Unmarked Mates

Chapter 1: What can't be cured must be endured

Julius, warrior of Howl Pack above

Ten years later

Julius POV

Disable werewolves are as much a curiosity as flying pigs, especially the ones who are perfectly healthy in their wolf form but can't walk in their human; no doctors I consulted can explain this phenomenon. It's already been almost 11 years, and nothing has changed, not that I complain anymore. I guess I just got used to it. 

 I'm strong enough to get in my wheelchair everywhere, which hasn't affected my job until now. And about my mate, well, I guess I finally got out of the hell she had put me in, although it took me years to do so.

My wolf, Drake, seems to be more deep than usual in my mind; I don't feel him that often because our connection is faded. I control him entirely in both our forms, but we are not as strong as we were anymore. His emotions are shut away from me; he is always in constant zombie mode. But at least I still have him, at least I still can shift, or I would be utterly useless for the pack. I know why he has chosen not to heal me and why he has closed his heart and mind from me; I understand him and want to believe he understands me. That's why he hasn't left me entirely. He is still next to me, although no longer with me.

I look around my room's mess, clothes and dirt scattered everywhere, empty bottles on the floor, and a not-so-nice smell. Well, just because I haven't reached the total bottom yet doesn't mean I'm good. I'm just in a little better shape than I was a couple of years ago, no less, no more. I'm no longer toxic. Now I'm just grumpy and bitter all the time.

I sit slowly and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror, mostly the claw scars on my torso; although they weren't made with silver, they will probably stay there forever. Well, not that it matters; the sluts I hook up with occasionally don't care how I look. My head is killing me, so today, my mood will be as foul as yesterday's.

I leave my bed; it's 5 am, I should be on the training grounds in an hour, and I still should prepare some breakfast for Trist. The only good thing Madison managed to leave behind here is a 12-year-old teenager with no sassy attitude, which astonishes me daily. Not that we can talk that much recently. He usually sleeps when I leave and is already in bed when I return home, but since he started school, I always make him breakfast every day.

Sitting in my wheelchair, I ride to the kitchen, handling a daily routine. We don't live in the packhouse, although right at the beginning, Alpha suggested it, I was too proud to accept. And I also didn't want everybody to know how bad things were between Madison and me then. Not that it changed anything or could save anything, nor could it ever reverse what I had done. Soon after my mate was gone, my uncle Preston forced me to move in with his family since they decided I was too destructive to be alone with the toddler. Well, they were right; I was drunk almost all the time. The only reason Trist was able to survive his early childhood was that my late aunt was taking care of him most of the time.

I don't like to think about that time; I got a grip somehow. It's not perfect, but at least it's bearable.

The slight knock on my door gets me to stop spacing out. Chen, the Beta of Howl Pack, enters my house and goes toward the coffee, as usual.

"How come you always know when I have coffee ready?" I complain as he fills a big mug for himself.

"How come you can always make some decent coffee, especially in this pill of trash your home is? My wife burned another coffee machine this morning. I have no idea how she has managed to do that again."

We chuckle as I finish preparing the breakfast for my boy, and my friend sits at my table. You may try to say that the kitchen is clean, at least almost clean, or maybe not as dirty as the rest of the house.