My Two Alpha Mates

Chapter 1: The Weight of Shadows

The morning light filtered through the dusty window, illuminating the once-vibrant room in muted shades. I blinked against the brightness, my eyes struggling to adjust. It felt surreal, as if the world outside had continued to spin while I remained frozen in time. Today marked another year since that fateful day, my seventeenth birthday, a date that now felt more like a curse than a celebration.

I swung my legs over the side of the bed, the chill of the wooden floor biting at my skin. Each step I took toward the bathroom felt like an act of rebellion against the darkness that had settled in my heart. In the mirror, I faced a ghost of the girl I used to be. The laughter and joy that once sparkled in my eyes had been replaced with a dull ache that seemed to seep into my very bones.

My home had transformed from a sanctuary to a prison. I remembered the way my parents would fill it with laughter, their voices echoing off the walls, wrapping me in warmth and love. Now, it stood silent, an empty shell that served only as a reminder of what I had lost. Every corner held a memory, a whisper of happier times that seemed to mock my pain.

As I splashed water on my face, I felt the familiar weight of responsibility settle on my shoulders. Today was training day. My mind raced back to the pack—the jeers, the sneers, the way they looked at me like I was less than human. Each session felt like a trial, a test of endurance where I always seemed to fall short. I clenched my fists, the anger bubbling beneath the surface, but it was always overshadowed by the heavy cloak of despair that wrapped around me.

Training should have been a distraction, a chance to hone my skills and reclaim a piece of myself. But instead, it became a battlefield where I was continually reminded of my failures. I had yet to shift into my wolf form, a rite of passage for my age, and the pack's taunts stung more than any physical blow. “You’re not one of us,” they would sneer, their laughter ringing in my ears like a death knell.

I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what lay ahead. I had never been one to back down from a challenge, but this felt different. I felt like a shadow of my former self, a mere echo of the girl who had once sprinted through the woods, carefree and wild. Now, I was a prisoner of my own mind, haunted by the specter of my parents’ deaths and the crushing guilt that weighed on me.

The memory of that day replayed in vivid detail, a relentless film looping in my mind. The chaos, the shouting, the fear etched into every fiber of my being. I could still hear my father’s voice, strong and commanding, urging me to run while he and my mother fought off the rogues. I had been frozen in place, paralyzed by the horror unfolding around me. The moment I understood what was happening, it was too late. My heart had shattered that day, and with it, the remnants of my childhood.

As I pulled on my training gear, the fabric felt foreign against my skin, a reminder of the battle I was supposed to fight. I wished I could just slip away, disappear into the forest that surrounded our home, where the trees stood tall and unyielding, unlike me. But I knew I had to face the pack, to confront the judgments that felt so deserved.

I made my way to the training grounds, each step heavy with dread. The sun had climbed higher in the sky, casting long shadows across the dirt. The pack members were already gathered, their voices rising and falling in a cacophony of taunts and laughter. I could feel their eyes on me, scrutinizing, judging.

“Look who decided to join us,” one of the older boys called out, a smirk dancing on his lips. “Thought you might finally show us your wolf. Or are you still just a little lost girl?”

The laughter that followed cut through me like a blade. I forced my chin up, refusing to let them see how much their words affected me. I focused on the ground, the earth gritty beneath my shoes, reminding myself of the strength that lay beneath the surface. I had to believe it was still there, buried deep inside.

As we began our drills, the movements felt automatic, each action a reflex born of muscle memory. But with every failure to shift, every stumble, the weight of my past pressed down harder. I could feel the storm of regret swirling within me, an insatiable beast that thrived on my pain.

“Why don’t you just give up?” another voice chimed in, venomous and cold. “You’re never going to be one of us.”

I stumbled, the words striking home. They echoed the thoughts that had plagued me for so long. Maybe they were right. Maybe I was weak.

As I continued to train, I realized that I was not just fighting against my pack; I was battling my own demons. The shame, the guilt, the feeling of inadequacy—it was a fight I had to win, not for them, but for myself. I owed it to my parents to find my strength, to honor their memory in a way that was more than just surviving. I had to reclaim the girl who once danced with abandon in the moonlight, the girl who was still buried beneath the pain.

With each passing moment, I felt a flicker of determination ignite within me. Perhaps today wouldn’t just be another day of despair. Maybe, just maybe, it would be the start of something new.

As I squared my shoulders and faced my opponents, I whispered a silent vow: I would not let them define me. I would find my wolf, and I would become the person I was always meant to be.