Once Loved, Twice Marked

I stared into the darkness of the forest, my werewolf eyesight allowing me to see everything in detail. The moon was bright out tonight, but the canopy of the trees all but blocked the light. I was making my way to a secret spot I had made my private sanctuary years ago. I had hunted for weeks for a spot just like this after reading The Secret Garden as a child. The idea of having my own secret place where I could feel somewhat safe and escape my aunt and uncle had appealed to me greatly. The spot I chose was among the hanging branches of a cluster of trees. It had taken me days to weave the branches with vines just right, the result had been a small canopied area that formed a tent of sorts. This spot soon became my home away from home. It was here that I would escape when my aunt started to get too deep into the bottle. Once she reached a certain point her anger surfaced. It had not taken me long to figure out that I didn’t want to be there when that happened. She would start with a bottle of vodka and about halfway through the insults would start. Three-fourths of the way and she would start to throw things and scream. Only when the bottle was completely drained did she actively seek physical pain. If I left before then I could escape the scars and bruises that would inevitably mark my body. I had learned to avoid and handle the abuse as much as possible while growing up. The werewolf gene helped me heal to a certain extent, but until my first full shift at the age of eighteen, my body would still bear the marks. My aunt had no trace of the werewolf blood in her genes. She was born human, as my mother had been. My mind drifted back to the past before my life went to hell. It was at a wilderness retreat that my mother and father met. My aunt had roped my mother into going for some bonding time. My aunt had just been through a particularly bad breakup and was on a screw men kick. It was a vicious familiar cycle where my aunt would date a man, go through a nasty breakup and then convince my mother that they only needed each other. She would then attempt to talk my mother into taking a girl’s trip. My mother was an amazing woman who would listen with a smile on her face, and then agree to whatever my aunt suggested. Some suggestions had included a cruise, hiking part of the Appalachian trail, and participation in a local warrior race. The woodland retreat had been no different. It was a weeklong scenic camping adventure that was led by a tour guide. Unbeknownst to the humans, the retreat was an income resort for the Northeastern Stone Mountain pack. The older couple that ran it enlisted the help of fellow pack members to take retreat members into the mountains where they would learn how to hike and camp out in the wild. The tour guide for my mother’s group was Allister Shaw, the top delta for her pack and her one true mate. He had taken things slowly throughout their weeklong trek through the wilderness. She had told me stories of that week when I was young, right before bed I would beg to hear about how they fell in love. My mother said it was all the small things my father did that made her fall for him. How a 12-year-old boy had gotten tired on the third day of hiking and Allister had carried him on his back, laughing and describing different flora to the young boy along the trail or how he had saved a young doe from the current of a river. My mother wasn’t the only one to take notice of my father’s good looks and loving heart. My aunt fell hard for him as well. She did everything she could to draw his attention from my mother, but she could not compete with the mate bond. When the trip was over my father wasted no time in telling my mother his true feelings. She went out with him that night and then never left. My aunt did her best to guilt trip my mother and attempted to seduce my father behind her back. It broke my mother’s heart that my aunt would act in such away. They fell out of touch for two years until my mother had me. My mother reached out to her in hopes of mending their bond so that I may have her in my life. It was laughable to think about now. My aunt only agreed so that she could get close to my father again. My first few years were happy ones with my parents. One night, my mother told my aunt about my father’s true nature when my aunt had broken down crying after getting blackout drunk, she had asked why she hadn’t been good enough for my father. My mother had taken pity and told my aunt that my father was a werewolf and that they were fated mates. Their souls were meant for each other. This seemed to appease my aunt, but her drinking escalated significantly after that. That’s how I spent the first twelve years of my life with loving parents and an alcoholic aunt. Everything changed two weeks after my birthday