Stubborn Briella

I woke with a start. My sweaty sheets were twisted around my waist as I gasped for breath in the early morning air. It was the same thing every time. The same nightmare had haunted me since I was a little girl.

The death of my mother.

Swinging my feet to the floor, I grabbed my glass of water from my nightstand and took a drink to quench my throat. The early morning sunshine brightened my room enough that I didn’t turn on my light.

I rubbed my eyes with the heels of my palms and stared at my closed bedroom door. The sound of the pack rising and bustling around downstairs made me smile. I’d grown up in this pack. My father—the alpha—had too.

The floor was cool against my feet. The smell of breakfast from the dining hall made my stomach grumble. Snagging the clothes I laid out for myself, a T-shirt and jeans, I walked toward my bathroom and shut the door.

The person staring back at me looked more like my mother each day. Bright blue eyes and chestnut-colored hair. It was a constant reminder of her death. The missing person in our lives.

I turned on the shower and stepped into the warmth. My father requested I meet him this morning for breakfast in his office, which was rare. We normally ate with everyone in the dining hall.

Knots of excitement danced in my stomach. I’d completed my four years at our local university last week, per his request, and I was sure he wanted to speak about my place in the pack. About my ambition to become a warrior.

Female warriors weren’t allowed. They were the midwives, cooks, and gardeners. They only fought if our pack was ambushed, which was how my mother died. The feeling of dread from that night slunk down my spine like a snake.

She’d been cooking us dinner when the sirens rang out. I’d never forget her dropping her spatula and her blue gaze turning toward mine. She hid me in the kitchen pantry moments before our house was attacked.

I listened, shivering and crying, while they killed her mere feet from me. I stayed there for hours, too afraid to walk outside and face reality. Being six, I couldn’t have fought off a grown wolf.

However, when my father opened the door and pulled me into his arms, I knew. I knew by the shaking of his body, and the smell of his sorrow that mother was gone. I vowed that day, I would do anything to learn to fight.

I would protect the pack that my mother died protecting. If we were ambushed again, I would be amongst the wolves that avenged our pack. No matter what. And when my father finally found the rogue pack that killed her, I would rip their throats out one by one.

My father stood behind me through the years. He promised I would have a chance to train as a warrior when I completed my degree.

The time had come. My wolf was excited as I finished my shower, got dressed, and walked down the hallway toward my father’s office.

The door was cracked, but I knocked nonetheless.

“Come in.”

I slipped into the room, his spice and pine scent hit me square in the chest. “Good morning,” I said, noticing our breakfast sat on his desk.

His dark gaze shifted toward mine, and he smiled. His salt-n-pepper hair was disheveled which was off. He looked as if he hadn’t slept in days.

“Everything okay?” I asked, grabbing a chair and dragging it over to his desk.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, looking down at his plate. “I know you don’t like coffee. I had the cooks make some hot chocolate for you.”

I lifted a brow. “It’s ninety-eight degrees today, Dad. Are you okay?”

He chuckled but did not give me an answer. I felt something was off, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I sipped the goodness, despite the summer-time heat, and began on my omelet.

“So,” I said. “What did you want to talk about?”

Dad cleared his throat. “Do you have any plans today?” he asked. “Have you heard from the university about graduation yet?”