Chapter One
*BEEP BEEP BE-BEEP BEEP*
Groaning as my alarm disrupts me from sleep, the sun peeking through my curtains. I roll over to see my alarm says 645. I turned off my alarm and rolled back over and stared at my ceiling. Monday morning, why must you be here already. As a sleep deprived 17 year old.... I would like to go back to sleep. As I start to pull up my blanket back over my face, I hear my door open. I pull the blanket down to see my brother, mid jump, ready to attack my bed. I proceed to take the blankets, roll up in a burrito, and hit the floor in my cushiony exterior. Leaving my brother to dive head first into my wall.
"Owww, god damn it Terra, what the hell?!"
"I am not participating in your morning shenanigans. I wish to continue sleeping." I say, my voice muffled by my blanket. "Every morning, for the last.... forever, you do this. I am not a morning person. Besides, you have training, leave me alone."
"I am making sure that you are awake, but you appear to be a burrito." Hawthorne said, poking me while laying on my bed. "Get up, sleepy head, you only have less than a week left. You graduate on friday." He continued to poke me more and more, to almost rocking me by the end of his words.
"Fine. Get out of my room." The grogginess thick in my otherwise sternest voice I could manage.
"I will be back in 15 minutes. Be ready." Hawthorne pointed at me as he jumped off my bed and leapt out the door.
"GIVE ME TWENTY!" I yelled, as I rolled back up in my blanket ready to sleep some more.
I could feel my eye getting heavy again, I growled and threw the blanket off me, laying on my floor like a starfish. I was more surprised there was even room for me to lay like this on the floor, it was a total disaster. Between finals, my birthday, and graduation... I didn't really have time to deal with the mess, and I honestly didn't care.
I could hear my parents getting ready down stairs. My mom washed up something in the sink, as dad put the carafe back for the coffee. I stumbled down my stairs, half awake, mostly dressed, laying my head down on the counter as I slid onto a bar stool. My father pushed a cup of coffee towards me as I groaned at the brightness of our kitchen. My eyes adjusted to the bright white and yellows in the kitchen. Mom had a thing for bumble bees, and they were everywhere.
"Long weekend?" Dad asked, looking at me over his coffee cup.
"Yes, between the double training, and my shift at the pack house, I would prefer to die." I picked my head off the table " Can I call out of school dead?"
Dad chuckled, and mom pushed a muffin over to me " Cranberry Orange, made ‘em fresh this morning." Mom's cheery voice always brightened your day.
I smiled " Thanks mom. You're the best"
With a loud thunk, Hawthorne barrelled into the kitchen, missing the last several steps.
"Morning Dad, Mom" Kissing mom on the head. He was a head taller than mom, a few inches over dad, and at least a foot - if not more - than me. I couldn't figure out how I got the literal short end of the stick. But there were a lot of things I didn't get, and didn't bother asking about, because genetics are weird.
If you look at my mom, she's around 5'9", her golden locks all curly, pulled back into a half up style, with a metal chopstick-like hair pin holding it in place. Dad would pick them up whenever the pack travelled, and she could tell you where he got each one. Her eyes, a hazel but more green color, and the softest smile anyone ever had. Dad was roughly 6 foot, but told everyone he was taller. Brownish blonde hair, and deep brown eyes, like little cups of espresso. I had brownish red hair, and greenish eyes like mom, maybe 5'5'' depending on my sneakers, paler than a ghost’s complexion.
But Hawthorne? Easily 6'8", getting closer to 7 foot tall every minute. At 20, he hadn't stopped growing yet. His blond hair was short on the sides, but he left it long on top. It was straight, but he always kept it in a little know at the crown of his head. He had deep blue eyes that looked like sapphires. He always had a tan, but he worked outside most of the time, training with the pack. He was the co-trainer for our warriors, and it showed. His frame was massive but lean, and every girl that saw him would unashamedly throw themselves at him. He wasn't a player, but he was a damn flirt. He was waiting to meet his mate, he wanted her to be his first everything. It made me gag.
As werewolves, the full moon after your 18th birthday, the Moon Goddess would bless you with a wolven spirit. When your wolf is finally with you, I'm told you never remember what it was like without. You then start the process of finding your mate. If they already have their wolf, you will be able to find them, by literally following your nose. If they are not yet of age, you end up like my brother, flirty, annoying, and still home. Mated wolves are given a house by the alpha, and a job for the pack. Until then, you get two options, stay with your parents, or move to the pack house. Hawthorne chose to stay home, to continue pestering me.
In three weeks, I will be 18, with my wolf, and either mated, or at the pack house. 18 years has been more than enough torture for one person.
