Chapter 6
Chapter
Six
My mom had pulled up a chair next to my study desk. While I stroked the canvas with my calligraphy pen, her soft gaze kept changing between my face and the canvas. The morning sun shone through the window above my desk, casting a soft glow in the room and illuminating Mom’s blonde hair like a halo.
Her hand patted my head, and she smiled. Her gesture reminded me of my father, but he patted my head when I was five.
“Mom, I’m fifteen. A bit too old for pats on the head, don’t you think?”
Her smile was as warm as the morning sun.
Mom’s scent carried everywhere around us—the sweet scent of blooming flowers.
Drawing flowers became my favorite thing to do.
Mom’s scent reminded me of her unwavering love for me and Dad.
Whenever Mom was around, a sense of relief washed over me.
While Dad was the lighthouse, strong, tall, and lasting, Mom was my guiding light, showing me the path.
We sat side by side in comfortable silence for another moment, basking in each other’s presence, but on the inside, I was a ball of twisted nerves.
Today was the transformation ritual for all teenagers in the kingdom.
It was a rite of passage, a big deal for the kingdom.
The King would guide them through their first shift into their wolves.
Because Dad was the ultimate Alpha, many parents from packs all over the country brought their kids to participate in this ritual rather than their own packs with their current Alpha.
When I woke up this morning, I wasn’t sure if I should participate in the ritual one more time. I thought the answer would come to me as I drew my calligraphy. But every time I imagined myself surrounded by the other young werewolves, I felt like vomiting.
“Since you claim to be a big girl now, I want to tell you about mates,” Mom said.
Mates? Mom knew this day of the year was the one that made me nauseous. Was she trying to distract me from my miserable thoughts?
“Are you about to give me the birds and the bees talk? No need for it because I’ve read everything on the topic from books.”
Mom’s quiet laugh made me smile, and my breathing turned lighter.
“You know, honey, I always dreamed of finding a man who would love me and treat me like a queen.” Mom chuckled. “And I did. Your father is the love of my life, and I want the same for you.”
Mom’s love washed over me—a comfortable, warm sensation as if I had snuggled under my heavy quilt in bed.
My parents had a solid bond. When Dad was about twenty-five and had just returned injured from the war against the vampire Queen, Mom was there to comfort him and bandage his damaged shoulder.
She came from a poor family—it was only her and her mom.
Five years later, they had me. My parents were living their version of happily ever after, and I was happy for them.
“I know, Mom. And you’ve taught me everything I need to know about love.”
“I know your father will demand you find your destined mate, but I want you to think about something. Whether you find your fated mate or not, I want you to choose someone who will love you just as much as your dad and I love each other. That man would be lucky to have you.”
It became evident to me how distinctly my parents approached the topic of mates. While Mom prioritized emotions and affection as the foundation of a connection, Dad insisted on being with my fated mate regardless of feelings.
I cast my eyes down on the canvas.
I hid my desire for a fated mate, even from Mom and Dad. Being gifted a fated mate would mean everything to me. Did Mom believe I wouldn’t be blessed with a fated mate? Was it the reason why she said to find a man, regardless of whether he was my fated mate or not, to love me?
“There is one more thing I haven’t taught you yet. The most important part of love,” she said.
“Seriously? How much more could there be? Wouldn’t I look into the lucky guy’s eyes and fall head over heels?” I stifled the scoff that threatened to come out by biting my bottom lip.
Mom laughed and shook her head slightly; with it, her blonde curls bounced and glimmered in the sunlight. Mom was a natural beauty. Even her wolf was the most beautiful in the kingdom.
“To love another fully, you’ll first need to learn to love yourself, honey. Even when you believe you’re not perfect.”
I didn’t want to be perfect, but it would have been helpful if I could shift, seeing I was born among supernaturals.
It would be amazing to meet my wolf—another part of myself that could protect and comfort me.
To know I’d never be alone. A subconscious part of me that could help me make better decisions.
I didn’t want perfection. I wanted to be like everyone else in the kingdom.
I frowned and pressed my lips together. I didn’t want to argue with Mom. I wouldn’t be given a fated mate if I didn't have a wolf.
The problem wasn’t that my brown hair, eyes, and small, curvy frame made me an average girl. The real problem was my DNA, seeing that I was a human. Humans could live their entire lives without meeting their other half.
But I still harbored a hidden hope that I could be a werewolf since my parents were supernaturals. Maybe I was a late bloomer.
“I’m going to the kitchen to make you your favorite grilled cheese sandwich.”
I only ate fruits for breakfast, not having much appetite in the early morning.
Smiling, Mom shut my bedroom door behind her, and I stood frozen at my desk.
Why didn’t Mom mention anything about the transformation ritual to me? Did she know it was too painful for me to talk about? Mom and Dad never told me not to go or attempt to shift.
“Anna.” Dad’s deep voice echoed from the other side of my bedroom door. “Get ready for training.”
My mouth fell open. Since Dad had to lead the transformation ritual, I was given a day off from training.
I wanted to shout that it was my only break, but I knew better.
There were no rest days for vampires or hunters—Dad’s words.
I made an effort to shut my mouth, but I continued to grind my teeth while I changed into my training gear.
There were two training grounds in the kingdom.
Dad met me at the one used by the younger warriors, the same one where the transformation ritual would be held later this afternoon.
The dirt crunched under my running shoes, dust splatting behind my heels.
Sand and stones, rough and unforgiving, layered the ground.
Training with Dad was brutal. I stumbled and fell more times than I could count, but he was there to pick me up and push me harder.
Every time I fell on the ground, I grimaced, not so much from the pain radiating everywhere in my body, but from the memory of Dad’s men spitting on the ground, their sweat and blood soaking the sand.
I inhaled deeply and took in the scent of something sour with an odd mix of salt and acid, reminding me of the smell of the air of a slaughterhouse.
After sparring, we moved on to the grassy area where Dad had set up a round wooden target on a tripod.
“You can do better than that. The vampire Queen won’t let you have practice rounds, Anna,” he would say while I ignored the sting of pain in my hands from drawing the crossbow.
As the King’s only heir, I was expected to inherit his throne, and with it, the expectation to finish the war Dad started twenty years ago but retreated as the vampire Queen gained the upper hand.
He said he and his werewolf warriors were unprepared for the indestructible vampire castle, the vampire Queen’s mastery of wielding the sword, and the vampires’ compulsion power.
She slaughtered many of Dad’s men before they could lift their swords at her as she took control over their minds, compelling them.
How was I supposed to continue the war on the vampires if I couldn’t even shift in the last transformation ritual?
But maybe, only if I could succeed today and gain a wolf spirit, I’d be able to complete Dad’s lifelong task for me and make him proud of me.
After I could not lift my arms any longer, my father brought out throwing daggers from his leather bag.
I groaned, and Dad shot me a serious look.
I moved my hand over my mouth in a zipping motion that made him smile.
Good. I hoped he would let me return to my room after a few throws.
My shoulder muscles burned with exhaustion.
“The training won’t be over until you hit the bull’s-eye, Anna,” he said in the authoritative voice he used on his Alphas.
He handed me a knife, its gleaming metal reflecting the sunlight. The weapon felt heavy in my damp palm. I took a stance with feet shoulder-width apart as my father had taught me. My grip was steady, but my shoulders were tense and tired.
As I brought my throwing arm forward, I extended it toward the target, flicking my wrist at the moment of release. The dagger sailed through the air, spinning all wrong, and faltered inches before the tripod target.
“You missed the target,” Dad said in a steady voice, stating the obvious.
Beads of sweat formed on my temples.
“Adjust your grip.”
I squinted at the circular target. “Did you move the target farther away?”
“Only by five feet,” he said, shrugging.
I stifled another groan. I tried again and again, correcting my aim, and failed to hit the target.
“Anna, the hunters aren’t merciful. They’re more likely to use arrows and throw daggers from a distance. You need to be able to do the same.”
I nodded and squared my shoulders again. The hunters mostly patrolled the nearby cities where the humans lived. But there were incidents when the hunters lurked in the forest.
I exhaled loudly and threw the dagger, spinning it in the air with just the right speed. When it hit the bull’s-eye, I jumped and yelped while Dad smiled.