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Jillian: Soft

She checked the clock again. Way after six and he still wasn’t here. This had to be a new power play to do with the game. The doorknob moved, so she slammed her earbuds in, going back to squatting.

Out of her peripheral, she saw it was her dad, and he was pretending to ignore her, as was their ritual.

Jillian decided today would be different and took out her ear buds again.

“Glad to see you made it, slacker.”

He paused, taking out his own earbud and arching his brow. “Excuse me?”

“Slack-er,” she taunted, pulling out the last syllable before adding, “I’ve been here an hour.”

“I’m so sorry,” he said, his hands going out at his sides, “I didn’t realize I was running on your schedule, Jilly.”

“I just thought you were more committed.”

“Committed to what?”

“I don’t know. Being the best. The strongest.”

“You’ve been here every morning for, what, three months?”

“Yep,” she said, hands on her hips, her back straightening with pride.

“I’ve been here every morning for three decades. Don’t question my commitment.”

“Well, you’re still late today.”

“I would’ve been here, but something came up,” he said, tossing his bag to the ground.

There was a beat of silence between them, Jillian looking up at his damp hair and seeing he’d showered. Before coming to the gym.

“Ew, Dad!” she cried, and his face slackened with shock.

“What?”

“Something came up? Why’d you have to say it like that?”

She watched the wheels spin out in his head, trying to catch up, and then his face flushed a glowing crimson.

“I didn’t mean it like that! Jillian!”

“The way you’re blushing, I’m right though, aren’t I? Oh gods, gross!” she said, being purposely dramatic to really traumatize him.

“Stop talking about it!” he huffed, turning away from her and pretending to dig through his bag.

She snickered and he tensed.

“I’m horrified you even know about that,” he hissed.

“Oh my—Dad. I go to public school in a wolf shifter pack in the twenty-first century. Have you heard of smartphones?”

“Jillian, please. I don’t need to hear this today,” he said, putting his earbuds back in.

Today. The day he finally handed over the pack to Henry after a year of increasingly desperate resistance. Even Ceres’ mysterious disappearance had taken a back seat to the Dad not believing Henry would be a good Alpha drama.

She twiddled her fingers and walked over to him, tapping him on the shoulder. His endless patience restored, he turned, taking out his ear buds.

“Yes, Jillian?”

“So, Dad… the other day, I was watching the warriors. They were practicing.” He sighed, but she continued before he could deny her. “They were doing this one move, and I was trying it, but I think I need help—”

“I told you, I am not training you until some of this behavior is under control. Your grades are horrible, and you’re already bullying people without even knowing how to fight. How can I, in good conscience, teach you how to be better at it?”

She gasped, her mouth falling open. “Bullying? Are you serious? You have no idea what you’re talking about!”

“Then tell me.”

“Since when do you care?” she asked. His response was a sigh, so she said, “The last time I punched someone? That guy? He called Odin the F word. You know, the homosexual slur, Dad, right there in the gym in front of everyone! So, yeah, I hit him. Hard. And I’m not even sorry. I wish he choked on his teeth.”

“Jillian. It’s noble to defend your cousin, but you can’t always solve everything with violence.”

“What, I’m just supposed to stand there and let him say whatever he wants about my family?” she asked, her voice climbing.

“There are other ways to—”

“Henry’s right,” she spat, knowing exactly how rotten she was being, “you are soft.”

His face blanched with shock, his hazel eyes flashing with anger. “Excuse me?”

He said it to her back because she’d shoved past him, grabbing her bag from the floor and throwing the door open.

Jillian glanced over her shoulder in time to see him slump on a weight bench with his head in his hands. She huffed to push away the pinch in her heart, adjusting her bag and spamming the elevator button until it opened for her.

Upstairs in her room, she showered, fighting off guilt the entire time. She knew that was a low blow, and even worse, it would likely deepen the rift that had formed between her father and brother.

Jillian dressed in her usual. A black hoodie that was so worn it could double as cheese cloth in a pinch, faded jeans that were ripped enough to make nosey old people say stupid shit like, “back in my day, that many holes was a sign we needed new jeans,” and her heavy black boots, perfect for stomping around with angst.

It surprised people, but she liked makeup, and that took most of her time. Jillian liked her vibrant eyeshadow to be the only color in her wardrobe, with a lot of black liner, of course. She chose a violet and lilac scheme today, her high-end brushes laying the pigment beautifully.

Dad had gotten her those for her birthday last year. True to his type-A personality, Mom said he’d researched makeup brushes for a month before he finally picked one. Jillian’s heart pinched with guilt again.

When she was ready, she put a pen in her pocket. It was school, so she was at risk of having to write something. Like she had for years, she went out to her balcony and jumped, grabbing the vine trellis and using it as a ladder to climb the four stories down to the rear courtyard.

The fountain garden fountain bubbled its good morning, and the air was sharp, like mint pine. Jillian’s longboard waited for her and she used her feet to position it, hopping on and coasting around the garage to the road.

Hands in her pockets, she felt her adrenaline pick up at the declining hill into town. The gate came into view, but Harvey, the operator, was watching for her and already had it open. She waved on her way by, smiling when she saw a flash of a grin in the booth.

The autumn air was cool on her newly shaved head, and she ran her hand over the ash blond stubble with a grin. She liked it. She knew Dad hated it. Win-win.

Dylan was halfway down the hill, dressed similarly to her. When she passed, he tossed his skateboard down and jumped on it, kicking to catch her speed. As usual, he did some tricks using the rail that lined the sidewalk.

He was way better than she was, having received his first skateboard on his third birthday. They were only sophomores this year, but he always talked about going to Portland or Seattle to compete someday.

Dylan slowed to keep pace with her, taking one of his mom’s cigarettes from his shirt pocket and lighting it, then offering it to her. He shook his head like a dog, trying to get his shaggy black hair out of his face.

“Morning,” he said, the smoke trailing behind him.

“Morning.”

They were best friends. She knew her parents thought he was her boyfriend, and she let them believe it just to torment her father. Dad was not a Dylan fan, commenting once that he looked homeless in appearance.

She was aware her Uncle Leo had heard similar sentiments about his fashion choices growing up, and it had only rooted them deeper. He really looked like a viking vagrant these days, with his full shaggy beard and long hair. He often wore flip flops and board shorts to work as Gamma, killing her father slowly with every flip and flop and bright floral pattern.

Jillian studied Dylan. He kind of did look homeless, but no worse than she did in his ripped black jeans and an oversized Slayer t-shirt. It was once black, but it had been washed until it faded to a dingy gray. Jillian was one of the few who knew he wore it so often because it had belonged to his father, along with the worn, wool-lined denim jacket that was too long for him and bunched up around his hands.

“How’s Barb?” she asked.

“Good. Drank too much wine last night, but I got her to bed.”

Barb was Dylan’s mother, the sweetest lady ever, but she had a drinking problem. It wasn’t too bad, but it was getting more noticeable. His father committed suicide when Dylan was small, unable to cope with the trauma of the Dragon War. He’d lost his fated mate, and so had Barb. They’d found comfort in each other long enough to have Dylan, but it hadn’t lasted.

“How’s Gideon?” he asked.

“We argued this morning. I called him soft.”

Dylan laughed, but she didn’t, feeling worse for it with every moment that passed. When he noticed her mood, he said, “Check this out.”

Jillian looked over and giggled because he’d laced the cigarette through his lip ring into his mouth, and he held out his fingers, wiggling them and muttering around the butt of the smoke, “No hands.”

She laughed harder when he did another trick with the rail, and the cigarette stayed where it was supposed to. However, when he bowed to her applause, it fell out and the back tire of his skateboard rolled over it.

Dylan sighed and shook his hair out of his eyes again. “Well, shit.”

The first two periods of the day were uneventful. A lot of napping because diagramming sentences and Pythagorean’s theorem weren’t her idea of fun.

Out in the hall before third period, Jillian stood by her locker with Dylan, but a commotion caught her eye.

“Jillian, I think you lucked out last time. I wouldn’t fight him again,” Dylan said, his voice low and slightly raspy.

He’d followed her eyes to an occurring incident that everyone was either watching or pretending to ignore. Blair Cortney, a beast of a senior everyone called Cort, was bullying a freshman boy. Aaron was a tall but extraordinarily thin kid, and the President of the Dungeons and Dragons league. He was really sweet.

“I said that’s all I’ve got today, Cort. I promise.”

“What? Eight dollars?”

Cort grabbed Aaron, turning him upside down and shaking him while the smaller boy tried to grab hold of something. “Are you sure? You’re still jingling!”

“Hey!” she said, and heard Dylan sigh as he took off his jacket and put it in his locker. “I’m not getting into a fight today,” she promised, looking over at him. “I can’t. It’s Henry’s inauguration.”

“Right,” he said.

“You talking to me, little girl, hm?” Cort yelled, still holding Aaron suspended in the air.

The way he looked at her, she suspected he didn’t care about Aaron’s money, and was provoking her on purpose. Like her, Cort was on thin ice. Too much fighting had already gotten him suspended for his entire senior football season. Jillian heard that Coach Wiggins actually cried when he found out.

She knew Cort wanted her to hit him so she would be in trouble.

“Put him down. Why do you have to be such a stupid dick?”

He released his hand, and Aaron crumpled to the ground with a yelp.

“Hey!” she said again, and hurried to Aaron’s side, helping him stand.

“What is your problem?” she yelled, wanting to push the older boy in the chest but restraining herself.

“You said put him down.”

“I’m good, Jillian, thanks,” Aaron mumbled, but Cort was quick and pantsed him, underwear and all. Aaron scrambled to get them back up, and the hallway erupted with a combination of sympathetic gasps and laughter.

She shoved Cort this time, putting her hands on his shoulder and pushing him. They started scuffling, him saying, “You didn’t get a sucker punch in on me this time, and I’m gonna kick your ass. I don’t care who your daddy is.”

“Get off!” she yelled, pushing him and putting some distance between them. “I’m not fighting you today, asshole.”

“Why not?” he taunted, holding his arms out. “You scared?” She turned away as the first bell rang, but he said, “Oh yeah. Your dad is finally giving it up today. Thank the gods because he’s spent all the pack’s money trying to find your sister, even though everyone knows she’s fucking dead.”

She stopped, her foot freezing with her toes off the floor. The crowd of students gasped, someone saying, “Wow.”

Cort’s friend Andy said, “Dude, what?” his tone filled with disgust.

She even heard a female voice whisper, “Henry would rip his guts out for that.”

A shrill ring filled her ears, and a red mist of fury moved in, fogging her mind.

She turned, screaming, “Shut up!” and closing the gap between them with two steps.

He expected it, of course, and the fight was on this time. No light scuffling. He was three years older, taller, bigger, and no stranger to brawling. Plus, he was eighteen, so he had his wolf. It was only a few seconds before she realized he was going to kick her ass.

They ended up on the floor. She’d broken his nose, but he’d kneed her, and tears filled her eyes from her shattered rib grinding against itself. He was behind her, and she was screwed because he had her in a chokehold.

She scrambled to get out of it, but he clenched, his arm muscles around her neck turning to steel. Her hand hit her pocket as the black cloud invaded her vision, and she felt the pen. Jillian got it free and stabbed blindly with it, sinking it into his bicep.

Cort yelped, the pressure on her neck disappearing. Jillian pulled in a ragged breath and turned, leaping on him and punching him in the face with a broken shriek. His jaw cracked, and she hauled back and punched the same spot again.

“Don’t ever talk about her!” she screamed, lacing her fingers so her hands were one fist, and hitting him twice more.

Jillian was going to punch him again, but two hands closed around her wrists, warm and firm. She looked up into stormy eyes the same gray-blue color of the lake that bordered the pack, and she was yanked to her feet.

Glancing down, she saw her pen still stuck out of Cort’s arm, shoved deeper than she expected it to be.

“Jillian Greenwood, get your butt to the principal’s office.”

“Sierra. He—”

It was her eldest cousin, who was a middle school teacher. Her frizzy blonde curls were in frizzy disarray, probably getting messed up when she pushed her way through the crowd to stop the fight.

“I don’t want to hear it! Get down there, and I am calling your father.”

Jillian’s eyes widened. “No. No, no, no. Call Mom. Please.”

“Go!” she said sharply, obviously pissed, and knelt to check on Cort.

Jillian stood up, and the hushed crowd parted for her. Dylan was holding his bleeding nose, having tried to come to her aid only to receive a sucker punch from Andy. The corner of his mouth turned down in sympathy when their eyes met, and her peers were a sea of solemn stares as she made her way to see Mr. Wallace.

“Hello?” Mom’s voice chimed over the speakerphone in his office.

“Mom?”

“Jillian, you’re on the thing where you talk from my car. Kat is here. Why is the principal’s office calling me?”

She cringed, slowly saying, “There was an incident.”

“Jillian. You did not get in a fight on Henry’s Inauguration Day, right?”

“Well…”

“She’s stabbed a student this time, Luna! My goddess, help me!” Mr. Wallace crowed from his spot, his face growing redder with each word. His bald head was shiny with perspiration, the few hairs he tried to comb over doing nothing to hide it.

So much drama with this guy.

“Hello, Mr. Wallace,” Mom said. But she was an idiot with technology and Jillian heard shuffling before Mom whispered, “He doesn’t like me.”

Kat snickered and whispered, “Eris, you can’t cover the receiver on speakerphone.”

“Oh… whoops.”

“Luna,” Mr. Wallace said, choosing to move past it. He sighed and laced his stubby fingers in front of him on the desk. “You must be well aware any other student would already be expelled for this.”

“I don’t have time for this today, Jillian,” she said. “You know what? Your dad is at the suit shop a few buildings down. I’m calling him.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Mr. Wallace said, giving Jillian a smug smile of victory.

She hated his tiny teeth. Too little for his mouth and too square, like he gnashed them together all the time. Which he probably did because of students like her.

“No, no, no. Mom. You don’t understand. Dad’s gonna be so pissed because I was so mean to him this morning.”

“Well, that’s your fault.”

“I called him soft!”

Mr. Wallace audibly gasped, shaking his head, and Kat cackled in the background, saying, “Oh, Finn will love that.”

“Well, I’m calling your dad. I have too much to do today.”

While Mom said it, the door opened behind them, and Mr. Wallace shot to his feet with impressive speed for a portly man.

“I’m already here,” Dad said, and Jillian groaned. “Sierra called me.”

“Alpha. So glad to see you here,” Mr. Wallace said, not even trying to hide the, instead of your wife, that hung unsaid at the end of the words.

It was because Mom backed her up. When Jillian told Mom why she punched Cort the first time, Mom had said, “Oh, well it sounds like he deserved it,” and then they’d gotten up and walked out, leaving Mr. Wallace to gather his jaw from where it’d clattered to his desk.

“Good luck, Jilly,” Mom said, then after a minute, “how do I hang this thing up?”

Kat giggled, and the receiver clicked.

“Randall,” her father said, extending his hand, “how’s Cindy?”

Poor Cindy to be mated to Mr. Wallace, she thought, glaring at her father and then her principal as they sat. Neither of them noticed.

“She’s good, Alpha, thank you. I wish we were catching up under better circumstances, but I’m afraid we’re having serious issues with your daughter. I’m not sure if the Luna or Jillian understand the gravity of stabbing another student at school.”

“You did what?” Dad said, heavy on the wh as he turned wide, furious eyes on her.

Mr. Wallace looked at Jillian as if to say, go ahead.

“I stabbed someone in the arm with a pen,” she mumbled. “Because I was desperate because I was losing a fight because no one will train me!”

Her eyes slid over to him, and he was good, pruning his temper before it had a chance to blossom. Dad always was a master of cool, never losing his composure for long. It was annoying. He adjusted his tie knot, something he did to allow himself a moment of thought before he spoke.

“Mr. Wallace. I assure you if you can give Jillian another chance, I will see to it personally her behavior changes. I am retiring today, after all, so I’ll have the time. She will get exactly what she deserves for inciting this fight today.”

The principal looked pleased, lacing his fingers on the desk in front of him. “She’s also suspended. Two weeks.”

”I understand.”

“And Alpha? We’ll be sending homework, because…” he turned his computer monitor, and she and her father read it silently together, while Mr. Wallace drove it home with a curt, tiny teeth, sneer. “Six Fs and one A. In P.E.”

Dad gave her a look, and she felt her cheeks heat. Had she really fallen behind that badly?

“Can you change that P.E. class to a study hall, Randall? She obviously needs it.”

“What! That’s not fair!” she shouted, throwing her hands up.

Mr. Wallace turned the screen back towards him, clicked, like, three keys on his keyboard, and said, “It’s done.”

As if, Randall. Everyone knew Mrs. Huffman, his secretary, should be the one earning the big bucks around here.

She glared at her dad, crossing her arms and sinking into her chair. He hadn’t even asked why she’d gotten into the fight. Worse, he assumed she’d incited it.

“Thank you. I promise a new, driven student will return to you in two weeks.”

“Of course,” Mr. Wallace said, his doubt flagrant.

Her father stood and shook the principal’s hand before indicating she should lead the way.

“I need to get my longboard.”

“No. It can stay in your locker for the entire suspension.”

“What?”

He held out his hand, guiding the way towards the car. “Your phone. Now. And your laptop when we get home. They’re mine until further notice.”

“No! You can’t!” she challenged, and he whirled to face her.

“I will just go home and cancel it, and you will never have a phone on my dollar again. Hand it over.”

She ripped it out of her pocket and slammed it into his waiting palm, saying, “I hate you.”

He looked weary as he turned away. “Well, get in line.”

“You can’t take my laptop, though! My journal is on there and everything!”

He thought about it and relented. “Fine. But I’m changing the Wi-Fi password every night at eight and sharing it with everyone except you.”

She glared at the dash, but didn’t argue as she climbed into the car. Henry might tell her if she asked him. Her uncle Finn definitely would, but she hated giving that man any leverage.

They were quiet until Dad pulled out of the parking lot.

“Don’t you even want to know why I did it?” she spat.

“Does it matter?”

“It does!”

“Why did you do it, Jillian?” he asked flatly, rubbing his temple while he stopped at a red light.

“Oh, you know. Just defending you.”

He looked over. “In what way?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Jillian.”

The light had turned green three seconds ago, but she didn’t say anything. A honk made him jump, and he hit the accelerator so hard the car lurched forward, glowering out the front window when she snorted a one syllable laugh at him.

“Tell me.”

“Why? You already ruined my life.”

“What? Taking away P.E.?”

“Yes!”

“You should play sports if you like it so much.”

“I can’t. I’m failing classes,” she grumbled, crossing her arms. “Besides, that’s Sage’s thing.”

“Okay,” he said, not wanting to open that can of worms. “Get your other grades up and I’ll have the study hall changed back to P.E. Now tell me what someone could’ve possibly said to make you stab them.”

“Your dad is finally giving it up today. Thank the gods because he’s spent all the pack’s money trying to find your sister, even though everyone knows she’s fucking dead.”

Jillian whispered it, and while she wasn’t looking at him, she could see his fingers blanch white on the steering wheel. He pulled over, parking on Main Street, and it was strange how your parents became so familiar. She could only hear him, but she knew he was running his hand down his face, then back through his hair.

“What’s this kid’s name?”

“Blair Cortney,” she said, finally looking at him.

He nodded and sighed. “I’m sorry you’re dealing with it, Jillian. His family despises me.”

“Why?”

“Blair’s father was one of six brothers. After the war, he was one of two. His grandparents hate me, his uncle hates me, and his father hates me. I’m sure he’s heard nothing but awful things about our family since he was in utero.”

“Oh,” she whispered, and despite everything, felt bad for Cort. “It’s crazy how we won the war, and sometimes it doesn’t feel like it.”

The ripples of pain still ran deep in the pack twenty years later. She and Cort, even Dylan, hadn’t been born when it happened and it affected every day of their lives.

“I’ve sensed it before through Ivailo. Blair’s father, Baylon, has considered challenging me.”

“What? He can’t do that!”

“He certainly can. They’ve got just as much Alpha claim as we do. Baylon’s heritage on his mother’s side is the bloodline our ancestor deposed to take the title.”

“No way.”

“Yes. We may see Alpha challenges as outdated in today’s society, but that doesn’t mean it can’t happen. The pack majority has always strongly supported me, that's probably the only reason he didn’t.”

“You would’ve beat him. Easy.”

A small smirk lifted his cheek, but he rested his head in his hand and stared out the front window. “When you lead through conflict, no matter the outcome, you’re always left with broken people. They don’t have anyone else to blame for those fractures except me.”

“Did you spend all the pack’s money?”

“No. I haven’t spent a dollar of the pack’s money trying to find Ceres. I’ve spent a lot of our money. Our family money. I’ve spent an unfathomable amount of Cass’ money, even after finding out it was blood money.”

“Really?” she asked, aware he was being uncharacteristically forthcoming with hush-hush information.

"Unbeknownst to me, Cass has been reaping vampire covens for two decades. Killing them all and taking their money, which apparently they have a lot of from selling human slaves into the Underground. I invest it and make more money, which we use and try to find Ceres. I only realized it last year when he handed me a stack of money covered in blood, and said, ‘we can still spend that right?’”

“It’s kind of sweet, though. In a disturbing way.”

“Well, I didn’t tell him to stop,” he admitted. “He insists they’re all ‘bad vampires’ and says he’s saved dozens of humans that would’ve been trafficked or used as feeders.”

“I thought all vampires were bad vampires?”

“Yeah, I’m not sure where he’s gotten this concept of ‘good vampires’. I swear, Jillian, I was tempted, but I never drew on the pack’s assets or money.”

“Okay.”

A silence fell between them, and he asked, “So you want to be trained that badly?”

Jillian rolled her eyes, not even gracing that with an answer because he already knew it. She wasn’t about to beg.

“Okay. Here’s the offer. For the next two weeks, I will train you. But it’s going to be hard. It’s going to be the boot camp program for warriors, something I normally wouldn’t recommend until you’re eighteen, but if you’re as determined as you claim you are, you can do it.”

She perked up, thinking she was in a daydream. “Really?”

“If you want to continue training after your suspension, you will return to school and get your grades up. I’m not asking you to graduate valedictorian, Jillian, but finishing high school is an important part of becoming a functioning adult. I will be happy with Cs.”

She sighed, but nodded.

“And the fighting. I would prefer it stopped, but I will show you how to subdue someone without harming them. These are the tactics you will use if you have to fight.”

“No more stabbing,” she agreed. “And you promise you’ll take it seriously? My training?”

He looked over at her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Oh, you’re going to think Hades has thrown you in the flaming river. I’m gonna make you strong,

Jillian Greenwood. If you finish the training, you’ll be able to kick anyone’s ass. Except Cass. And Henry.”

“But definitely you,” she said, teasing. Kind of.

“Excuse me?”

“I’m saying that one day, old man, I’m gonna put your back to the mat,” she stated matter-of-factly, her head swaying back and forth with sass.

His brows lifted to his hairline, and he surprised her by grinning. It was wide, and the color of his eyes changed, showing she’d stirred his wolf with those words.

He leaned across the console, close enough she could smell the mint on his breath, and with a playful growl, said, “Bring it, kid.”

She beamed, as excited as she’d ever been.

“Now, do you still do huckleberry ice cream, or are you too cool for that now?”

“Really?” she asked for the third time, wondering where Dad had gone and who this imposter was.

“Well, I assured Rolland you’d get what you deserved for starting that fight today.”

Jillian sat back in shock as the car left the curb and made a U-turn, heading towards the ice cream shop.

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