

“Yes!” Ruse shouted. “Oh, sorry,” he said, pulling off the helmet. He handed it back to Alex. “Your friend’s a genius.”

Alex grinned as he crossed the street. “Don’t tell him that. It’ll go to his head.”

“No it won’t,” Trent replied, his voice muted as Alex set the helmet back on the foot peg. “At least someone appreciates me.”

“I appreciate you,” Alex replied.

“You better,” Trent said.

Alex chuckled as he crossed the road back to Ruse. “How’s it running?”

“Great!” Ruse exclaimed. “Your friend even figured out how to fix the power flow problem so the starter doesn’t give out on me again. He said he could increase the fuel efficiency if I had a few more minutes.”

Alex smiled. “Maybe next time.”