My Alpha and His Companion

wondering how string and words come together so flawlessly and gain meaning. She rolls her eyes at me and continues to rock back and forth in her old, wooden rocking chair-one that my grandfather built before he pass

around us. I listen carefully, piecing together his face from the words she speaks and the worn photographs we keep in the hallway. Even though I can't remember his voice, I fe

as if she forgot I

out a choice. I had no say in the matter as it remains entirely genetic. Like my grandmother, I have the ability to turn, to shift into something wild, a creature

her children. Why our bones must break and reform just to show our true selves. And why, even

, though I do not remember much about those. It is a vague memory, as at the time I had other things to worry about, other problems to distract me. Though in

them since. My grandmother has taken care of me from then until now, raising me for over a decade, and for all these years the only r

under her breath, clutching an old locket that used to belong to my mo

to her like a distant voice. S

e a few scratches in the wood, but they are not impaired enough to make her toss them.

of our property like a fence made of living wood. When the sun begins to set and the sk

er before fleeing out the door and into the crisp autumn breeze. I suck in a deep breath of the relaxing aroma.

ow the trail that weaves through the forest. I don't always know where I'm going when I leave the cabin, but that's

l alive. If they remember me. If they miss me. The thought makes something sharp twist in my stomach. Over the y

y muscle in my body goes still, honed by instinct. The wind shifts, brushing

rabbit. Nothin

ter. The woods are safe, mostly. But

spilling gold across the tree limbs. I should head back soon, but part of me d

orest like it's whispering secrets to the rocks. I kneel beside it, dipping

t for a while,

in. The wind picks up behind me, carrying the scent of

pa

th. Then

en it'

unease curling in my chest. Maybe it wa

quicken

sky, I can see the soft smoke from our chimney curli

h

king about that fleeting scent. Like a s

chi

it