You Will Love Me

young 16 year old jasmine.

Chapter 1

My parents were deeply in love, a tale so often foretold by our ancestors that it seemed written in the stars. Yet, their love was complex, for they were werewolves who were not each other's destined mates, a concept that baffled me.

Christina, my mother, and Lucas, my father, built a family without the bonds of marriage, perhaps because the search for their true mates was an overwhelming task. They assured my brother Jake and me that our own mates were somewhere in this fateful world, ready to embrace our strengths and weaknesses—a stark contrast to the life they led.

Their choice seemed selfish. Why create a family when their soulmates were out there, potentially threatening to unravel it all?

My grandfather Marico, the alpha of the Moon Strike pack, consistently demeaned my father in meetings for his refusal to seek his mate, settling instead for a "worthless wolf who preys on lonely men," as he described my mother. With his silver, wavy grey hair, piercing blue eyes, and scruffy beard, Marico was robust for his age, his broad shoulders a testament to his physical prowess.

Despite his love for my brother and me, I sensed that we never quite met his standards or those of his pack, as he insisted that my father could not succeed him as alpha without a true Luna by his side.

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My phone alarm sounded off...

BEEPPPP BEEEEPP BEEP, it echoed, making the nightstand buzz like a rhythmic drum. I stretched out my hand, fumbling to silence my phone while sprawled on my belly, my head turned away from the room.

"Stupid phone."

My eyes flicked open, and I sat up to glare at the device. Sunlight slipped through the pink lace curtains, warming my skin.

I was plagued with thoughts of disdain for my phone, its irritating cracks, and its outdated features. Nick would mock it, dubbing it 'plastic.' Tears welled up, and each breath grew heavier, my chest tightening around my lungs, suffocating me.

I loathed it. I cast more blame on the phone than on myself.

I remember that day like it was yesterday, the day everything changed. We were driving down N15, the wind in our hair and the sun on our faces, with both Nick's parents. Nick was so excited about our upcoming hiking trip, but I was too busy capturing the moment for social media. He hated it, and we ended up bickering about my constant need to document everything. I compared my phone to Ashley, my brother's girlfriend, and Nick rolled his eyes, but I could see the hint of a smile playing on his lips.

Mr. and Mrs. Barkley were in the midst of their own argument about a forgotten lighter, a trivial matter that somehow escalated into a heated debate. Nick reached for my hand, his hazel-green eyes locking onto mine, and for a moment, everything else faded away. His wavy black hair danced in the wind, and his skin glistened like gold in the sunlight. But then, the car began to sway, and panic set in as Mr. Barkley struggled to regain control. Mrs. Barkley's scream pierced the air, warning of an oncoming truck.

The screeching of tires and the smell of burning rubber filled the air as the car collided with a rock on the N15 road. I felt the impact as if it were happening in slow motion, the airbag exploding and sending Mr. Barkley flying out of the car, while Mrs. Barkley recoiled and hit her head on the dashboard. I was wearing my seatbelt, but the force of the impact caused me to hit my head through the window, blood trickling down my face from the shattered glass. And then, darkness enveloped me.

In the aftermath, Mrs. Barkley recounted the events, revealing that Nick had died holding my phone in his hands. My therapist later explained that I had blocked out the memory of his death as a coping mechanism, a way to protect myself from the trauma. But now, as the flashback ends, the pain and loss come flooding back, and I'm left grappling with the tragic reality of that fateful day.