Clara POV
I clenched my hands onto the focus mitts' leather.
My coach yelled, "Again," for the billionth time. I thought my arms were going to fall off from all the repetition of a combo drill he would give me. I was okay with that, though. Being able to defend myself and fight is preferable to being one of those weak girls.
"Hyaah!" As I delivered the final blow in the pattern he had just shown me this morning, I sobbed. I had learned my lesson, at least temporarily, because I had given the last blow everything I had.
"That hurt like the dickens, Clara." He hissed at me, but there were smiles hiding beneath the rage. I was pleased to see the pride in his eyes.
I told Jax I was sorry. A little giggle seeped into my voice as I laughed. It was astounding to see how resilient I was.
This time he smiled and said, "If you weren't so little then I'd say there was no way you were really a girl."
"That was mean, Jax."
"You know this is meant as a compliment." Either that or my pouty look, since he laughed at my whining. "You fight better than most of the guys in my gym."
"It is not hard to accomplish. Most of them think that being big is a must for being great, but that just means they have more targets to hit and less speed. Furthermore, most of them lack brains, which prevents them from effectively using those muscles." Furthermore, I have an extra benefit that most of them don't. I contributed my own thoughts. Jax, in my opinion, needed to practically cling to the wall in order to remain upright.
"I like you because you're intelligent and a very charismatic kid. Change right away, or else you run the risk of being late for your next class." He was correct, as I saw when I looked up. Grandfather was no longer paying my previous instructor, so I had to fit my training sessions in between classes at the community college.
I told him, "All right, Jax, I'll see you next week," and hurried to the seldom-used, deserted women's locker room.
As per usual, I rushed through my shower and pulled my long brown hair up into a high ponytail, allowing its curly natural curls to air dry. I pulled on a hoodie and jeans over my t-shirt. Since I was pressed for time, I assume that most first-year college students—especially the females—took longer to get ready for class. Particularly not at that moment, when I was seriously falling behind.
I felt some relief in knowing that, in these circumstances, I could run a little bit faster than most people. Faster than a human, for sure, but maybe not as fast as the pack or the rest of my family. I hurried back to campus, really having to force myself not to run too fast.
Thankfully, I arrived early for class and had a good time. Nevertheless, it helped to know when I had a threat ahead of me or someone was approaching from my blind spot. It seemed that the Moon Goddess had bestowed upon each of us werewolf abilities. Though, in all honesty, I'm not even a werewolf.
The lecturer walked into the room and got to work. The fact that this class was required irritated me greatly. They had only taught me the same things that my grandfather's tutors had taught me when I was growing up, which was not what I had wanted—something that would push my intellectual limits and make me think. When I turned eighteen, my relatively comfortable upbringing and education came to an end. Even though Grandfather continued to provide me with some financial assistance, it was unquestionably much less than it had been when I was a child.
But I was okay with that. I'm much happier now that I'm by myself out here. I'm no longer subject to his severe rules—at least not as much. I was glad that the pack's rules were the only ones I actually had to abide by.
My family, Clara Ravenwood here, was once very high up in the Crimson Grove Pack hierarchy. Actually, my grandfather was the Beta to the previous Alpha, but the son of the Alpha took over after the Alpha was killed in an attack a few years ago. However, not even being the Beta would shield my family's reputation from being tarnished by a major incident.
It is a proud people, the wolves. As far back as I can remember, my grandfather used to say those words to me every day when I was a small child. However, that same pride had not prevented my mother, who was fifteen, from going missing for a weekend and then returning to confront her father's rage. To make matters worse, they later learned that she was expecting a child. She wouldn't reveal the father's identity to them. They saw me as an abomination because they had an innate belief that the father was not a wolf.
Either way, the former Alpha had ordered everyone to treat me normally until she was sure I wouldn't turn into one of the others, and I was still a pack member. We typically transition into our wolf forms between the ages of thirteen and eighteen.
Though it's not always the case, guys will be guys, and they'll still compete in whatever manner they can. The popular belief is that the earlier you shift, the stronger your wolf will become. I am still the same person even though I am almost nineteen. I still had all the other characteristics of a wolf. I possessed all the necessary skills, such as strength, speed, enhanced senses, fighting instinct, etc. I felt like I belonged in the group. Not only was I clearly not human, but I was also not a werewolf just yet. I simply didn't fit anywhere.
I was unable to ask my mother directly about my father. The shame and disdain my family endured during her pregnancy and the first few days after her birth was too much for her to handle, whether or not she was simply too afraid to talk to her father. Maybe now that so many years have passed, she is less afraid. She ultimately took her own life when I was less than a month old.
My mother had asked me to have a pendant when I was an adult, and that was the only item she had left. After my mother passed away, I lived most of my time with my Uncle Garrett and his wife Eve. The best memories I have of their two boys were that they treated me like a sister. The fact that they followed through amazes me so much, and if Grandfather had his way, they probably wouldn't have.
To be honest, if Grandfather hadn't been alive, everything would have been wonderful. He hates me, I promise. He held me to absurdly high standards. He would constantly assure me that I would never commit the same errors as his poor daughter.
For years, I had to live with his deeply ingrained norms every day. Like the other kids in the pack, my cousins and I were not allowed to go to public school. I was supposed to be well-versed in a wide range of subjects. Along with an extremely challenging curriculum, I also learned foreign languages, musical instruments, etiquette, martial arts, ballet, boxing, fencing, and fencing.
Grandfather paid for everything because he thought that when I turned eighteen, I would change and he could use me to reclaim my place in the organisation or, at the very least, get me married into a respectable family. But everyone could see that I was not going to change as my birthday got closer and finally arrived. I had no wolves in my possession. Being among the other pack members wasn't right for me; I was an abomination, a freak of nature.
But I was still subject to all pack rules. I was still required to attend all pack meetings. I still needed the Alpha to tell me to droop my head and bend my knees. We were unable to disagree with him because his words were clearly given to the pack. And despite all of that, the majority of the wealthy families continued to treat me like an outsider. Just not meant to be one of the popular kids, that is.