Unknown territory.
Oh my goddess, right in the middle of my senior year of secondary school, my mum has decided to move us back to a wolf pack. I really don't want to do this because I enjoy living in the human world. The noise, the freedom, the anonymity—it’s all so intoxicating, a far cry from the suffocating traditions of pack life. Why are we moving back to a pack now? Why does my mum suddenly need this? The questions gnaw at me, their answers just unreachable, hidden behind the veil of my mother’s sorrowful eyes.
My mother once held the esteemed position of Luna in one of the largest packs, the “Silver-back werewolves.” As with every pack, we had an Alpha, and ours was Alpha Jan, whom I regrettably had to call “father.”
Alpha Jan was a figure that loomed large in my nightmares, a towering shadow that could never be escaped. He was the most feared Alpha in the East. His wolf was unmistakable, towering three times the size of others, with pitch-black fur that seemed to absorb the light, a silver stripe running down his back like a blade. His blood-red eyes were legendary, striking fear into his opponents and allies alike. The rest of the pack shared similar features, with dark grey fur and the same silver stripe, but thankfully, they lacked those menacing red eyes.
In human form, he was equally terrifying. Long, greasy blond hair tied in a ponytail framed his face, and his deep blue eyes seemed to pierce through your very soul. His body was a canvas of intricate tattoos, symbols, and images that wove together into a tapestry of mystery and menace. Each tattoo told a story, a victory, a defeat, a moment of power seized or lost. He always wore the same worn-out jeans and a leather jacket that clung to his muscular frame, emphasizing his broad shoulders and strong arms. His presence commanded attention, and the way he moved, with a quiet confidence that bordered on arrogance, made it clear he was not someone to be trifled with. Whether he was walking down the street or sitting in a dimly lit bar, he exuded an air of danger and allure that was impossible to ignore.
My mother, his Luna, was the most unhappy woman in the pack, perhaps even in the entire world. Her unhappiness was like a shroud that enveloped her, a darkness that tainted everything it touched.
She was once a vibrant woman, full of life and joy. Her brown hair would catch the sunlight, and her grey eyes sparkled with mischief and love. She had a heart-shaped face, just like me, delicate and beautiful, and a petite hourglass figure that made her the envy of many. But that was before the rejection, before the pain and sorrow that had become her constant companions.
My mother came from a different pack in the west, a place she rarely spoke of. The few times I dared to ask, the pain in her eyes was almost unbearable, as if just the memory was enough to break her. Yet, I believe it's not the torment of dreadful memories, but rather the agony of yearning. I had seen her wolf only once, a striking creature with icy blue eyes, black fur, and white patches on its left front and right hind legs. Her presence was both comforting and mysterious, a blend of strength and vulnerability that drew people in but kept them at a distance.
She often sat by the window in our small flat, staring out at the horizon, as if searching for something lost. Her hands, delicate yet strong, would absent-mindedly trace patterns on the glass, a silent testament to the memories she held close. The stories of her past were like fragments of a shattered mirror, each piece reflecting a different facet of her life, yet never forming a complete picture. The past haunted her, lingering in the shadows, always just unreachable but never far from her thoughts.
Despite her sadness, there was a warmth in her touch and a gentleness in her voice that made me feel safe. Her laughter, though rare, was like a melody that filled the room with light, momentarily dispelling the shadows that seemed to follow her. Her wolf, with its striking appearance, mirrored her inner strength and resilience, a guardian of secrets and a symbol of the untold stories that shaped her.
My mother often conversed with her wolf, Raven, especially about missing pack life but needing time for just the two of us. As a werewolf, having a pack is essential; being alone can drive one mad. Though she has me, it's not enough, and this has become more apparent lately. I believe she was also petrified as my eighteenth birthday approached—the age when I would get my wolf and have the possibility to find my fated mate.
She would regularly reminisce about the days when she was surrounded by her former pack, the sense of belonging and unity that came with it. The bond between pack members is irreplaceable, something that even the strongest mother-daughter relationship can't fully replicate.
As my eighteenth birthday drew nearer, her anxiety grew. She knew that soon, I would undergo the transformation and face the challenges of finding my place in the world, just as she once did. The fear of the unknown, coupled with the memories of her experiences, weighed heavily on her. Despite her strength and resilience, the absence of a pack left a void that was difficult to fill, making our bond even more crucial in these trying times.
You might wonder why my mother is no longer a Luna and why we live in the human world. The reason is painful for both of us. My dad rejected my mum on my sixth birthday, a day that was supposed to be filled with joy and celebration. Instead, it turned into a nightmare. My mum, heartbroken and devastated, locked herself in a small flat in our village for a month. During that time, she barely ate or slept, consumed by her sorrow. I remember the silence in our home, the absence of her laughter, and the weight of her sadness. Maria, my mum’s best friend, took care of me, during her absence. She was like a second mother, always there to comfort me and make me feel safe. Eventually, my mum decided to move to the human world to escape the misery and the werewolves. It was a difficult decision, but she knew it was the best way to protect us. We sometimes encountered other cast-out werewolves, who have a distinct, unpleasant smell, even though I haven’t got my wolf yet. We call them “Rogues.” These encounters were always tense and filled with fear, as Rogues are often desperate and dangerous.
Fortunately, my mum doesn’t have this scent because her old pack’s Alpha, who was her best friend, accepted us back into his pack. He spoke to my mum right after my dad kicked us out, offering us a place of safety and belonging. She accepted his offer but needed to get away from that life for a while. Even though we were back with a pack, she remained self-effacing. She carried the weight of her past and the pain of our exile, always putting my needs above her own. After all, what is a Luna without her Alpha and her people? A broken person with no purpose, I think. But despite everything, she remained strong and resilient, a true Luna in every sense of the word. I think she kept strong for me, an Alpha’s outcast daughter.
I have brown hair with a copper tint in the sunlight, a heart-shaped face, and mahogany brown eyes. My mother would often tell me that my eyes were like the deep, rich soil of the earth, capable of nurturing life or consuming it. There was a fire in them, a spark of the Alpha blood that flowed through my veins, a legacy I was only beginning to understand. I didn't understand how she could always talk about my father like that. He was an Alpha, yes that was true, but he was also a monster. She may see that same flame in my eyes, but I'm glad I don't have any of him, neither outwardly nor inwardly.
Unlike my mother, I’m a skinny girl, standing at 1.79 meters. That doesn't mean I don't have muscles. I can hold my own when it comes to it. The training sessions my mother insisted on were gruelling, but they had their purpose. She knew that one day, I would have to fight for my place in the world, just as she had.
Some alpha-blooded werewolves can see auras from childhood, and I’m one of the lucky ones. Other werewolves and humans feel the effects of these auras, which I can see emanating from the person using them. Each aura has its unique colour, and the strength and brightness of the aura can also indicate the werewolf's power level. The stronger the werewolf, the more vibrant and intense their aura colour will be. My mother’s aura was a soft silver, tinged with sadness, but there were times when it would flare with the power she once held as Luna, a reminder of the strength that still lay dormant within her.
As we venture into unknown territory, my mind drifts back to Christmas Eve—the day my mother shared news that turned my world upside down. She had always been my rock, the one who stood by me when others shunned us. Her revelation that night was like a storm breaking over calm waters. She told me about my true heritage, the legacy of power and responsibility that came with being an Alpha's daughter.
It was a lot to take in, and I felt a mix of fear and excitement. The weight of this new knowledge pressed down on me, but I knew I had to embrace it. My mother’s strength and unwavering support gave me the courage to face whatever lay ahead. As I look around at the unfamiliar landscape, I feel a renewed sense of purpose and determination.
