Page 1 of Fated Alpha Protector

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.”

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