They nodded. And stared. Mitchel knew they were just waiting for him to be finished so they could return to their game.
“Okay, okay. I’ve made my point. You can go back to killing zombies, but do me a favor and at least pick up a book today? This is a college after all. Oh, and vote this weekend. It’s your civic duty. That’s an order.”
“Yup,” Nathan said. “Will do.” The others mumbled their agreement, and that was that. They all returned their attention to the screen.
Mitchel shook his head, concern for the future generation passing fleetingly through his mind. Then again, he hadn’t been the most studious wolf in college, and he’d turned out fine. So they let off some steam by killing zombies. So what? They were young, and Mitchel was loath to judge.
He left through the broken screen porch door, making a mental note to fix that soon, and headed through the woods to his cabin.
Which also needed a host of repairs.
Maybe he’d be more motivated if he had someone to share it with.
CHAPTEREIGHT
Article by Supernatural Times Reporter Keller McCray
Primaries Are Deadlocked; Tension Between Species Escalates!
Tension climbsas no clear winner has emerged in the debate to reveal supernatural life to humanity or remain hidden as we’ve always been. A threat of violence looms in the community.
Vampires are furious as were-creature turnout approached 100 percent, a statistical impossibility, and they’ve charged the entire community with fraud and subterfuge.
Likewise, the werewolves have accused the vampires of rigging the polls in their favor, a dubious claim. Neither party has been able to present evidence of their allegations, and it’s clear minds have been made up. With the two great factions blaming one another, other supernaturals grow weary of the constant bickering. Tension remains high.
The fae, who seldom concern themselves with politics or globalization, in a rare public display, have beseeched both parties for conciliation. They’ve issued a dire warning that a third Great War is imminent if this fails to be resolved peacefully.
Need I remind you another war would threaten our very existence?
The date for the final vote has yet to be determined.
Think of the future. Peace must reign!
* * *
Sinclair
Time passed slowly at Borson.With his dissertation topic approved, Sinclair waded neck-deep into the library’s wealth of source material. Fall leaves crunched beneath his feet everywhere he went on campus. Soon his undergrad students would take their midterms. The semester slogged along as semesters tended to do.
Though he’d made little progress in befriending the pack of wolves, his advisers were easy to work with, his students respected him, and the other PhDs were friendly enough.
The alpha wolf, Mitchel, never spoke to him beyond a grunted greeting in passing, though Sinclair had caught him staring more than once. When caught, he always looked away, leaving Sinclair to wonder why he stared in the first place.
They’d only had brief encounters, too short to judge how much hostility remained, but Sinclair hadn’t been pinned against any more walls, so that was progress.
All the younger wolves openly admired their alpha. When he was around, they turned into a chorus of “hey, Mitchel” this and “yes, Mitchel” that.
The pack had easy friendships with each other. Groups took meals together, played video games, hung out, did everything but study. On the full moon, they all escaped to the forest and howled the night away. Sinclair heard their celebrations all night from his tiny bunk in his closet of a room. Joyous sounds. The next morning they’d clamber in exhausted and dirty, smelling of their kills, and pass out in piles in the common room. Any flat surface was fair game.
It was hard not to be jealous of their comradery. Especially when Sinclair felt so alone.
And Mitchel wasn’t anything like how he thought an alpha wolf would be. Not stern, not domineering. Rather he joked with his pack. Took their friendly teasing in stride. Poked fun. He smiled and laughed freely with the younger wolves. Not like a master but like a mentor.
Though Sinclair couldn’t put his finger on why, Mitchel had an allure to his presence. The younger wolves were drawn to him.
Sinclair was drawn to him.
Not that he’d admit as much.
