Page 1 of Moonlight and Mischief
I. Wolf Pups and Wrestling
MARIGOLD
“Did you have to stick a crayon up your nose? Really?” Suppressing a smile, I tip Daisy’s chin up to get a better look. The end of a broken green crayon peeks out of her nostril. “Goddess help us when you start shifting,” I mutter under my breath while stretching to reach the nearest tissue box.
“Hold one side closed.” She pokes at her nose on the wrong side, wincing. “No, baby, this one. And then blow your nose hard. If it doesn’t come out, we’ll have to get your mama.”
Leaving the tiny menace to her task, I survey the rest of my class. My job isn't difficult withsuch a small class, but these students are a bit wilder than typical human children.
“Wrap it up, friends! It’s almost two,” I command, gathering spare art supplies from the closest table.
Buttery light streams in the massive windows. The walls of my one-room schoolhouse are wallpapered with their paintings and drawings between multiplication charts and historical timelines, handmade by yours truly. Students sprawl across benches, paint brushes and markers in their hands.
“I’m serious, I’m not cleaning up after you pups. Five minutes!”
At the sound of my scolding, a dishwater blonde head leans around the door frame. “Doing okay, Goldie? Need me to teach any of these kids a lesson?”
“Hey, Onyx,” I plant a hand on my hip, a wry smile curving my lips. “I think we’re good, but thanks.”
“Got any more of those cookies you made for your class?” he asks.
“They’re for my students,” I say, rolling my eyes. Wandering to the back table, I wrap a napkin around one of the remaining chocolate chip cookies and bring it to Onyx.
“You’re the best!” He says, a grin lighting up his face.
Leaning past him, I wave at his twin.
“You want a cookie too, Cedar?”
“I’m good.” The afternoon sunlight streaks his hair amber, contrasting with the deep tan from his hours outdoors. He’s handsome in a golden-age movie star way.
Onyx is more of a rebel, always dressed in grungy band shirts and ready with a joke or prank, but he’s a sweetheart under the shenanigans.
“You guys busy?” I ask, hearing a chorus of giggles behind me. Nosy little stinkers.
Cedar nods, “Getting some training in.”
“Have a good time! See you later.”
Ducking back inside, I find that Daisy managed to shoot the crayon out of her nose and now holds it up triumphantly. At least her mom won’t be mad at me, even if I now have to confiscate a booger crayon.
“Alright, my little artists, let’s get this place cleaned up!”
After the school day ends, I wander across the sun-drenched meadow toward my family’s cabin. Even though I moved in with my grandmother a couple of years ago, I like to check back every so often. A household of three men can get messy quickly and my father is hopeless with housekeeping.
It’s empty like I knew it would be. Dad is out patrolling, Cobalt is playing soccer in the clearing, and Indigo is finishing up his afternoon internship with my grandmother. She’s the pack’s healer, and Indie will take over for her someday.
The cabin smells like old leather and my father’s aftershave, with an undercurrent of sweaty socks. The warm wood kitchen is fairly tidy, but I toss the breakfast plates into the creaky dishwasher and start it. Padding across the ancient brown carpet toward the bedrooms, I pause to transfer the laundry from the washerto the dryer before it gets musty. My siblings’ shared bathroom needs a quick wipe down, and then I’m popping out the front door.
Sure, the boys could handle everything themselves, but my brothers are busy and my dad works so hard. My job ends early in the afternoon, so it makes sense for me to tackle a few chores and lighten the load on my dad’s shoulders.
On the way to my grandmother’s cottage, I dodge my students kicking a soccer ball back and forth. Despite my fatigue, I cheer them on. They love to play in the clearing between the diner, the school, and the supply shop.
Cedar’s garden spans the north side, centered around an archway covered in snow pea vines. The delicate tendrils climb the frame but it’s still too early for the soft pink flowers to bloom.
Cedar loves to talk about his garden, and I’m always happy to listen. With his smile in my mind, I veer toward the training building tucked into the edge of the trees. The garage doors are rolled up in the back, and two men grapple in a spray-painted circle.
A tall, tattooed figure leans against the steel siding beside Cedar. Slate serves as the pack’s Beta or second-in-command. He’s quiet like Cedar, but in more of a brooding artist way, instead of being lost in thought.
