Celestial and the Alpha

Chapter 1: Alone

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Celeste's POV

Twelve years had passed since that awful night. The night that took our whole life away. The night that took Dad away.

Our once decent-sized group had dissolved over the years. The first year, we begged packs to take us in. I remember a few kids being separated from their parents, a few packs offering to take in the 'guaranteed innocent' but wouldn't take their parents. Many cried, parents and kids alike. I refused to separate from Mom. I remember at first she was insisting that we would find a pack to take us both but a few months in and she was begging packs to take me. By then we had run out of packed food and were relying on hunting and foraging. I'm sure we looked sickly. Nonetheless, I refused. I screamed and would even bite people if it came to it. I refused to leave Mom. As the years went by, the remaining kids I grew up on the run with met their mates. They were taken in by whichever pack their mate belonged to, an agreement amongst most wolves worldwide. Some people found family; their families begged their alphas to take them in. They agreed, some reluctantly and some easily. Still, no one was willing to take all of us. Eventually, we gave up on begging packs for shelter and learned to create it as best we could as we wandered for food and safety.

We also faced rogue attacks throughout the years. Though we are rogues ourselves, these rogues were feral. There was no talking to them. They stayed in wolf form and slaughtered mercilessly.  Mom learned early on that sleeping in trees was safest, so that's what we did. Mom and I split off from the remaining very small group over a month ago, they were insistent that I was a burden and they refused to protect or feed me anymore. Mom, of course, refused to let me go alone; even if it was more dangerous for her now.

Mom has always been a strong woman. She told me stories of how she helped build our home when she was younger and about how she used to kick Dad's butt in training some days. All of that was before the attack though. With the loss of Dad, she was weaker. Mated wolves are bonded down to the very core. If one feels pain, the other will know. But if a mated wolf dies, there's a large chance of the other dying too. They could get sick and wither away. Mom didn't. She lost a lot of weight and muscle in the first year and she never gained any of it back. I could no longer remember her without bagginess under her eyes or a hollowness to her cheeks. It saddened me. I truly and fully believed that she managed to hang on because of me. I know she misses Dad and many times over the last few years, I've prayed to the Moon Goddess, telling her that it was okay for Mom to go too. Sure, I'd be sad but Mom was a walking and breathing ghost. She deserved rest. Nonetheless, I was grateful for every day by her side. I love her. She's all I have.

At the age of 18, I find myself overly disappointed with myself. I stopped growing once I hit 5', a short stature for wolves. Mom stood at maybe 5'7"? She was probably about average height for a female werewolf. I first heard my wolf at 14, two to three years later than most wolves first hear theirs. And while the other kids all started shifting at 13, I didn't first shift until 16. I was teased mercilessly for this. I was told that I was probably just a lowly human. I was told that the moon goddess was punishing me for an array of reasons. I was told that my wolf died and that I was left to suffer a miserable life. I never let Mom know of any of this. She told me that I was a runt and that, while she wasn't expecting it, she still loved me. She said that in her childhood pack, there were two runts and they were just like me; delayed shifting and short stature. I loved her for the reassurance. She was always worried about me not loving myself, despite my runt nature. Perhaps that's why I didn't tell her about the abuse the other kids had put me through.

Between the abuse and the random rogue attacks, I'll admit I've gotten pretty skittish. I'm spooked by little noises such as twigs breaking or rocks being kicked or distant howls. Originally, I tried to pretend like everything was okay. Footsteps getting nearer didn't mean I was in danger. Until it did. Until the other kids, particularly one kid, realized what I was. A runt. They pretty quickly decided that I was useless, a burden, and an abomination. And after they realized that I didn't trouble Mom with the truth, the abuse got worse. Harsher. More often. There were moments where it was better but by then the fear was already installed in my brain.