Luna Academy

Lark Wickendon was never normal- not since her first shift. Ever, since, she's felt as if there is something missing from her life, something important.
When Lark is invited to join the exclusive Luna Academy, a remote boarding school hidden in the depths of the American Rockies in Colorado, she know she can't refuse. She loves her parents dearly, after all they have raised her since she was 4, but she knows she can't risk this opportunity, not since the deputy head emailed her.
Because there is something different about Luna Academy- its a school for werewolves.


3. Arrival

I groan as i heave my suitcase off the conveyor belt, struggling to get it off before it's whisked away for another loop. Eventually i manage, struggling to juggle my bag and hand luggage while simultaneously trying to get my hair out my eyes. So much for turning up looking cool and calm I think to myself. 

As I wind my way through arrivals, I allow myself to wonder what it's really gonna be like starting at my first school. Having been home-schooled since my parents adopted me- yes, it was my mums idea-all I had to go on was what I had heard about from my small collection of friends and what I had watched in films. And from that, it didn't really sound like fun. But i was tired of the monotony of home-schooling- I was ready to get some independence.

As I reach the part of the airport where all the taxi drivers stand with their name cards, I remind myself that this is a pointless train of thought; that really, I'm never going to know what school is like until I try it for myself. So, on that note, I begin to search for my name among the sea of signs.

Spotting the piece of cardboard reading Lark Wickendon, I begin to stride towards the middle-aged giant of a man who holds it. As I approach, I realise that the man is even bigger than I originally thought- at least 6 and a half foot. He has traditional features and long, shoulder-length hair. 

He had an easy smile on his face as i approached- something I took as a good sign.

"Hi there," he says in an easy American accent, "you must be Lark."

"That would be me," I reply, taking his huge hand and allowing him to shake it.

"That's good, because I wouldn't want to take some poor human home to a bunch of shifters!" He whispers to me.

However ominous that statement might have been was completely outcast by the twinkle in the mans eye, telling me he was joking.

"I'm Cameron by the way," he tells me as he grabs by suitcase in one hand, lifting it as if it weighs nothing. "The cars right this way."

And with that he sets off across the airport, his huge legs eating up the ground, my much smaller ones scurrying behind to keep up.

Soon we arrive at a huge car, an SUV I think it's called, with blacked out windows that let nearly no light through. Once my luggage is loaded in he back and I am safely seated in the back row seats, Cameron starts the car and exits the airport on to the motorway. It's finally dawning on me what is really happening. After years of being coddled and blanketed by my parents, I am finally going to live among my own kind. Among shifters.

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