Chapter 8 Champion

Sarah POV If it weren’t a little racist, I would call the scene I found when I walked into the principal’s office a zoo. The twenty-odd werewolves standing in the room were snarling at each other, accusing one another of violence and pride violations and all manner of things, talking over each other, and generally making no sense. Then they noticed the new person in the room, and it all focused on me. “Here’s the human whore,” one of the women, I presume someone’s mother, said, pointing at me. His frizzy blond hair seemed to straighten slightly with her rage. “How dare you bring that untrained bitch to my child’s classroom?” “Now, now,” said a male werewolf I assumed was the principal from his gray suit and red face. “There’s no need for such language.” But the sentiment is fine, I thought, but I just calmly asked, “Can someone please tell me what is going on?” “Your charge attacked several pups on the playground,” said what I assumed was a father. “Are the children all right?” I asked. “No one has had to go to the hospital,” the principal said. “They are all currently in the nurse’s office.” “How many children are we talking about?” I asked. “Five, plus Chloe Cavendish.” I started to correct him that it was Chloe Astor but realized with a pang in my heart that her name had doubtlessly been legally changed. “The boys were only pointing out the truth,” Frizzy Hair said, growling in the back of her throat. “Being raised by a human, who knows what sort of human habits and morals she’s going to bring here? They have every right to be concerned.” “Five boys attacked a four-year-old girl, and you think that’s a good thing?” I asked, still keeping my cool. “There’s nothing good about any of this,” a second woman said with a sneer. “On that we can agree,” Mr. Cavendish said as he entered the room holding Grace in one arm and Chloe in the other. I realized he was in the habit of making grand entrances. Then I saw the bandaged claw marks on Chloe’s arm and rushed over to take her. I expected her to cry or hide her face in my shoulder, but instead she glared at all the other adults in the room, and then she looked at me. “They were saying horrible things, Mommy. I had to do something.” I smiled uncertainly, instinctively taking her side but uncertain how my employer would feel. Would he blame me and my daughter for this? I looked to the principal and then noticed how all the werewolves were looking down and trying to control their anger. I looked to Mr. Cavendish, who was meeting Chloe’s eyes somewhat sternly. “Is it true, Chloe?” he asked. “Did you fight five pups?” “Yes,” she said with open defiance. “And you took them all down?” “Yes!” He nodded in satisfaction. “That’s my daughter. Job well done.” I heard that human-hating woman gasp, quietly. I kissed Chloe on one of her red cheeks. My employer looked at the principal. “I am most displeased with how this matter has been handled and that such a situation was allowed to occur in the first place.” “Alpha Zane,” the principal began, but Mr. Cavendish held up the arm not holding Grace. “I don’t want to hear it. I will be withdrawing my endowment from this school and will find a better, less narrow-minded environment less indifferent to racial issues for both of my children.” “Alpha Zane,” the principal began, but then quailed into silence when Mr. Cavendish shot him a glare, and he turned to the other parents. “Can’t you see your children have angered the alpha? Apologize to him, and have your sons apologize as well!” “It’s too late for that,” Mr. Cavendish said. Fizzy Hair wasn’t done, though. “Alpha, the boys were just confused—” “Did they or did they not know they were going after the daughter of the alpha and that she was an alpha herself?” Mr. Cavendish demanded in that weird tone he had. “I’m, I’m sure they did.” He looked around at all the parents and then settled on the principal. “When the boys ask why the reputation of Pride Academy has plummeted, I will expect that you explain the exact reasons in detail.” “Yes, Alpha,” the room in general murmured. After a nod to them and then to me and Chloe, he turned and walked out. I followed him with our daughter in my arms. Once we were settled in the car and Ollie was taking us back to Mr. Cavendish’s villa, I tenderly traced Chloe’s cuts and bruises, which were already starting to heal thanks to her alpha nature. “I held back as long as I could, Mommy,” she said. “But then they said there must be something wrong with Grace too. I had to protect her.” “Of course you did. Mommy is not mad at you. I’m just sad for you that Pride Academy didn’t work out.” “I’ll find a better place,” Mr. Cavendish said with confidence. Until then, we’ll bring in the best tutors my secretary can find.” I couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Just how many people do you have on your personal staff, anyway?” “Twenty-three,” he said as though discussing the weather. “Including me?” He paused a moment, then said somewhat wryly, “Twenty-four.” Grace giggled, which relieved me. I had been worried this whole incident might drive her further into her shell. When we got to the villa, I asked Grace if she would show me and Chloe her favorite places on the grounds, which took up the rest of the day. Because of their sense of smell, “hide ‘n seek” was out of the question, but we still had fun. Then after dinner it was time for pajamas and brushing their teeth. At bedtime, Chloe held her pillow in her arms and said she didn’t want to get into her bed. She and Grace wanted to sleep with me. When I hesitated, I got a manipulative (but still effective) case of puppy eyes and a shaky mention of the day’s drama. At a knock at the still-open door, I looked up to see Mr. Cavendish holding Grace’s hand and a large children’s book. “Grace wants a bedtime story,” he said with a smile. “I hear this is the ‘in’ place for the evening.” “I’m so glad you don’t mind.” He shook his head reassuringly. We all four ended up on my bed, which really wasn’t big enough for it. The girls settled on one side of me, inadvertently pushing toward the center. Mr. Cavendish just made room for us all, opened the book, and began to read. “In China, you must know, the Emperor is a Chinaman, and all whom he has about him are Chinamen too. It happened a good many years ago, but that’s just why it’s worthwhile to tell the story before it is forgotten. The Emperor’s palace was the most splendid in the world; it was made entirely of porcelain, very costly, but so delicate and brittle that one had to take care how one touched it.” And right about there, I fell asleep to dream of nightingales and Chinese fans. I woke up in the morning feeling warm and incredibly refreshed. I was also in Mr. Cavendish’s arms, and he was looking at me from about an inch away!