The Alpha's Runaway Queen

Jasmine POV I was on the move, quick on my feet, changing into my training outfit in record time. The clock ticked mercilessly and the crisp morning air stung my lungs, as I raced to the clearing. Reagan, the heir to the werewolf kingdom and my best friend, had challenged me, yet again, to beat him to training. He had just graduated, and last night’s celebration had been wild. We thought there wouldn’t be any training the next day, but my dad, the pack’s beta, had other ideas. He didn’t cancel the training, but only mercifully adjusted it thirty minutes later, but that was all. “I’ll definitely be first,” I muttered to myself, determination fueling my every step. As I broke through the last line of trees, my heart sank though. There he was, Reagan, his gorgeous six-feet-five-inches self, already stretching, his smug smile stretching wider than the horizon. “Bummed to see me?” Reagan teased, his voice a melodic taunt. He straightened up, his muscular frame moving with a fluid grace that hinted at his werewolf prowess. “Ugh, you’re impossible,” I groaned, glaring at him. “This means I have to prepare the picnic, doesn’t it?” “Looks like it,” he said, his grin turning mischievous. “I’m thinking of sandwiches and your famous apple pie.” I rolled my eyes, trying to suppress a smile. “Don’t push your luck, Reagan.” We cherished those kinds of moments away from the palace. It was suffocating there. The minute our parents saw us not doing anything, they’d find us something to do. My mom was a director at the daycare center and a teacher at the newly established grade school just outside the border. They built it to accommodate both humans and werewolves, a testament to our pack’s evolving values. If Mom saw me idle, she would drag me to help out at the daycare. Not that I didn’t love kids, but sometimes it felt like a responsibility I wasn’t ready for. Reagan’s laughter broke into my thoughts. “Jasmine, you’re lost in thought again. Daydreaming about me?” “In your dreams, Reagan,” I shot back, but my tone lacked its usual bite. Dad, our trainer and the Beta of the pack, appeared with his usual authoritative presence. “All right, everyone. Enough chatter. Time to start.” Reagan and I lined up, side by side, as Dad began the session. His rigorous drills left little room for conversation, but Reagan managed to find moments when Dad wasn’t looking to whisper to me. “Bet you can’t keep up with me today,” Reagan whispered, just as we started a series of sprints. “Watch me,” I retorted, pushing myself harder. However, Reagan was relentless, his competitive spirit matching mine stride for stride. After an hour of grueling exercises, Dad called for a break. “Good work, everyone! Take five!” I collapsed onto the grass, catching my breath. Reagan flopped down beside me, his usual cocky demeanor softened by exertion. “You’ve improved,” he admitted, handing me a water bottle. “Thanks,” I said, accepting it gratefully. “You too.” We sat in companionable silence for a moment, the forest around us alive with the sounds of early morning. I glanced at Reagan, wondering how he always managed to push me to my limits and yet remain my closest friend. “Do you ever think about what’s next?” I asked suddenly, breaking the silence. He looked at me surprised. “What do you mean?’ “After all this.” I gestured around us. “Training, the pack, our roles. Do you ever wish for something different?” Reagan’s expression grew thoughtful. “Sometimes. But being alpha, and king someday, means everything to me. It’s what I’ve been preparing for my whole life.” “I know,” I said quietly. “But sometimes, I just want to be free, you know? No responsibilities, no expectations.” Reagan studied me for a moment, his gaze intense. “I get it, Jas. More than you think. But–” Before Reagan could continue and when I was about to say something, Dad called us back to training. We jumped up, ready to resume. The rest of the session passed in a blur of movement and instructions, but my mind lingered on our conversation. As the sun climbed higher, training finally came to an end. Reagan and I gathered our things, preparing to head back to the palace. “So, picnic?” Reagan asked, raising an eyebrow. I sighed dramatically. “Fine, but you owe me one.” “Deal,” he said. His smile was warm and genuine. . . . I spent most of the morning in a flurry of activity, baking and preparing our picnic. The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of apple pie, the same recipe my grandmother, a palace chef, used. Reagan always insisted my version was the best, though I couldn’t figure out why. Maybe it was the extra dash of cinnamon I added, or perhaps just the fact that I made it for him. By the time everything was packed, I was exhausted but excited. I quickly changed into my swimsuit, hiding it beneath my shirt and shorts. There was a lake near our picnic spot, and a swim sounded perfect for a hot day like this. Reagan and I had invited our friend Luis, but he had a dental appointment and couldn’t make it. Reagan already had him as his gamma, a perfect choice. Luis was the oldest of us three and always had a level head. Reagan was also mature for his age, but when craziness hit him, he was so different altogether. Reagan was on our doorstep right on the dot, at one in the afternoon, because he had to help me carry all our food. The walk to our favorite spot was filled with our usual banter, and soon we arrived at the picturesque lake thirty minutes later. The shimmering water was inviting, and we didn’t waste any time jumping in. “Last one is a rotten egg!” Reagan shouted, already stripping off his shirt. “Hey, no fair!” I laughed, trying to catch up. We plunged into the cool water, the heat of the day dissipating instantly. We splashed around, pushing each other and using our magic to create small waves. After swimming for a while, our stomachs reminded us of the feast I had packed. We climbed out, dripping wet and ravenous. Reagan helped set up the picnic on a grassy hill overlooking the lake. “These sandwiches smell amazing,” Reagan said, inhaling deeply as he took his first bite. “And these mashed potatoes…” I grinned, watching him savor every bite. “I told you. It’s the same recipe from the palace.” “Maybe, but your touch makes it better,” he insisted. We chatted about everything and nothing, our conversation eventually drifting to The Royal Senior High Academy. Reagan, having just graduated, and being on the top of the class at that, was full of tips on how to survive the next academic year. “Don’t take Mr. Grey’s history class unless you want to die of boredom,” he advised, biting into a piece of apple pie. “And avoid sitting near the windows in Ms. Blue’s math class. You won’t get anything done with that view. And perhaps get more witchcraft classes. Play with your strengths.” “Noted,” I snorted. “You know, you’re a lot more insightful than people give you credit for. And I don’t know about witchcraft subjects. I’m sure I’ll be doomed. I was thinking of giving the advanced Biology class a try.” “Yeah, well, people see what they want to see,” he shrugged. This was one of those moments where his level-headedness would surface. “It’s not about what you show on the outside, but what you know inside. And, Jas, you are a pretty good witch. You are good at everything.” “But expert at none,” I muttered. The words would have reached Reagan’s ears if he didn’t burp out loud. “Oops. Excuse me,” he said without concern. Why would he even be? We grew up together. He didn’t even have to excuse himself because I didn’t mind. I rolled my eyes then started laughing. It was comforting to know that Reagan had not changed. Regan looked at me in confusion as to what I was laughing about. I shook my head as I took a sip of water. After lunch, we decided to explore a bit. As we walked by the lakeshore, there was a tire swing attached to a tree nearby, one we used to play on as kids. It had been ages since we’d used it, and I eyed it warily as Reagan headed toward it. “Are you sure that thing can hold you?” I asked, skepticism lacing my tone. Reagan grinned back at me. “One way to find out.” He took a running leap, grabbing the tire and swinging out over the lake. For a moment, it was like we were kids again, without a care in the world. The next moment though, with a sickening crack, the branch gave way. Reagan plunged into the water below. I laughed at first, the sound echoing across the lake, but as seconds ticked by and he didn’t surface, panic clawed at my chest. “Reagan!” I screamed in fear. “Reagan, where are you?” I dove into the water, my heart pounding. The murky depths made it hard to see, and I cursed my weak magic. Unlike my dad and grandpa, I wasn’t an elemental witch. I couldn’t hold power onto the elements. I still didn’t know what my strength was. But this was Reagan. He was strong and smart, an all-around wizard like his grandmother, Queen Kimberly, and his mother, Queen Luna Kendra. He would know what to do. But where was he? “Reagan!” I cried again, tears blurring my vision. Just then, something grabbed my foot, and I screamed, my heart lurching in my chest. A hand emerged from the water, followed by Reagan’s grinning face. “Gotcha!” he laughed, pulling himself up. Relief washed over me, quickly followed by anger. “Reagan, you jerk!” I yelled, smacking his arm as hard as I could. “I thought you were hurt!” He rubbed his arm, still chuckling, “Sorry, Jas. I couldn’t resist. But you should have seen your face.” I was too relieved to stay mad for long. “Don’t ever do that again,” I said. Wiping my face with my hands. “I promise,” he said as gave me a quick hug. Sincerity replaced his humor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.” Reagan kissed the top of my head before we swam back to the shore. I didn’t know if it was the cold air or his kiss, but I felt goosebumps on my arms and at the back of my neck. I shook my head and focused on breathing and calming down. My heart then slowly returned to its normal rhythm. As we lay on the grass, drying off in the sun, the adrenaline faded. “You know,” Reagan said softly, “I wouldn’t trade these moments for anything. It was like yesterday when we were kids and now we are taking responsibilities! We can even make babies ourselves!” Reagan laughed at his own joke. “Ha!” I exclaimed, not taking his joke too seriously. “Well, yeah, me neither. I will forever cherish these kinds of moments. But next time, please, let’s keep the pranks to a minimum, okay?” “Deal,” he said, reaching out to squeeze my hand.