Kelly

Thirteen

By my thirteenth birthday, the little cottage in the woods had become more my home than the house I was technically supposed to live in. Beta Joseph had turned a blind eye to my permanent move, and for the most part, Aunt Charlotte seemed relieved to have me out of her sight. Her house was apparently cleaner, her temper was calmer, and she could focus all her energy on Caleb and Noah - Caleb who was growing into an arrogant young man that acted first and thought second, and Noah who Beta Joseph said was becoming more of a thinker like him. I noticed it at school where Noah was more likely to question and be unbiased and Caleb would go in claws out before understanding the situation. It was getting Caleb into more and more trouble as each year passed. Beta Joseph had given up trying to keep him in line, realising that Aunt Charlotte had too much of a hold over him. He had sat Caleb down multiple times - each time he got in trouble - and told him that he was risking his Beta position by acting this way. Even the Alpha's son had pulled back from him after stern words from his own father. I often found he and Noah together in the library doing homework together. Noah is very smart and has a mind for strategy. I think Beta Joseph was ready to announce Noah as his successor already. He would have to do it soon since Beta training needed to start for Noah by the time he was 13.

Marcy and William still checked in on me regularly, their visits were the only bright spot from the pack outside of Doctor Harris. But his visits were strictly work.

The day of my birthday, I woke up to the sound of a gentle tapping on my cottage door. I had spent the morning in my greenhouse, singing quietly to my flowers, whose blooms were unfurling in a spectacular displays of colour. The tapping came again when I didn't answer the door quickly, a little more insistent this time. I opened the door to find Beta Joseph standing there, a small, flat package wrapped in plain brown paper in his hands.

"Happy birthday, Kelly," he said, a rare, genuine smile gracing his lips.

"Thank you, Uncle Joseph," I said, my heart swelling with warmth. I had started calling him that a year ago, and though it had been awkward at first, it now felt natural.

He held out the package. "This is from your grandmother."

I stared at it, my hands suddenly feeling clumsy. My grandmother. My Mama's mother. She lived in the main pack settlement, a place I rarely ventured. She had made it clear from the day I arrived that she wanted nothing to do with me just like Aunt Charlotte. My Mama had been an embarrassment to her. She had chosen to mate a "low-born" wolf—my Daddy—and had left their pack to live in a smaller, more remote one. In her eyes, I was the living legacy of that shame and dirty blood.

"I… she sent this for me?" I stammered, taking the package. It was light, and I could feel the hard edges of something rectangular inside.

"She did," Beta Joseph confirmed. "I'm as surprised as you are. I think it might be a peace offering of sorts. Alpha David had a word with her."

I carefully unwrapped the paper. Inside was a small, leather-bound book. The cover was plain, but as I opened it, I saw that the pages were filled with a sturdy paper for painting. A journal. A beautiful, expensive artist's journal. Tucked inside the front cover was a note, written in a spiky, elegant script.

For your drawings. Perhaps you can put your energy into something useful. - Grandmother.

It wasn't warm. It wasn't loving. But it was acknowledgement. It was something. A lump formed in my throat. "Thank you," I whispered to Beta Joseph, my vision blurring slightly.

He just nodded, understanding in his eyes. "There's one more thing."

I looked up, and he gestured toward the trees. I followed his gaze, and my breath caught. Standing there, watching me from the shadows, was the massive grey wolf with the scarred snout. He was bigger than I remembered, a presence of quiet power and observation. He had visited me sporadically over the years, always at a distance, a silent guardian at the edge of my sanctuary. I had named him Storm for his storm-grey fur.

"He's been watching over you," Beta Joseph said, his voice low. "For years. He's not from our pack. He's a loner, but he's no threat to us."

"Who is he?" I asked, my heart fluttering with a strange mix of fear and familiarity. The wolf's yellow eyes met mine, and I felt a jolt of recognition, a pull that I couldn't explain. I took a small step towards him, my eyes never leaving his. He didn't move. He just watched me. I looked at him and thought about my Daddy's stories about the wolves who had lost their packs or their mates and roamed the lands. He always said they had the saddest songs and I could feel the sadness from this wolf. I reached my mind out, trying to connect with him, to offer him a feeling of comfort, of safety.

I pushed the thought toward him, pouring all of my sincerity into it.

For a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then, a voice, deep and resonant, echoed not in my ears, but in the very center of my mind. It was like the rumble of thunder far in the distance.

I gasped, stumbling back a step. Beta Joseph was at my side instantly, a steadying hand on my arm. "Kelly? What is it?"

"He… he talked to me," I breathed, my eyes wide as I stared at the wolf. "In my head."

Beta Joseph went still. He looked from me to the wolf, a calculating look on his face. "Telepathic communication outside of pack," he murmured, more to himself than to me. "That's not a typical trait. But it's a strong skill."

The wolf, Storm, dipped his head in a slow, deliberate nod. Then he turned and melted back into the forest, disappearing as silently as he had appeared.

I spent the rest of the day in a daze, my mind replaying the feel of the wolf's voice in my head. That evening, I sat in my little cottage, the journal from my grandmother open on the table before me. I picked up a piece of charcoal and began to sketch. The lines flowed from my fingertips, effortless and sure. I drew Storm, his scarred snout, his intelligent, watchful eyes. I drew the forest around him, the dappled light, the ancient trees. I poured all my confusion and awe onto the page, and as I drew, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. This was my language. This was my truth.