The quiet tension that followed William Wolf's dramatic smirk and his casual kick to the table was thick enough to choke on. The teacher, recovering quickly from the interruption, cleared his throat, his eyes scanning the room for the source of the noise before landing on Violet.
"Miss Darkwood," the teacher said, his voice laced with the kind of weary patience reserved for high school educators. "It seems you've made quite an impression already. Now, if you'd kindly take that empty desk, we can begin."
The classroom sniggered. The girls looked at her with a mixture of predatory amusement and knowing pity—the new girl, the nerd, already falling for the Alpha. The boys wore expressions of bored superiority. To them, she was a non-entity, a drab grey smudge on the pristine canvas of their social hierarchy.
Perfect, Violet thought, sinking into the chair William had indicated. It wasn't pity she wanted, but acceptance into the invisible layer of the socially insignificant. Her flustered shock at William's presence, now compounded by her clumsy reaction to his stare, provided an airtight defense. No one would ever suspect the dweeb in the oversized hoodie and round glasses was a creature of primal power who had nearly sucked the life out of the school's hottest male.
She managed to blush convincingly—a trick she had perfected during her stepmother's particularly embarrassing attempts at public flirting—and kept her gaze fixed on the desktop. Yet, underneath the feigned shyness, her mind was racing. This town, these people, this situation… it was an intricate web of secrets, and she needed a way to pull the strings without getting tangled herself. She needed a cover. Something that allowed her to ask too many questions without sounding suspicious.
The club idea, hastily conceived in a moment of panic during the principal's introduction, suddenly seemed like a stroke of genius.
The Pitch
The bell rang, signaling the end of the first class. The buzz of conversations about the upcoming moon race and William's latest stunt filled the air. Violet quickly stood up, planting herself by the door before the majority of the students could escape.
"Excuse me, everyone," she called out, her voice slightly muffled by the mask she still wore, but surprisingly firm. Her internal wolf, now fully alert after the close call in the woods, lent a low, resonating quality to her tone that demanded attention.
A few students paused. William, who had been leisurely packing his books, stopped and leaned against the wall, watching her with that unnervingly knowing smirk.
"I know this is sudden," Violet continued, adjusting her glasses with a nervous-looking gesture. "But I wanted to propose a new, official school club: Supernatural 101."
A wave of confused silence was immediately followed by a chorus of laughter and incredulous questions.
"Is this a joke?" a tall boy from the back, whose face Violet vaguely registered as someone perpetually annoyed, called out. "Are we doing 'Dungeons and Dragons' now?"
"It's not Dungeons and Dragons," Violet replied instantly, allowing a touch of academic condescension to slip through. "It's applied sociology and mythological archiving. Deadwood is in the middle of nowhere, which, historically speaking, makes it a prime location for the accumulation of local legends. But how do we separate the truth from the urban legend? How do we verify the veracity of stories about werewolves, or—or vampires?"
Her use of the words werewolves and vampires caused a noticeable ripple in the room. Many students exchanged quick, loaded glances. William's smirk deepened.
"Our goal," Violet articulated, her voice gaining confidence now that she had their attention, "is to create a verified, organized, and accessible database of local supernatural lore and its impact on real-world community life. Think of it: a modern-day guide for the supernatural species on how to adjust in the real world. Help them deal with everyday life—taxes, job applications, public schools."
The skeptical boy piped up again, a hint of genuine interest replacing his earlier mockery. "Hey, if supernatural beings are real, don't you think many such organizations already exist? If you go to the deep web, I bet there are plenty of such organizations."
"Indeed. There might," Violet conceded smoothly. She tapped her notes, a sheaf of papers that were actually just doodled pictures of William's wolf form. "However, our value is not in the supernatural itself, but in the organization and verification of the content. We'll be planning activities, making proper tests, and presenting the information in a highly engaging, shareable format. Who knows, we may go viral."
That word—viral—did more to sway the high school students than any mention of sociology. The idea of getting internet famous for decoding their own local secrets was intoxicating. Heads started nodding.
The King's Endorsement
The room was still buzzing, but the momentum had shifted. It was no longer a joke; it was a potentially cool project led by a surprisingly sharp new girl.
It was then that William Wolf spoke.
"Consider me a member."
The air in the room didn't just freeze; it shattered. His voice, deep and resonant, was a baritone commanding absolute silence. It was the voice of a king. Every student immediately hushed, parting like the Red Sea around him.
He pushed off the wall and walked slowly towards Violet, his eyes never leaving hers. In that moment, the Alpha power he exerted was almost physical. Violet had to fight a sudden, primal urge to kneel.
He stopped directly in front of her, his gaze intense. His smirk had softened slightly, transforming into a proprietary, challenging smile.
"You're right, Violet Darkwood," he said, his voice dropping slightly, meant only for her. "Verification and organization are key. We wouldn't want any… misinformation getting out. I can help with the… historical context." He gave a subtle emphasis to the last words, a clear wink to the kiss they had shared. He did know. He hadn't recognized her on sight, but the moment he heard her name, or perhaps felt the mate bond surge, he knew the dowdy new girl and the moon lake enchantress were the same.
Violet felt a powerful blush creep up her neck, though it was thankfully hidden by her mask and thick hoodie. She stood rooted, incapable of forming a coherent thought.
"See you around," he said, letting his eyes linger for another beat that felt like an eternity. He then turned and walked out of the classroom, the students splitting instantly to clear his path. His exit was flawless—a casual, powerful endorsement that sealed the club's success before it had even drafted a mission statement.
The Shadow Joins
Violet turned back to the remaining students, who were now looking at her with genuine awe and a sudden spike of competitive interest. If William was in, everyone needed to be in.
Her eyes landed on Ken Castelli.
He hadn't been laughing. He had been watching the entire exchange, and when William addressed her, a look of absolute, unprecedented anger flashed across his face. It was the cold, terrifying fury of a predator denied its prey. The anger was gone in an instant, replaced by a smooth, pleasant mask, but Violet had seen it. That anger was far more dangerous than the clumsy aggression of her stepmother's ex-boyfriends. This man wasn't just annoyed; he was invested in her failure, and now, William's interest had made her a focal point of his simmering rage.
He stepped forward, his amber eyes glittering. "I will join as well," Ken informed her, his voice perfectly polite, but with a hard, underlying edge. "I have… unique insights into the regional mythology."
He offered a devastatingly charming smile, but Violet's internal alarms were ringing so loudly she could barely hear. She knew, instinctually, that Ken wasn't joining to learn; he was joining to monitor her and, possibly, to sabotage William.
Formalities and Follow-Up
Violet took a deep breath, forcing herself back into the role of the hyper-organized nerd.
"Excellent," she said, pulling a sheet of paper from her binder. "So, the formalities. I need names, contact emails, and one area of expertise you can contribute. I'll draft a preliminary charter and send out the first meeting invitation tonight."
Recruitment became a stampede. In minutes, she had fifteen members, including the skeptic, Ronald the specs-guy (who offered his coding skills), and four of the most popular girls, all hoping to get closer to William. Ken patiently signed up, listing his expertise as "Historical Linguistics and Archival Research," an impeccably fancy and utterly useless-sounding skill.
Violet assigned the first, most tedious task immediately. "For our first verification exercise, I need two volunteers to compile a comprehensive cross-reference list of every supernatural entity mentioned in Deadwood's public library archives over the last fifty years. Use only verifiable primary sources. Who's up for soul-crushing documentation?"
Neil Owen, William's cousin, enthusiastically raised his hand, followed by Ronald. The rest of the students dispersed quickly, clearly relieved to have ducked the paperwork, but excited about the prospect of actual investigation.
The Walk and the Flashing Eyes
Ken lingered, offering to walk Violet to the bus stop, ostensibly to "guide her to Mr. Smith," the teacher who arranges discounted driving lessons.
As they walked out into the chilly South Dakota afternoon, Ken maintained a pleasant, conversational tone, talking about the necessity of local licenses and the challenges of driving in the snow. But every word felt like a calculated probe.
"You're surprisingly sharp, Violet," Ken remarked, pulling his coat tighter around his slender frame. "Most people would have backed down after William's attention. But you turned it into a recruitment drive."
"I'm just highly motivated by research," Violet responded blandly, adopting her most robotic, uninteresting tone.
"Of course. Research." He paused, his amber eyes fixed on her. "I noticed you seem to have a facility for languages. And you're from Boston, yes? It's a pity. You have beautiful eyes, Miss Darkwood. It's hard to tell beneath all… this." He gestured vaguely at her outfit.
Violet felt a prickle of alarm. She forced herself to remain calm, her face perfectly still. "Thank you. I find practicality over style when dealing with the Deadwood windchill."
As she met his gaze to deliver the rebuttal, something flickered. His eyes, the sparkling amber that was his signature, flashed a quick, intense shade of red. It was momentary, like a camera flash, and then they were back to their innocent hue.
Vampire. Or something worse. Violet's wolf instincts screamed a warning. Her heart hammered against her ribs. She'd always assumed the supernatural was concentrated in the wolf family, but Ken's behavior, the dramatic mood swings, the preternatural composure, and now the red flash... it all pointed to something ancient and cold.
Ken suddenly became extremely silent following the incident, his demeanor shifting from the friendly, European gentry type to something colder, like a New York investor about to close a hostile takeover. He didn't turn to her again, merely walked beside her, his silence more oppressive than his dialogue.
The Phantom Wolf
They reached the bus stop, and Violet gratefully boarded the yellow school bus. Ken stood on the curb until the bus pulled away, a fixed, unsettling smile on his face.
On the bus, she waved a terse goodbye to Ken. The bus rattled along the snowy roads, eventually dropping off the last few students before heading to the final, remote stop: the South Side Mansion.
Violet stared out the window at the monotonous, frozen landscape. She was exhausted. The encounter with Ken, the certainty that he had tested her with some form of glamour or power (which she had resisted without realizing it), had drained her far more than the adrenaline rush of starting the club.
Suddenly, just as the bus rounded a curve near a thick line of barren pines, something flashed in her field of vision.
'Is that… Is that a wolf?!'
It was a streak of shadow-grey fur, moving with impossible speed along the snow line, paralleling the bus. It was too large, too low to the ground, and far too fast to be a regular coyote. Violet pasted herself to the window, but the bus immediately turned sharply under a low bridge, and then a massive snowdrift obstructed her view.
She scrambled to the back window, heart pounding. Nothing. Just the endless, white expanse.
"South side mansion!" The bus driver called loudly.
"Getting down!" Violet yelled back, snatching her bag. She kept turning, craning her neck to see if the wolf had followed, but the road was empty. She stepped onto the snow-covered lane leading to the mansion, scanning every tree line, every shadow.
There was no trace of a wolf, not a single paw print beyond the tire tracks, not even a splinter of hair from any living being. She was alone in the quiet, biting cold.
She almost jumped out of her skin when a deep, familiar baritone called out from behind her, setting her skin on fire with a jolt of recognition and fear.
"Hello!"
She spun around. Standing on the mansion's front lawn, leaning casually against a stone pillar, was William Wolf, in all his effortless Abercrombie glory. He wasn't even wearing a coat, just a simple cardigan, and he didn't look cold in the slightest. He looked like he was waiting for her, perfectly composed and devastatingly handsome, an uninvited sentinel on her doorstep.
"Won't you invite me in, Violet Darkwood?" he asked, his eyes gleaming with a mixture of challenge and amusement. "I believe we have some very important 'Supernatural 101' research to discuss."
The game, Violet realized, was officially on.