Wicked Wolves and Tangled Truths: An Urban Fantasy Romance (Blood and Magic : Hellbound Book 1)

don’t want to rule the school. Hellbound High isn’t a Pack. Demonstrating my dominance won’t accomplish anything here. Girls like her don’t understand shifter ways and I know a losing battle when I see one. But I’m kicking myself for failing to take into account just how much of a stir I would cause as the new girl and how divided the factions here would be. I’ve never gone to a school like this. It’s a lot to take in, and I’m having to fight the urge to lash out at everyone who disrespects me or holds my gaze too long.
I tug at the hem of my shirt. No one here is dressed like me. Natalia made me believe they would be, going on and on about what popular things kids here liked, but she was way off base. And I’ve yet to see another female shifter. Where the heck are they?
Most of the students here are human. Over sixty percent at least, and all of them are wearing variations of ripped jeans, hoodies, and casual shirts. There’s a small cluster of kids dressed to the nines—like Sabrina—and I have a feeling they’re the spoiled kids who either come from money or their parents are in positions of power. Coven and Clan leaders. Or prominent human business owners.
Yet they’re the first to direct whispered “stuck up, bitch” comments my way. By lunch, I’ve picked up yet another nickname, “Daddy Kline’s little princess.”
My bio-dad’s reputation obviously preceded me and I hate that nickname even more than when Rafael calls me “vanilla.”
He’s waiting for me outside of class for lunch, taking me by surprise. I don’t delude myself into thinking we’ll become friends. Guys like him aren’t friends with girls. I know the type. All I am is his punishment and it’s evident he isn’t happy about it, even if he is toying with me. Oliver used to do crap like this, too. I try to brush it off. It seems a right of passage for dominant shifters to go through an asshole phase before they learn to be the fierce protectors their beasts will turn them into. That doesn’t mean I have to put up with his crap.
I follow Rafael into the cafeteria and we each grab our lunches before heading to a table in the far-right corner. Two other boys are already seated at it. One is a tall black guy wearing charcoal gray sweatpants, a plain white t-shirt, and rocking a pair of bright red sneakers, the laces unlaced.
He has full lips, and dark brown, wide-set eyes. His dark hair is braided tight against his head and he has two slashes through his left brow, remnants of a scar that the Lyc-V in his system wasn’t able to fully heal. Whatever got him must have been brutal to leave a mark behind. It gives him a more severe look and enhances his already good looks.
He’s a wolf like Rafael, as is the other guy beside him. The second guy is shorter than the first but still around six feet tall. He’s Hispanic like Rafael and me but his eyes lift at the edges a bit more and his cheekbones are a little sharper. Not Mexican, I don’t think. Maybe Honduran. He’s the thinnest of the three but his arms are still wrapped in corded muscle as any shifter male’s would be. He just hasn’t filled out as much.
He wears a white tank top, low-slung jeans that expose the top two inches of his black boxers, and a gold chain around his neck long enough that when he shifts, the metal won’t hinder his change. He’s attractive. All three of them are. And one look around the cafeteria shows me that these three are the cream of the crop. All of the girls stare at them with lust and open hunger on their faces. I can scent the arousal in the room.
Can they be any more obvious?
The other Hispanic guy glances at me as I follow behind Rafael, a question in his stare, but Rafael doesn’t seem inclined to answer.
“Por qué está ella aquí?” Why is she here? he asks when we finally reach the table.
Rafael grunts, not offering a response. Wonderful.
I debate leaving. I can go to the library, have lunch there. Despite Rafael dragging me over, the other two guys don’t seem inclined to be all that welcoming, and I can’t say I blame them. I’m an outsider. But I decide to introduce myself anyway. It can’t hurt to get on the local Pack’s good side just in case.
“Me llamo, Isabella. Isa,” I say in Spanish. I don’t want to be a jerk, but I don’t want him thinking he can use Spanish to talk about me without me behind my back, either.
He smirks and a surprised laugh escapes him. “Ooo, I love it when a girl speaks Spanish to me.”
I roll my eyes ignoring his attempt at flirting.
He waggles his brows and asks. “What’s your story, vanilla? What Pack do you belong to?”
Him too? I try not to glower. “It’s Isa. Not vanilla,” I say, working to keep the bite out of my tone. Neither of these guys did anything wrong to me and I don’t want to alienate myself further. But I’m really not on board with the nicknames. “And I don’t have a Pack.” Not now, anyway.
He’s quiet for a moment, but when I don’t bother to elaborate, he shrugs it off.
“Whatever you say, vanilla.” Urgh. I might strangle him. “I’m Jordy.” He points to himself. “That silent fucker is Des.” He indicates the black guy beside him. Des nods but doesn’t seem all that interested in introductions. “There a reason you kicking it at our table? No offense, but we don’t really mix with the fairer sex these days.”
Oh. Oh. “I’m just … I mean … No judgments here.” I raise my hands in a placating gesture. I know Packs can have certain expectations of who a shifter can love. “Really. If you’re into