Chapter 2
1784 Words
OLIVER
“You’re the sweetest boy ever,” Mum would say to me, her arms circling my shoulders as if she feared I might disappear if she loosened her grip for even a second.My parents loved me. Fiercely. Unquestioningly.
And I loved them right back.
So why, then, did I leave with Rachel?
Why did I say yes, so quickly, so easily, when I knew, deep down, that walking away with her meant I would probably never see either of them again?
Because when she asked me, I didn’t hesitate. I didn’t stall. I didn’t think. I just nodded and said yes.
There are arguments one could make in my defence. Reasonable ones, even.
One could say I didn’t deliberately abandon my parents, that I was just a kid doing what his big sister told him to do, that I went with her because following her had always felt safe.
But they would be wrong.
Don't get it twisted, I don’t regret leaving Moonclave. I mean, there are nights I miss my parents so badly it feels like something is pressing down on my chest, squeezing until breathing becomes an effort. But never, not even once, has that longing been strong enough to make me consider returning.
Who would do that?
My memories of Moonclave blur more with every passing year, the edges softening like an old photograph left too long in the sun. Still, one thing remains clear: It was just a town.
There was a wide valley and a lake that reflected the sky like polished glass. There were houses, routines, traditions passed down so often no one questioned them anymore. But that was all it was, a town. No one dreamed of more.No one planned for anything beyond what had always been.
You ate. You grew. You found someone. You had children. And then, eventually, you died.
That was it.
Even back then, young, sheltered, and knowing nothing beyond Moonclave’s borders—I wanted more. I didn’t have the language for it, but the hunger was there all the same, gnawing at me quietly.
I remember listening to kids my age whisper about the world beyond Moonclave’s intimidating borders. Some said it was beautiful. Others swore it was vast but terrifying. A few insisted it was unsafe and wild.
None of that mattered to me.
All that mattered was that there was a world out there. And I wanted—no, needed—to see it.
“Ollie,” Rachel called, settling onto a stool beside me. “Ollie, how many werewolves do we know personally?”
I frowned, glancing at her. “Why are you asking me this?”
“Just answer it.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. About thirty, maybe.”
She nodded slowly, as if ticking something off an invisible list. “And how many more do you think are out there? Free. Scattered across the world.”
My confusion deepened. “Probably… two hundred? Probably a bit more.”
She stood then, turning to face me fully. Her eyes locked onto mine. “How many Alpha wolves have you met in your life, huh? Back in Moonclave and since you left.”
I knew where this was going.
And I wasn’t having it. Not tonight.
I walked past her into the living area. “I’m done talking about this. I leave in the morning. Let’s just, let’s put this behind us.”
“Ollie,” she called after me, “you came all the way here just to do nothing?”
I said nothing.
Arguing with Rachel was pointless. She spoke about my future as if it had already been written somewhere official, sealed and stamped. As if choice had nothing to do with it.
She moved closer, lowering her voice. “You know I have a human family now. If it weren’t for them, I’d take this step with—”
I shook my head. “I’m not taking any step. With or without you. Read my lips, Rachel. I am never playing some f*****g Alpha role. I’m nobody’s leader. What will it take for you to understand that?”
She glanced around, checking if anyone could hear us. “Ollie, you don’t get it. This isn’t about what you want. In Moonclave, the Supreme Alpha leads. Out here?” She paused. “You’re all we have. Like it or not, you’re going to have to start acting like one.”
I turned on the TV, my voice low and flat.
“I’m nobody’s leader.”
***** *****
🖤
Every werewolf is born with power, whether yellow-eyed, red-eyed, or blue-eyed. Not metaphorical power: real, tangible energy humming beneath the skin from the moment of conception. But more than a third of it stays locked away, dormant, waiting.
Waiting for fifteen.
At fifteen, a werewolf shifts fully for the first time, and that’s when it happens. That’s when you find out what you are. When you learn which of the three eye colours you carry in your wolf state.
Truth be told, everyone expects yellow.
Yellow is normal. Yellow is safe. Yellow is so common that some werewolves live full lives without ever seeing anything else. Yellow-eyed werewolves are Betas. The backbone. The majority. The ones who blend in so well they can disappear into the crowd without trying.
To the knowledge of werewolves worldwide, Agitus—the current Supreme Alpha—was the only living werewolf without yellow eyes. Ironically, the six Supreme Alphas before him had all been yellow-eyed. Moonclave law was very clear on the matter: if a werewolf with red eyes existed, they were meant to rule.Red-eyed werewolves are Alphas. Natural leaders.
And calling them stronger than Betas was an understatement, one bordering on insult. One Alpha could tear through fifty Betas without breaking a sweat, without even needing to tap into the full depth of their strength.
But in generations where no red eyes appeared, the strongest yellow-eyed wolf would take the mantle and lead Moonclave instead. When I turned fifteen, my eyes didn’t glow yellow.
They glowed red.
I can still see Rachel’s face as clear as day—her shock so complete it rendered her silent for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely above a whisper.
“You’re an Alpha, Oliver,” she said. “You’re an Alpha.”
So, yes. I was an Alpha.
As for the last eye colour, well, it kind of feels pointless to even mention it. Blue. Blue-eyed werewolves—Omegas. Known to be just as rare as Alphas; and telepathic, cunning, dangerous. Stories painted them like myths rather than flesh-and-blood creatures. I have never met one. Never heard of anyone who had.
Rachel stood up, already turning away, but not before delivering the parting blow. “If anything ever happens to me,” she said quietly, “to my family, or to even one random werewolf out there… just know you could have done something.”
From the moment the first of the thirteen deaths occurred, Rachel had been convinced I needed to act. Assemble the werewolves. Track down the hunters. Put a stop to it.
On paper?
Didn’t sound like a terrible idea. Except for teeny tiny issue.
Um, I… kinda don't want to.
I don't want to lead anyone. I don't want responsibility draped over my shoulders like a destiny I never asked for. That was the part Rachel couldn’t—wouldn’t—understand.
***** *****
I sat alone for over an hour before John joined me in the living room.
“Rachel stepped out to make some payments,” he said casually, grabbing two beers from the fridge. “Kids are in school. Seems like the perfect time for a drink.”
He handed me beer and dropped onto the couch.
“I’ve seen this movie twice,” he added, popping the cap. “Honestly enjoyed it more the second time.”
He talked. I nodded. I didn’t absorb a single frame of what was playing.
Money had never been a problem for me, but riches never interested me either. All I ever wanted was something painfully ordinary. A quiet life. A neighbour I could wave at through the window even though I hated how loud he was. I want normal.
That was it.
What I didn’t want was my entire existence flipping upside down just because my eyes glowed red. I wasn’t a leader. I didn’t feel like one.
“Have you ever been in love?” John asked suddenly.
I laughed, awkward and brief. “No. Not really. I’ve liked people. But nothing like what you and Rachel have.”
He finished his beer. “Maybe you’re not putting yourself out there. You’re what—thirty-two? You’re not too young to think about settling down. I was younger than you when Rachel and I got married.”
He took both empty bottles. “Trust me, Oliver. Time moves faster than we think. Give it some thought.”
I did think about it.
Not about kids—I loved them, sure, but I didn’t want any of my own. Adoption maybe, but even that felt distant. And biologically, I didn’t have many options anyway.
Male werewolves couldn’t procreate with humans. The gene didn’t work that way. Female werewolves could have human children, but for a werewolf to have a child, his partner has to be a female werewolf.
My twenties were filled with relationships I stayed in longer than I should have, hoping each one would turn into something real. Spoiler alert: they never did.
“Wanna play some video games?” John asked, heading toward his room.
“Yeah,” I said, noticing my phone. “In a minute.”
Thirty-five missed calls.Unknown number.
That was unusual.
I dialed back, and the moment she spoke, recognition hit me like water to the face.
“Am I speaking to Oliver Potter?” she asked.
“April?” I smiled. “I thought I’d never hear from you again.”
“So did I.”
“It's been what now, seven months?”
“A little more than that,” she said softly.
We talked for a bit. Then she said—
“I’m in a hospital,” she stated plainly. “Lightheaded. But I’m okay.”
My chest tightened. “Hospital?”
“I just… I just put to bed.”
My heart skipped. I told myself to be happy for her.
“I’m happy for you,” I said.
She sobbed, her pain paralysing me with sympathy.
“The baby’s yours, Oliver,” she whispered. “She has your eyes.”
No, I couldn't have heard that right. Did you hear that?
- Writer
