The Luna's Contract

2. Free Soul

(CONAN)

Alpha - example, order, murderous gaze. To bear the Grey surname is an honor, a responsibility. Feelings freeze in the chest like an iceberg. One sentence flashes through my mind every morning - you must endure one more day. Every action is followed by the stern voice of my father Jordan as my mother Lillian gives me a look that shines with worry and concern. My youngest sister Hazel carelessly loitering in empty rooms and my brother somewhere far away, gone, forgotten.

My mind reels with my father's words - You have a month to find your mate, Conan. Otherwise, you will be forced to do it against your will. Our people need a strong couple who can manage, who understand rules and responsibilities. In my dreams, this scene comes back again and again...

Two long years of loneliness. Where is my mate? The girl who makes you gasp at first sight. A smile that lights up the whole day and a laugh that becomes the most beautiful melody. A woman whose beauty would be the envy of the Moon Goddess herself, and whose two small stars would adorn her deep eyes. Where are you, my love?

A deep sigh left my plump lips, a glance slipped out of the window towards the first rays of sunlight that were intrusively waking the sleeping city. I pushed my sleeping body with my hands, placing my bare feet on the cool floor. A faint touch of the surface and the drawer silently opened, I put on my dark tracksuit covering my tattooed body. White sneakers fit comfortably on my feet, headphones playing a relaxing tune, and languid steps towards the yellow bedroom door.

I walked towards the stairs leading to the first floor, the house was empty, not a soul around. I pushed open the wood door, a cold gust of morning wind blew in my face. The feel of the soft grass under my feet as I run in a circle around the house, which is surrounded by a high metal fence. A prison? No. In my father's words, caution, no shame. Grey shadows fall flickering underfoot. With each step the heart beats faster in the chest, drops of salty sweat glistened on the forehead, the numbers changed in the mind, following the circular count.

The lost number is a great excuse to finish my workout. A few steps, through wide doors, as sunlight illuminated the whole living room. There were two large black leather sofas, a glass table, and a vintage fireplace. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, throwing colored bunnies all over the room. Several wide wooden staircases, a left turn down a narrow pearly corridor, and the white door of the bathroom leading to the shower.

Cold drops raced down my body waking up my sleeping thoughts. Every muscle tingled as if reminding me that I was alive. In five hours, there would be much noise in this house, my parents had promised to come. A few products on my skin to make it glow and look flawless. I shut the water off, the towel found its place on my torso, my dark maroon eyes looked at the reflection in the mirror. Short yellow hair more like a dark sunset, a mole above my lip, plump lips, and a beard. Nothing fancy, nothing spectacular - just the real me, not fake.

A loud knock on the bathroom door cut a few deep creases in my face. Every morning exactly the same, it's f*****g crazy.

"Conan, enough with the shower, I want to use the toilet." Hazel's thin voice came from the other side of the door, full of impatience.

"Hazel, there are three bathrooms in this house, why do you need this one?" I shortened the distance between the doors with a slow step, my fingers turning the lock.

The door swung wide open, and my gaze fell on my sister, standing in her pink nightgown, her tangled light brown sun-kissed hair and sleepy green eyes. Hazel's hand instantly reached the level of her eyes, hiding her face from the image in front of her - me.

"Conan, cover yourself. This isn't a nudist beach." Hazel shook her head, took a step into the bathroom, pushing past me and sideways towards the sink.

Barefoot, I walked down the bright corridor, the corner of my lips quivering at the stupid behavior of my sister. Hazel was a few years younger than me, and we were very close when we were growing up, but when adolescence came our minds diverged. We still get on very closely, but we spend less time together. I walk a few steps towards the wardrobe. Dark grey jeans, a red t-shirt, and a white sweatshirt covered my body. A few rings and a bracelet encircled my fingers and wrist. I eagerly walked towards my favorite room in this big house. On the opposite side from the bathroom, at the very end of the corridor, a family picture hung in a gold frame. My fingers slipped down the yellow frame, carefully shifting the weight to my hands. A knob on the wall glowed, opening a secret room - my corner of paradise.

White canvas paintings lined up neatly at the edge of the wall, an easel standing by the window that opened onto a breathtaking landscape. The smell of paint, wood, and mint invaded my delicate nose and painted a broad smile on my face. I casually closed the door, knowing that Hazel would take care to announcement when my parents' footsteps reached the courtyard tiles. Painting is a way of escaping the tension that haunts each day like a dark shadow. My father wasn't too happy with my newfound passion, so he burned everything and threw it out the window. That didn't stop me, this secret room is where my soul can sing.

A silent melody left my lips, as a brush played between my fingers. A clean white canvas stared at me as if begging me to pour out my emotions and thoughts. Black, white, red, green - tubes of paint were thrown around, giving the room disorder and harmony. A blank canvas turned into a work of art before my eyes, with the wind coming in through the open window. It is so quiet that my ears can hear the birds chirping in the woods, which slowly sway behind the white window frames, not far away. The brush-painted the water in the glass a deep blue color, the fresh smell of paint was all around, and I found my place on the wooden floor of the messy room. My gaze drifted towards the dark ceiling, a broad smile shone on my face, and my thoughts wandered somewhere far away like free birds flying in the sky.

Freedom is the best feeling I can have in this house. When I took over my father's title, this home was mine now, my father and mother moved out, promising to visit me all the time. Closed, artistic, sporty, and a bit mysterious. Four words, and always just those, are how my sister Hazel describes me. I am not a party lion, a person who uses privilege to break others, or an attention-starved teenager. The values instilled in me at a young age are a little different from other werewolves in this city. Most live normal lives, studying, working, raising families, living normally. Only a few exceptional werewolves occupy somewhat lofty positions, but to be proud of that and to take advantage of it is low. Soldiers and doctors are the most valued in this city, so they have a bit more privileges than the like population.

Of course, my life was different from theirs. I didn't go to a public school - private tutors and teachers used to visit this house. Activities after school? Private coaches who were delighted to see me, a future Alpha and a boarder. Girls? A strict no. Parties, alcohol, and other harmful habits are forbidden for someone like me. To quote my father's words, there is no point in breaking my heart until I reach adulthood. The mind may indicate one thing and the inner wolf may want another. That's why s*x and girls haven't been in my life yet even though I'm in my twenties. My wolf deep in my chest doesn't seem to be in a hurry either.

The only explanation in my mind is that she is probably not yet eighteen. One day a year at the annual event that takes place in Snow Pack I hope to find her. It's a silly wish, but on that day the law and the title do not exist. Pure, true, and open - that's what love and the first image should be. Wanting to live with a person for the sake of title and wealth sounds particularly disgusting.

Long evenings in the park, in the library, sunsets by the sea - perhaps she is there. A free, calm, uninhibited soul who enjoys life. A woman who knows her worth, with a prickly character and a hard-to-get-to attitude. Although the pull of connection makes it hard to resist the mate bond, it is possible. Lots of little details which may not match, so diving into passion, bed, and life too quickly can seem like a mistake. Although the words my best friend often repeats about taking a first look at his life partner makes me feel lost. "When you see her, your world will stop, her eyes will enchant you, her smell will make you bow your head, and her beauty will make you believe in angels." True or false? It is hard to say when all this not happening in my life yet.

Tomorrow is the day when everything changes. I say a silent plea in my heart to meet her. All the suffering would end with one look. The monster lurking deep in my chest would become calm, feel safe and secure. There is nothing more painful than to change one's shape with each full moon. Broken bones, a scream stuck in the throat, trembling muscles, and tired minds. As good as it is to run with the wind, to feel the coolness in your paws and the strength in your body - it's debilitating. One exception, one hope. When werewolves mark each other, the choice opens before their eyes. It becomes a retreat and a chance to regulate the cycle of transformation, to become somewhat independent of the dark predator's chest.

A quiet knock on the door dispelled my rambunctious thoughts. Hands pushed my body off the floor, legs carried me towards my goal, I pushed the white surface, my gaze fell on my sister. The emotion that shone on her face was enough, everything was clear. My feet found its place on the other side of the threshold, the family picture found its place on the wall as the door closed. Hazel's footsteps echoed behind her. In my mind, the number of steps underfoot increased as we made our way towards the first floor. My fingers reached for the handle; my gaze drifted towards my paint-stained clothes. I cursed myself in my mind. A delay in opening the door might indeed bring anger to my father’s face, but these clothes smeared with paint, like a sin, will not bring a happy smile to his face either. The door handle clicked, a slight breeze rushed in, and my brown eyes went to the person standing at the threshold. Forgotten, returned, missed, and slightly hated.