Beneath the Alpha's Moon
Chapter 179: What The Hell Was Happening?

Chapter 179: What The Hell Was Happening?

Liam’s P.O.V.

The next day started out... weirdly good. Too good, in fact.

I walked into school, bracing myself for the usual lineup of high school horror: snickers, whispered insults, and—if I was really lucky—another "accidental" shoelace-related faceplant, courtesy of Philip and his gang.

But there was nothing.

No cruel laughter. No mocking glances. No one even acknowledged my existence.

Philip and his crew? They didn’t so much as glance in my direction. No smirks, no hushed insults, not even a passive-aggressive shove.

They avoided me like I was radioactive.

Even Mai Blackwood—who had practically made a career out of tormenting me—walked past without her usual sneer. No sarcastic remark. No smug grin. Just... nothing.

Which, coming from Mai, was the nicest thing she’d ever done for me.

I wasn’t sure if I should feel relieved or deeply, deeply concerned.

By the time lunch rolled around, I was this close to believing the universe had finally cut me some slack. A rare, incident-free day. A peaceful, quiet meal.

But no.

Because the universe? Yeah, it has a twisted sense of humor.

It all started in the cafeteria. I was balancing my tray—some kind of meatloaf mystery, mashed potatoes that looked more like drywall paste, and pudding with the consistency of industrial glue—while scanning for an empty seat.

That’s when it happened.

Noah.

One of the tall, broad-shouldered Gamma-bloods who probably spent more time bench-pressing than studying, stood near the drinks counter, laughing with his friends.

I wasn’t even looking at him. My only concern was not tripping over my own feet.

So, naturally, I slammed right into him.

Hard.

The tray? Gone.

The food? Airborne.

And in what felt like a scene straight out of a slow-motion disaster movie, I watched as the mashed potatoes splattered onto Noah’s shoulder.

The pudding?

Right. In. His. Hair.

The cafeteria went dead silent.

I froze. Noah turned to me, his face a perfect blend of shock and rage. His fists clenched, his shoulders squared.

"You," he growled, voice low and dangerous. "Do you have a death wish, Rivers?"

"Uh... I—"

Brain? Completely out of service. Please try again later.

Before I could even think about an apology, his fist met my jaw like it had a personal vendetta.

The first punch knocked me back a step.

The second made my ears ring like I had front-row seats at a rock concert.

By the third, I was pretty sure my soul had exited the chat.

And then—it stopped.

Mid-swing, Noah’s fist froze in the air. His face twisted, not with rage, but with sheer, dumbfounded confusion. His hand trembled like he was fighting against some invisible force.

And then—he punched himself.

Right in the face.

"What’s happening to me?!" he yelled, swinging his arms wildly, only to smack himself again.

The entire cafeteria, which had been buzzing with murmurs, exploded.

Gasps. Laughter. Complete and utter chaos.

Noah, looking like he had lost a battle with his own limbs, smacked himself again. And again. His friends rushed toward him, but he waved them off like some tragic action hero.

"What the—" someone shrieked.

I just stood there, clutching my aching jaw, trying to process the absolute circus unfolding in front of me.

Noah stumbled back as if to give himself more space, his knuckles were red and raw from—y’know—pummeling his own face. But he wasn’t done. He hit himself in the face once more. The gut. The leg. It was like he was possessed.

And then, just when I thought it couldn’t get any weirder— Noah went down on his knees in front of me.

"I’m sorry," he said, voice shaking. "Liam... I’m so sorry for punching you."

The cafeteria went dead silent, aside from a few poorly stifled giggles.

I blinked at him, my brain buffering. "What?"

"I shouldn’t have done it," he continued, eyes wide with regret. "It was wrong. Please forgive me."

I glanced around, waiting for someone—anyone—to jump out and tell me this was an elaborate prank. But no.

Everyone looked just as horrified as I felt.

What. The. Hell. Just. Happened?

Later that day, I made my way to the lake. The lake had always been my safe haven—the one place where the chaos of school and the suffocating whispers of pack politics couldn’t reach me. Out here, it was just me, the water, and the occasional judgmental duck.

I sat cross-legged on the grass, my sketchbook balanced on my lap. My pencil moved almost on its own, capturing the way the trees reflected on the lake’s surface, their branches swaying like they had secrets to spill.

But my mind wasn’t on the drawing. It was on Noah.

On how his fist had stopped mid-air. On how he’d apologized to me, of all people—like he was compelled by some invisible force.

It made no sense.

The soft rustling of leaves pulled me from my thoughts.

I glanced up, scanning the treeline.

Nothing.

And yet... that weird sensation prickled at the back of my neck. Like I was being watched. Not in a creepy, horror-movie way, but in a way that felt oddly... reassuring. Like someone was there, just making sure I was okay.

I shook my head and went back to my sketch, but the feeling didn’t leave me.

By the time I finally decided to leave, the sky had deepened into rich shades of purple and black, the stars starting to poke through. The path through the woods was quiet, the only sound being the satisfying crunch of leaves beneath my feet.

And then—footsteps.

I froze.

The sound stopped too.

Slowly, I turned, scanning the darkened forest. "Hello?"

Silence.

My skin prickled, and that comforting feeling from earlier twisted into something else—unease.

I picked up my pace.

The footsteps picked up too.

Nope. Absolutely not.

Panic surged through me. In a heartbeat, I shifted into my wolf form and bolted, my paws pounding against the earth as I weaved through the trees.

The forest blurred around me. I didn’t stop until I saw home.

I shifted back the moment I reached the porch, stumbling inside and slamming the door behind me. My breath came fast and uneven as I pressed my back against the door, my heart still trying to claw its way out of my chest.

What. The. Hell. Just. Happened?

*********

One Week Later

By the time Monday rolled around, I had fully convinced myself that last week was some kind of cosmic glitch. A fluke. A bizarre prank orchestrated by the universe just to mess with me.

Because surely—surely—my luck had run out by now.

I walked into school, bracing for the usual jeers, snickers, and the occasional "Hey, loser!" But instead... silence.

No whispers behind my back. No cruel laughter. No one "accidentally" shoving me into lockers.

In fact, people who once treated me like a walking punchline were now actively avoiding eye contact. Some even turned and walked in the opposite direction, like I was some kind of vengeful spirit haunting the hallways.

I caught a snippet of conversation between two girls near the lockers.

"Did you see what happened to Noah? It was like he was possessed!"

"I heard Phillip had nightmares for three nights after messing with him. He won’t even talk about it."

"Yeah. Apparently, something bad happens to anyone who messes with Rivers."

I frowned, pretending to be deeply invested in retrieving a book from my locker. What the hell were they talking about?

By the time the final bell rang, my confusion had escalated from mild curiosity to full-blown paranoia.

And then, just when I thought the day couldn’t get any weirder—Arthur approached me.

Yes, Arthur. The same Arthur who once dumped an entire soda on my homework for no reason other than "it felt right in the moment."

"Hey, Liam," he said, his voice weirdly... soft.

I blinked at him. "Uh... hi?"

Arthur scratched the back of his neck, looking like a guy about to confess to a crime. "I, uh... I was wondering if we could be friends."

I stared at him, waiting for the inevitable punchline.

He just stood there.

Shifting awkwardly. Looking nervous.

Like I was the intimidating one here.

"I mean it," he added quickly. "I’m serious. You’re... cool. And I’d like to hang out. If that’s okay."

I squinted at him. "Are you feeling okay? Do you need a nurse? Blink twice if you’re under duress."

Arthur let out a nervous laugh. "No, I’m fine! I just—Look, I know I wasn’t exactly the nicest to you before, but I want to make up for it. Start fresh."

I studied him, scanning for any sign of a cruel joke or hidden camera. But his face was all sincerity.

"...Okay," I said slowly. "Sure."

Arthur grinned like I’d just handed him a winning lottery ticket. "Great! Cool. Uh, see you tomorrow, then?"

I nodded, still half-convinced I had slipped into an alternate dimension.

As he walked away, I stood there, my brain short-circuiting.

What the hell was going on?

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