1. MIA

Chapter 1

MIA

Twenty-one candles brighten up the tiny kitchen in the cabin. Usually, it’s only two in the candelabra to illuminate my way around my living space.

Today, candles are pierced through the spongy flesh of the cake I baked this morning. Smiling at the faces of my parents on a crumpled photograph that’s older than me, I inhale deeply.

“Yo! Darren! Wait up!” comes the voice of one of Blackclaw’s finest soldiers. Outside, of course. That’s where they’re gathering to go for a hunt.

It’s the closest thing I can get to a birthday wish, and I’m used to taking the little I can get. I blow out my candles, a stray tear rolling down my cheek when the cabin is shrouded in darkness again.

“Happy twenty-first,” I murmur to myself as I ignite a matchstick for the candles in the holder. Staring into the translucent orange flame reminds me of the sunsets I’ve been neglecting to appreciate.

Life has become empty like that. It’s been three years, and still my wolf hasn’t made an appearance. Unlike the werewolves of Blackclaw my age, I'm just a lowly Omega without a wolf.

Without parents. Without friends. No one to celebrate my birthday with. Except an everlasting smile from Mom and Dad photographed while she was pregnant with me.

Absentmindedly stroking the moon charm on my necklace, I sigh heavily. The cool metal is my only companion on a night when festivities should have been on the agenda. Instead, shame has once again kept me hidden in my cabin.

Away from the belligerent treatment of the werewolves my age. As the resident Omega, I'm always at the forefront of their cruelty. It doesn't help that I’m always stuck in human form, unable to join the rest for runs and hunts.

My appetite for rainbow sprinkles and vanilla frosting has escaped me. In the midst of this loneliness, I've forgotten what having a sweet tooth feels like.

Pushing the cake away, I cross my arms on the table. A heavy-hearted sigh falls from my lips while I stare at the only two faces that keep me company.

Being orphaned at the age of three means I hardly remember them. But it's almost as if I can envision what they'd say to me. Like their lips move, their voices enter my mind.

“ Happy birthday, mi hija…” comes Mom's lilting voice.

“ Happy birthday, Mia. Don’t be sad…” is Dad's firm instruction.

Don’t be sad…

It's the only feeling I know. But it's Dad's imaginary words that prompt me to stop wallowing in my sorrows. To pick myself out of this hopelessness for my circumstances and not be sad anymore.

That's why I get to my feet. Lifting my coat off the hanger, I prepare to head outside.

Standing behind the door, I peep out the window. The group of Blackclaw youth loiter at the entrance of the woods. Cheerful chatter, fistbumps, and beers go around as they wait for midnight.

It's the perfect time to go hunting when the full moon is at its brightest.

It's something I have to wait for too. With my isolated cabin far away from Blackclaw civilization, I'm closer to the forest. And going out there right now will make me an easy target for their brutal attacks and remarks.

Something I’ve been pointedly avoiding for the past few months. With my twenty-first birthday on the horizon, I felt pressured to fit in. Watching the others through the window, a faint hint of my reflection stares back at me.

Absent-mindedly, I run a hand through my hair where natural silver highlights imbue the brown tresses. My sharp nose, plump lips, and the natural tan of my skin never belonged here.

Not amongst the Blackclaw Pack, where athletic bodies and blue eyes dominate the bunch.

Apart from that, I’d been subjected to their disdain because I’m an orphan. An Omega. A wolf-less werewolf. Unlike the others, I didn’t receive my wolf at eighteen.

Three years later, and I’m their resident outcast. The runt of the litter. The metaphorical punching bag.

Sighing discontentedly, I narrow my eyes at the crew outside. Counting heads, making up crude remarks that are usually directed at me.

Only, I have no courage to say it to their faces. Not to Darren, who throws more wolfsbane into his beer. A junkie, whose only saving grace is his strength in combat.

“Come on, you guys!” Vanessa whines as she grabs the beer out of Darren’s hand. “We need to go out before Cyrus comes back! He’ll have our necks if he finds us partying.”

“Oh, relax, Ness!” Darren chides as he rises to his feet. Rounding the fire, he grabs Vanessa by the arm and pulls her to him. “Should I tell the Alpha that you’ve been fucking his Beta?”

Vanessa glares at the blonde man. “You wouldn’t dare.”

Darren chuckles as he releases her with a purposeful push. “Of course not,” he says. “Now be a good girl, and relax.”

Rolling my eyes in the safety of my cabin, I quickly dodge to one side. Darren’s sharp eyes flit over to my door, and I wouldn’t want to be caught eavesdropping.

After all, it’s not my business that Vanessa is vying for the Alpha’s attention. Attention that Cyrus refuses to give her. So her rebound is the next best thing – the Beta.

Vanessa and I aren’t close by any means. But it’s something any fly on the wall would know.

The rustling outside grabs my attention back, and I peek out through the washed-out lace curtain on my kitchen window. The group of Blackclaw wolves leave their campfire burning as they head into the forest.

Shifting into their esteemed wolf-forms before heading out. The group of six disappear into the shadows, giving me a chance to finally get some fresh air.

I shouldn’t be scared, but I’m only avoiding conflict by treading out when no one is around. Pausing at the bottom of the porch, I look up and instantly feel my lips curling to a smile.

The moon in all its magnificent glory illuminates the sky with brilliant light. Some strange sense of warmth permeates from the sky, enveloping me in its embrace.

The feeling is welcomed, lessening the blow of a rather lonely birthday.

It’s not like any of my other birthdays were special enough to compare. Tonight just feels different. Gloomy in isolation, even if I have grown accustomed to that loneliness.

Shivering in my coat, I cross the meadow toward the crackling fire. It’s inviting with its orange flames licking at the air as if it craves to be the master. I kick aside an empty beer bottle, pursing my lips when it hits a tree.

My only concern about it shattering is the noise it makes. It might call them back. Glancing over my shoulder, I mentally plot out my route to run back to the cabin.

Just in case.

I listen out long enough until I’m sure no one’s coming back. When I’m certain that the coast is clear, I remove my hands from my coat and wave them over the fire.

Relishing in the warmth, I smile to myself and close my eyes. But as soon as I do, I see the flames behind my eyelids.

Along with the vision, my gut churns. My heart races with fear, filling my throat with a lump as bile rises to the top.

Gasping, I instinctively snatch my hands away from the fire and open my eyes again. When they’re safely behind my back, the feeling of dread subsides.

What was that?

Staring at the fire now, it appears to be small. Much less imposing than the flames behind my eyelids. I can’t make sense of it, so curiosity spurs me on.

That’s when I reach out toward the campfire and shut my eyelids.

When the vision of treacherous flames engulfs my vision again, the dreadful feeling returns. It’s so vivid, that I can feel my senses kicking in. The smell of burning firewood scorches my nostrils.

The sound of crackling as the fire persists on the ground. The heat that laps at my fingertips.

Amplified only by the sight of the fire behind my eyelids. The one burning in front of me isn’t big enough to stir my senses like this. Frowning, I begin choking as if the fire’s gripped my throat.

My breath comes in hot pants as I lose control, fear causing me to lose my footing. I’m about to hit the ground, keeping my eyes pressed tightly as I anticipate the fall.

But it doesn’t come. Not the way I expected it, anyway. Instead, it’s like time freezes over as the crack of bones overpowers the crackle of fire.

The sound is what prompts me to open my eyes. That’s when I witnessed the fur spreading across my arms. Chestnut brown, like the hair on my head. It rolls out like a blanket as it covers my arms.

Arms that now appear disjointed, larger than my human arms. With sharp nails distending from my fingertips. It’s only when the transformation is complete and I land on cushioned paws, do I realize what just happened.

‘Wolf…’ a voice inside my head echoes.

I gasp in response, but it turns into a slight wheeze from my lips. I can’t form the same sounds as my human mouth can. And when I try taking a step forward, I wobble on my forearm.

Walking on large paws is a struggle. But I persist, needing to get out of the open before someone comes back.

My ears perk up when I hear a howl in the near distance. Just beyond the group of pine trees lining up the entrance of the woods. I shake my head, realizing that I can pinpoint the sound to the nearest cliff.

My senses are heightened.

My wolf had finally come.

I gaze up at the moon, saying a mental prayer to the Moon Goddess. A prayer of gratitude, for finally being released from the clutches of being the outcast.

‘Run…’ that inner voice warns me, propelling my paws forward off their own accord. It’s like I no longer have control of my body.

The wolf controls my wolf body.

Along with the warning comes the dread in my gut. Fear. As my ears pick up the sound of leveled steps emerging from the woods.

They’re coming.

The wolf takes the lead, my paws patting smoothly on the ground. My wolf nostrils flare as the scent of werewolves enter my airways.

A scent I've never experienced before. Like warm fur and a fireplace mixed with the plants they've touched on their run.

It's growing closer. The looming threat. That which quickens my steps, turning my sprint effortless as I rush to the west side of the cliff.

I've barely had time to enjoy this feeling. To immerse myself in the pride of finally receiving my wolf. Now, it's fear of the Blackclaw group that has me running away.

As the Omega werewolf of the Blackclaw Pack, the dirt under the soles of their ranks. I have never been accepted as their own.

And the further I run – away from Rocheport, away from Blackclaw territory – the freer I feel. The free sprint, dodging boulders like stepping stones, is all the enjoyment I need.

It overshadows the fear of being caught by my pack. Even if I'm running toward unknown territory. It's only when a powerful howl reverberates from behind, that I'm distracted.

Enough to send me hurtling over a stray rock in the forest. I tumble down the cliff, my wolf whimpering from the pain.

I must have crushed something against the tree. I'm not sure. All I feel is warmth oozing from the side of the impact.

Then I see the glaring wolf eyes at the top of the cliff.

They've seen me.

And they've just witnessed my fall.

Great!