The Wilford Wolf

The jarring sound of the alarm clock was abruptly silenced as it met with an unintended forceful blow. The remnants of the timepiece were scattered across my bedside cabinet and floor, a stark reminder of my latent strength. I sat up reluctantly, dismissing the covers off the bed. Monday mornings, truly a universal dislike, weren't they?

Trying to clear my foggy mind, I looked as lively as a zombie. I managed to drag myself out of bed, shower, blow-dry my hair, and brush my teeth. I threw on my day's clothing—baggy jeans, an oversized top, a loose jumper, and trainers. My hair was twisted into a neat bun and minimal make-up applied. I gazed into the mirror at my reflection.

The sight was disheartening. An eighteen-year-old girl, whose once sparkling eyes were now dull grey and lackluster. The baggy clothing concealed her fit and attractive figure. This was me—the girl lost within her own attire. This camouflage was my protection for the past four years, marking me distinct from the rest of the pack and subjecting me to ridicule. Underneath the light makeup, the remnants of a black eye from a locker slam incident were still barely visible.

Isn't my life a ball of joy?

Grabbing my pre-packed school bag, I descended the stairs, dropping the bag near the front door. My breakfast awaited me on the kitchen table, a bowl of cereal paired with a cup of tea. As I began eating, my mum entered the kitchen, greeting me with a warm hug.

"Happy Birthday!" she beamed.

I had entirely forgotten. Today marked my eighteenth birthday—four years since my life took a turn for the worse as a Wilford Wolf. Without a mate, despite our strength, speed, and intellect, we are potential prey for rogue werewolves who bear an intense grudge against our kind. I say "we", even though I'm the only one. The only ones in the know are my parents and our pack's Alpha.

"Thanks, mum," I managed to mutter, my voice devoid of cheer.

"Darling, please try to lighten up. It's your birthday, and I can't bear seeing you unhappy," my mum implored.

"I'm sorry," I replied, "Where's dad?"

"He's meeting with the Alpha. They had some business to discuss," she answered.

She handed me a birthday card with £100 tucked inside. I thanked her, glancing at the time and realising I needed to leave. Raindrops were falling outside, so I slipped on my raincoat and shoes, slinging my bag over my shoulders. I stepped into the rain, pulled the hood over my head, and set off to school.

I was prepared for an onslaught of teasing today. As per common knowledge, I was yet to shift, two years overdue, and was treated poorly for this delay. As I was halfway to school, the rain intensified, creating puddles alongside the road. The rhythmic sound of the droplets hitting the pavement filled the air as I kept my head low to shield my face from the rain.

Just as things seemed to be routine, they worsened. A massive puddle lay beside the pavement as I heard a car accelerating from behind. The driver honked, causing me to turn just in time to see the car splashing into the puddle, drenching me in water. I recognised Griffin's car as he sped away. The Alpha's son, the main instigator, was the reason for my widespread ostracisation.

I sighed, shivering in the cold March weather of England. I continued to school, now even more of a spectacle. The entire school, exclusive to my pack, was well aware of my predicament. The laughter and sneakers filled the air as I hurried inside.

The familiar chorus of taunts, the stinging insults, the hateful comments echoed around me. The torment they inflicted was profound, yet I never allowed my emotions to surface. Despite the pain, my emotions remained locked away. I recalled a time when these hallways were friendly, when greetings were exchanged instead of harsh words, a time when popularity wasn't dictated by the Alpha and his followers. Those days were a distant memory.

Upon reaching my locker, I quickly unloaded the books I didn't need for my upcoming classes. With a sigh, I locked the locker and was about to pick up my bag from the ground when I felt a sudden, brutal force. A hand gripped my hair and my head was slammed against the locker, leaving a small dent and a spray of blood across the locker door. I crumpled to my knees, clutching my throbbing head. Griffin and Lewis' laughter echoed in the hallway as they left me alone.

"Just perfect," I muttered to myself.

Although my wound would heal in a few minutes, to maintain the facade of being an omega, it had to seem as though it would take at least a day to heal. I swiftly grabbed my bag and dashed into an often-empty girls' bathroom. I secured the door behind me, tossed my bag onto a cabinet, and examined my reflection. There was a cut just above my left eyebrow.

Rummaging through my bag, I pulled out my make-up kit, which now doubled as a first-aid kit. I was no stranger to this routine. I meticulously cleaned the blood from my face and around the cut. I disinfected the area and could already see it starting to heal. Unfortunately, that meant skipping my first-period class to allow the healing process to complete before reapplying a false wound with make-up.

With a sigh, I reflected on my birthday morning - already injured, and I doubted they even remembered my birthday. I slumped down next to a sink. Why was my life so complicated? Why had the Moon Goddess selected me for this unique path? Why was I different?

Hunched over my schoolwork, I found myself gnawing on my pen as I drafted a history essay about Nazi Germany.

"The Treaty of Versailles spurred the rise of the Nazi Party due to German resentment towards the democratic government..." I murmured, forming my conclusion.

History was a subject I enjoyed. Noticing it was five minutes before the end of the period, I hastily packed my things. The cut was fully healed, so I got to work creating a realistic-looking injury, concealing yesterday's bruise and adding a couple of butterfly stitches. Why was I allowing this? Why was I letting them treat me like this?

Seeing my eyes flare to a vibrant silver in the mirror, the hallmark of my anger, I took a deep breath and slowly returned them to their usual grey. Packing up my make-up kit into my bag, I unlocked the bathroom door and made my way to my History class. If I was the first to arrive, I could avoid Griffin.

Unfortunately, Griffin and his cronies were in the same class. By the time the bell rang, I was already at the classroom door, retreating to my usual spot in the back corner.

To my surprise, neither Griffin nor his gang showed up. Perhaps they were occupied with some pack business. Either way, their absence meant I was free from torment, at least for this period. Halfway through the class, while I was busily taking notes, a knock interrupted us. A year seven student handed a note to the teacher before promptly exiting. The teacher read the note.

"Gianna, you're needed in your art classroom immediately, regarding your coursework. Please leave your essay on the desk," the teacher instructed.

In a hurry, I gathered my belongings and exited the classroom, dropping my history essay on the desk as I left. I was puzzled, wondering why my art teacher would want to see me considering I consistently achieved top grades on all my pieces.

Making my way through the hallways, I arrived at the art classroom, knocked and entered. I placed my bag near the teacher's desk, but there was no sign of him. Why would he call me here and not show up? Then I heard it-the audible breathing of five individuals.

Inhaling deeply, I recognized Griffin's distinct scent, a mixture of woodland and alpha dominance. Realization dawned on me - it was a set-up, a trap. Hastily, I tried to retreat to the door only to find Lewis blocking it, smirking. I backed away and was suddenly pelted with water balloons filled with various paint colors. As the onslaught continued, paint ran down my hair, forcing it to slip out of its bun and splattering over my face. Once the barrage ceased, I lowered my hands to find them laughing hysterically.

"Just look at you. Much improved," Griffin sniggered.

Seething with anger, I lowered my head, knowing my eyes were likely shifting color.

"How dare you? I despise you, Griffin. You'll rue this day, every bruise and cut you've inflicted. I promise you, your life will become unbearable. I LOATHE YOU. I despise all of you," I finished my tirade, calming myself.

I could feel my eyes reverting back to their normal shade. Suddenly, I was hurled against the wall behind me. I gasped as the wind was knocked out of me. Griffin was charging at me, his eyes pitch black. He seized me by the neck with both hands, lifting me off the ground. Pressed against the wall, his grip tightened, making me squeal.

Should I retaliate with my powers? Should I shove him away? No, he wouldn't kill me, I just needed to endure. As my airway constricted, I began to gasp for air, feebly attempting to loosen his grip. The burning sensation in my throat intensified, my gasps becoming more desperate. He looked furious as his grip tightened further. The agony and burning sensation escalated, my body instinctively fighting for survival. My vision started to blur, black spots appearing.

"Griffin. Release her. You don't want her blood on your hands. Your father would never forgive you, regardless of her disrespect," Lewis intervened calmly.

My vision worsened, black spots outnumbering the clear areas. I continued to gasp, each effort futile. As darkness encroached, I felt myself slide down the wall, collapsing onto the floor before blackness consumed me...

When I regained consciousness, I was still lying on the art room floor, surrounded by pools of paint that had dripped from me. No one had bothered to help me. I dragged myself into a sitting position, leaning against the wall. My throat was incredibly sore, and touching it caused intense pain. It had been two hours, and the pain hadn't subsided-this was a serious injury.

I crawled to my bag, surprisingly free from paint, and hastily wiped the remaining wet paint from my hand. Retrieving my phone, I dialed Alpha Kendrick.

"Gia. Are you okay?" Kendrick's concerned voice came over the line.

"Alpha. Help me," I rasped.

"Hold on. I'm on my way," He responded, hanging up.

I crawled back to the wall, leaning against it. My voice was hoarse, and I could barely speak. Time crawled by until the door burst open. Kendrick assessed the situation, his eyes widening at the sight of me.

Kneeling in front of me, he lightly touched my neck, causing me to wince. His eyes filled with a range of emotions, shifting from care to a stormy black as his rage ignited.

"I'll make him pay. How could he do such a thing to a fellow pack member? I've taught him better. He almost took your life," Kendrick grumbled with seething anger.

As if I were weightless, Kendrick scooped me into his arms. He slung my bag over his shoulder, deftly navigating us out of the school unnoticed. He gently placed me in the backseat of his car and drove me home. Upon reaching my house, he lifted me once more, carrying me up to the front door. As the door swung open automatically, I saw my dad's worried gaze.

He carefully handed me over to my dad, giving my bag to my mum.

"She needs to clean off the paint and rest. Her neck and throat need to heal. I won't let him escape punishment. This is a step too far," Kendrick declared with a venomous tone.

My dad responded with a solemn nod, watching as Kendrick sprinted to his car and sped off. It seemed Griffin was in for some retribution. Giving me a tender kiss on the forehead, my dad carried me upstairs and gently set me down in the bathroom. I stood there, my feet wavering.

"I'm so sorry, darling. If I could, I'd make him pay for the torment he's put you through. I regret the necessity of protecting you from rogue attacks and I'm truly sorry this happened on your birthday," my dad whispered sorrowfully.

After sharing a comforting hug, my dad left me alone. I took a shower, watching the paint rinse off and swirl down the drain. Afterwards, I slipped into warm pyjamas and climbed into bed. School was out of the question for the rest of the week. As sleep overtook me, I reminded myself: I just had to endure for nine more months.