The Alpha's Shadowcat: A Fated Mate

Lucas Nox

When i wake up Cleo says “i can’t sense them they must be gone” and i look at a photo i have of me and my parents the last time i saw them 10 years ago on my 8th birthday i remember my mum telling me they would see me again soon i gave up hope when my 15th birthday rolled around and i had to shift alone without them.

When a wolf shifts she is meant to shift with her parents because it can be dangerous but they weren't there for me.

I get out of bed and i look at the clock it is 5am and i sigh and i have a shower and i hear my grandmother say “Silas we should've told her about them coming she is going to hate us” and i sigh and i shout “you better have my fry up cooking” and i hear my grandfather laugh and say “if she doesn't get her breakfast she will definitely hate us”The harsh morning light filtering through the thin curtains did little to dispel the familiar ache in my chest. Eighteen years old, and yet the gaping void left by my parents' absence felt as raw as it did a decade ago. "I can't sense them," Cleo, My Panther, murmured within the quiet recesses of my mind, her voice laced with a weariness that mirrored my own. "They must be gone."

My gaze drifted to the worn photograph on my bedside table. A younger version of myself, beaming with the unadulterated joy of an eighth birthday, stood nestled between my smiling mother and father. Ten years. Ten years since that last embrace, their whispered promises of a swift return echoing cruelly in my memory. Hope, a fragile seedling I had nurtured for years, had finally withered and died when my fifteenth birthday arrived, marking the dreaded day I had to undergo my first shift alone.

The primal instinct for a young wolf to shift alongside her parents was deeply ingrained within me. It was a rite of passage, a moment of shared vulnerability and strength, a safeguard against the inherent dangers of the transformation. But they weren't there. Just the cold, gnawing loneliness and the terrifying, unfamiliar sensations of my bones and sinews rearranging themselves without their grounding presence.

Pulling myself from the tangled sheets, I glanced at the digital clock on my nightstand. 5:00 AM. A heavy sigh escaped my lips as I headed towards the en-suite bathroom. The warm spray of the shower did little to wash away the lingering sadness. Through the steamy air, I heard the muffled voices of my grandparents filtering from downstairs.

"Silas, we should've told her about them coming," my grandmother’s voice, usually so comforting, was fraught with a nervous tremor. "She is going to hate us."

Another sigh, this one laced with a burgeoning curiosity, escaped me. "You better have my fry up cooking!" I yelled back, the familiar demand a shield against the confusing emotions swirling within me.

A hearty laugh rumbled from my grandfather. "If she doesn't get her breakfast," he called out, his voice full of amusement, "she will definitely hate us more."

Why would my grandparents think I would hate them for not telling me? A flicker of something other than resignation sparked within me, a tiny ember of anticipation in the vast landscape of my quiet despair.

The warmth of the shower faded as I stepped onto the cool tiles, the fluffy white towel absorbing the lingering moisture. I meticulously dried myself, paying extra attention to the ends of my hair before moving to the sink. My toothbrush whirred, chasing away the sleepiness clinging to my taste buds. A quick glance in the fogged mirror confirmed I was presentable enough to face the day, and with a final swish of water, I left the steamy bathroom behind.

My feet knew the well-worn path to my wardrobe. The familiar creak of the door hinges greeted me as I swung it open, revealing a kaleidoscope of colors and textures. "Alright, Cleo," I murmured, my voice a soft question in the quiet room. A gentle stirring beneath a pile of folded sweaters announced her awakening. Her sleek, black head emerged, intelligent amber eyes blinking in the dim light. "I know exactly what we should wear, listen closely," she purred, her voice a silken whisper in my mind. "Dark teal wide-leg trousers, a cream-colored soft knit sweater, and simple gold stud earrings."

A smile touched my lips. "Perfect choosing," I replied, my fingers already reaching for the suggested garments. Cleo always had impeccable taste, a silent stylist who understood my moods and the subtle nuances of the day ahead. The soft knit of the sweater felt comforting against my skin, and the weight of the trousers was reassuring. The gold studs added a touch of understated elegance. Satisfied with our collaborative effort, I headed downstairs, the familiar scent of frying bacon and sizzling sausages filling the air.

My nan, her silver hair neatly pinned back, stood by the stove, a warm smile gracing her lips as I entered the kitchen. "I can see Cleo helped you today," she chuckled, her eyes twinkling with knowing amusement.

A shadow crossed my face. "Why were they here?" I asked, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air. 'They' always meant the pack members, their presence an unwelcome intrusion.

Nan sighed, her smile fading slightly. "I will explain later, okay? Your fry up is getting cold." She gestured towards the table laden with breakfast.

Reluctantly, I let the subject drop for now. The aroma of the food was tempting, a small comfort in the face of my unease. I sat down at the table beside my grandad, his weathered hands wrapped around a steaming mug of tea. "She worries too much about what other people think," I muttered, picking at a crispy piece of bacon.

Grandad chuckled, a deep rumble in his chest. "I've been telling your grandmother that since we were kids," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. His unwavering support was a constant in my life, a silent reassurance that not everyone concerned themselves with the opinions of others.

I sighed again, the weight of unspoken anxieties settling in my stomach. I ate my food in silence, the familiar flavors a muted experience today. As soon as I could politely excuse myself, I headed outside, the crisp morning air a welcome change from the stuffiness of my thoughts.

The sudden shrill of my ringtone startled me. I pulled my phone from my pocket and saw Frenchie's name flashing on the screen. Another sigh escaped my lips. Frenchie, my perpetually late and often reckless best friend, was undoubtedly calling with some dramatic news, usually delivered with little regard for the rules of the road.

I answered the call. "Where the hell are you?" I demanded, my voice sharper than intended.

"Coming down your road now, did you know that…" His voice was loud and slightly distorted, punctuated by the sounds of traffic.

"Stop ringing me while you're driving," I snapped, my patience wearing thin.

"b***h," he retorted, but there was no real heat in his tone. The line went dead a moment later. True to his word, a moment later his battered Honda Civic screeched to a halt in front of my house.

"Guess what?" he exclaimed, his eyes wide with excitement as I got into the passenger seat.

"What?" I asked, bracing myself for whatever outlandish story he was about to unleash.

"There is a new pack in town," he announced, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper.

I stopped fiddling with the seatbelt, my attention instantly captured. New packs were rare, their arrival often disrupting the delicate balance of the supernatural world we inhabited. Frenchie, oblivious to the shift in my demeanor, continued.

"Yeah, I was shocked too when my dad told me. Apparently, the Alpha's son will be attending our school."

The news hung in the air between us, heavy with unspoken implications. A new Alpha's son at our high school? That was a recipe for disaster. We talked about it the entire way to school, speculating about the new pack, their intentions, and the personality of this mysterious Alpha's son.