Gabriel [Alpha of Wolves]

CHAPTER ONE |B E F O R E|

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My name is Phoenix Donovan.

I'm twenty years old, soon to be 21 in fact, the legal age of an adult in the United States. The rules don't matter in my case I guess. My family doesn't care about the rules, they don't follow the rules, the government doesn't matter to them. We live normal lives on the outside. We go to school, we play sports, we pretend to be upholding citizens in your average suburbia. The outside world has no idea who we really are – what we really are.

My father said it began a long time ago, a war between human and beast. He said his ancestors had always been fighting them, working to eradicate their race from this planet. They believed the world wouldn't be safe until every last one of them ceased to exist. For hundreds of years we have been fighting them, but we've never come close to wiping them out. At least, not until now.

"We have them cornered sir. Only a few more months and we have the necessary means to take them all out," Xavier, my fathers second in command, murmured. His arrogance was what my father loved most about him, and his intense desire to please him. Xavier lived to do his constant bidding and my father allowed it because he treasured nothing more than pure loyalty.

Roderick Donovan leaned back in his chair, pleased with himself. He had never been a patient man and his fulfillment to his fathers dying wish of finishing the job was finally coming into place. If he was a man who showed excitement, he'd be jumping with joy. But hunters aren't meant to be joyous, or show any emotion for that matter. We are meant to be cool and calculating, constantly on our toes. We couldn't show sympathy, couldn't allow for emotions to rule over us because it would get us killed. Control was our greatest power.

"Perfect," he said, giving me the look. I nodded, and quickly exited the room. It didn't bother me that he wanted to discuss private matters with Xavier, it was most likely for my own safety. I understood how this worked.

I was about to make my first appearance, my debut into the hunting world. There were rules in place to always assure are never in any immediate danger. Training hunters is tricky long process that requires only the best, fittest individuals. The cost/benefit relationship is very important to us so we must wait until they are sure we are ready. We don't make our first hunt until we are 21 so we are better equipped for battle. The younger we are, the more likely we are to be emotional, irrational, afraid. Fear is our greatest weakness and I learned quicker than most to eradicate fear from my mind. Although he had mentioned it to me, the reason behind the 21 rule lies within my father himself, or I guess my aunt. They say that I am the spitting image her. Long brown hair, golden skin from long hours outside, and tell-tale marker of a Donovan – golden eyes. She had been 16, the pride and joy of my grandfather. She was my fathers twin, they were inseparable. They made their debut and they went their separate ways vowing to see who could take down the most. Whoever won would reign over our empire. She had the training, was thought to have all the right qualities of a hunter, except she was full of compassion. She was weak. She was bitten. I've always been unclear on the details of her death, whether she died from the bite or – or if they killed her. Either way, it destroyed my father and he vowed to end them, and to never let anyone he loved suffer the same fate.

My entire life had been up built for these next coming months. I had trained long, hard hours, building the strength that I would need to take on the unnatural. That's what we call them - unnaturals. They didn't belong here. They weren't part of the natural world; therefore, we must perform our civic duty and protect our rightful claim of the earth.

"Phoenix," a voice called out, "I've been looking all over for you."

I regarded my older brother coolly. He looked nervous, sweat beading on his forehead. Christian had always been a nervous wreck, something father had always despised about him. He had a spineless son, an heir that could never preform. The eldest always was next in line, simply unfortunate for me. Some say he reminded them of our aunt, because he had compassion for the unnaturals. I think he was weaker. I could see the fear that lined his face whenever the war was mentioned, the look of terror in his eyes at the thought of coming into connect with the beasts. He was a disappointment to the family name and I never seemed to muster up the energy to pity him. He was twenty-three years old and still hadn't managed to kill an unnatural. He always came up short. My father had lost hope in him a long time ago. We had nothing in common and I simply detested making small talk with him.