His Unidentified & Untouchable Mate

A FirstMeeting

Zahraa POV

[10 Years Ago]

Every day starts out with hushed whispers in the kitchen, that cease immediately when I get close enough to hear.

My foster family is nice – no, really, they are. But they have two sons, and the father is, from what I’ve gathered, what the pack calls a ‘gamma.’ A warrior. His sons are so blessedly kind that even after the first accidental contact, they didn’t stop inviting me to play with them.

That didn’t stop the father from hating me, though.

He’d been there at the scene. He’d witnessed what I was capable of. So was his mate – she’d been one of the first to wrap me in a blanket and a hug, and tell me I was safe now. The alpha of the pack believed I’d be in good hands with a warrior’s family, and I’d already blown it with my first foster family, so here I was.

My first foster family had home schooled me. It was easier than sending me to an all-girls school, they’d reasoned. Cheaper for the pack, too.

This second family didn’t have time for that. The father worked as a gamma, and he worked a lot of long hours. The mother worked from home doing something that required a lot of typing. Neither had time to cater to me, and so I was enrolled in St. Marjorie’s.

I wasn’t sure I’d ever been to a school before, but when I was home schooled, I was apparently above the curve. My test scores had been high enough to land me in third grade, even if I was aged for a second-grade class.

It was overwhelming.

My foster mother didn’t have time to walk me in, and so I was dumped at the gates and told to talk to the ladies at the front desk if I needed anything. I followed the flow of hundreds of students, all ages, as they poured in through the gates. They all seemed so established.

Girls in neatly pressed uniforms walked in groups of two and three, laughing, chattering amongst each other, walking to their destinations with a confidence that I couldn’t even dream of mustering.

I was suddenly hyper-aware of my uniform. It had been bought secondhand from the school, and while it had been cleaned and pressed, there were spots that were frayed and threadbare.

I’d been told that St. Marjorie’s was an expensive school, but it was the closest all-girl’s school to the pack – and I was too much of a risk to be much farther out of their territory. Yet someone else from the pack went here – or so I'd heard.

I went to the front office, hands tugging awkwardly at the green plaid vest that went over a crisp white button up shirt. The office ladies all looked busy, either sorting papers or keeping their noses glued to their computer monitors. “Um. Hello?” I greeted awkwardly, approaching the first desk. The placard read Mrs. White, and she looked the part. Her pale skin was wrinkled with age, her white hair tied in a perfect, neat bun atop her head. She wore a string of pearls and a green blouse, and her tiny spectacles were perched atop the tip of her nose.

“Can I help you?” she asked, after taking her time inspecting me.

My face was blazing, my hands tightened their grip. “Um. Yes.”

“Don’t say um, child. It’s undignified. And come here.”

I obeyed, afraid that she might be the stereotypical teacher that liked to smack wrists with rulers. She undid my bowtie, straightened it, and tied it once more. “There you go, darling. A lady needs to be prim and proper to be well received, don’t you think?”

I opened my mouth, then shut it before another um could spill out. “Y-yes.”

Mrs. White smiled as though she were very pleased. “Now, what can I help you with?”

I pulled my schedule from a side pocket of my backpack and unfurled it, handing it over. “I need to find Miss Reagan’s class.”

“Ah, Miss Reagan is one of our finest teachers. You’re in good hands.” She stood and smoothed her skirt quickly before offering me her hand. “I’ll show you dearest.”

Mrs. White was endlessly helpful, pointing out bathrooms and halls that I would take to go to the cafeteria, or the playground. She stopped to point at a corkboard that had several golden stars pinned up. “These are our honor students. Do you know what an honor student is?”

I shook my head, terrified of what might happen should I utter another um.

“They’ve got the best grades, and they’re upstanding young ladies. You should strive to be like them,” she straightened one, then continued our trek forward. She stopped abruptly next to some lockers for the older students, and I looked up at her confused. “Actually, there’s one right there. Miss Kemp!”

A chubby girl with beautiful golden curls turned around and batted her eyelashes at me.

My breath caught in my throat, and for some reason, I felt like I wanted to cry. “Ingrid!” I called, tearing my hand from the teacher’s and bolting to her. I threw my arms around her, and she froze like a deer in the headlights.

“Oh my,” Mrs. White chuckled, “I was going to ask you to show Miss Snow to her classroom, but if you know each other, that works out just perfectly.”

Something that sounded like a ghoul’s moan escaped Ingrid’s lips, and Mrs. White handed my schedule back to me. “I’ll leave her in your capable hands, Miss Kemp!”

The minute the teacher was out of sight, Ingrid pushed me away. “Get off of me, weirdo,” she spat. Then a gesture I’d learned to be wary of – she leaned in and sniffed me. Her nose crinkled. “Ew. You smell like… wet cat.”

So, first of all, hurtful.

Secondly, my cheeks were becoming heated, and I realized that I didn’t know her. “Um,” I said, clearly forgetting the lesson I’d just learned from Mrs. White, “S-sorry, I…”

She pushed me into an alcove by a trashcan, where her entire body blocked any view of mine. “What are you?” she demanded, her eyes dangerously fixated. I’d never seen a child not old enough to shift act so defensive and territorial.

“I’m – I, uh – I just…”

I didn’t have to stammer for long thankfully. A dark-skinned and curly haired force pushed Ingrid away from me, and another stood with her back to me.

Alanis.

Tanis.

Again, the names were summoned from nowhere at all, but quickly corroborated when Ingrid snarled, “Alanis, mind your own business.”

The girl that I’d previously only seen as a curly-haired blur put her hands on her hips with the confidence of a much older woman – and stuck her tongue out and blew a raspberry like a child of her age. “Can’t make me. Besides,” she turned on me, her eyes flashing a dangerous red. “I smell new blood.”

“What’s your name, new blood?” Tanis – or, well, the other girl – asked.

“Zahraa,” I breathed, surprised I was able to make sound in my frightened state.

Tanis threw her arm around me, and I flinched – but maybe not for the reason they might’ve guessed. Alanis and Tanis both looked at me with surprise – and then at Ingrid with indignant fury. “Well, anyway – back off, mutt. Zahraa’s with us.” Tanis looked at me, c*****g her head to the side in a way many people that had met me did – curious. Fascinated.

That look always backfired for me.

“Isn’t that right, Zah – Zira, no – Zaaaaahhh…” Alanis wrinkled her nose again, before settling on, “Z?”

Z was fine by me. My eyes met Ingrid’s icy blue stare. I couldn’t summon words, so I simply clamped my hands down on Tanis’s arm and nodded.