Inner - Female Alpha Story

Chapter Two

"Out of suffering
have emerged
the strongest souls,
the most massive characters
are seared with scars"
-Philosopher Khalil Gibran

     Ten years earlier

I held my face with both hands, trying my very best not to laugh and give away my position. Mr. 'Big and scary' had just taught me the art of stealth, and my new mission was to make him regret it. He indicated that it was for emergency purposes, but that kill joy couldn't have fun if it was roped to his face. I squeezed my small hand against my mouth tighter when I heard the startling sound of incoming footsteps. The voices in the hallway got louder as their proximity increased. "You're only a year post training and already setting an example. Great job with the perimeter watch idea, the amount of rouges that have tried to cross over has been exponentially lower."

"I appreciate that, Sir." The conversation seized for a moment, making me think that they left.

"Have you seen Avalyn lately, Xavier?" A small giggle escaped my lips, my eyes widened in surprised at the accidental slip. I enclosed my mouth, hoping they didn't hear it.

"No, I think she's been sneaking into the matts lately though." How did he know about that? I mentally huffed stubbornly. I'm never trusting those guards again.

"What was it you were teaching her last class? Stealth?" Daddy asked.

"Yes, she caught on quite quickly." My fathers feet crossed the desk I was hiding under and I held in my small laugh. He paused for a moment but soon sat down on his big chair. I heard him open a drawer and pull out his knife. He always had it on him, it never left his side. Daddy says it protects him. I heard him flick it open and slide it gingerly on the desk, careful not to leave a mark.

"Is that so? Hm..Maybe we should go and find her, I hear her next class is soon."

I crawled out from under his desk and jumped onto his lap laughing hard. "I'm right here, daddy!" My bright smiled reached my ears. I looked up at Mr. Big and scary and stuck my tongue out at him. He let out a short chuckle.

My father laughed and kissed my forehead. "There you are, Ava." He closed his knife and held it up to me. "Well, now that you're here, I suppose I can teach you a few things with this before Xavier here steals you away from me."

Our last name 'Hunter' was etched into the steel handle. I took it from his hands and examined it. "Like how to use it?" I replied questioningly.

"Among other things." He said.

I smiled happily and he kissed my forehead before standing me up onto the floor.

People say the beginning is the worst, that the initial shock is the unsurpassable. When everything hits you for the first time. That overwhelming foreign feeling of loss. I've found that untrue. It's once the denial and shock passes, once you come to realize that it's not a dream, or a nightmare. Once you register that you're awake, and the blood on your hands is not just a figment of your unconscious imagination. When you finally understand that they aren't going to wake up, that they're gone forever. That no matter how rigorously you shake them or how loudly you scream their name through your trembling lips, they won't answer. That hollow feeling that is left in you, that's the worst.

I washed the cracking, dried blood off of my hands, my entire body shivering. The red watered down liquid drained through the sink leaving splotches of crimson stain on the white porcelain. I looked up at the mirror to see my face covered in blood. His blood. My breath was erratic, my chest heaving. I'm a Hunter—I've been raised to defend and protect. My family is the core of my existence—without a family, without my pack, I'd have nothing to protect, no reason to defend. Now he's gone, he's gone and I have no one left. All that was left of the blood that had once flowed thick and scarlet in his veins was clasped in my callused fingers. Grabbing the soap, I aggressively rubbed my hands trying to remove his haunting remains. I splashed water onto my face over and over again, but the blood didn't go fully away, neither my aching anger.

Frustration boiled in me and I screamed, smashing my fist against the mirror, cracking it, sending glass flying across the room. One of the sharp pieces landed in my arm and without flinching, I angrily pulled it out.

I patted my pockets for the knife I had taken from my fathers lifeless body as they pulled him away from me. I knew he couldn't just sit there to be continuously drained of his blood. His face had already been a frightening grey shade by the time they dared to intervene between him and I, but I was most definitely not allowing them to take the knife.

I drearily chuckled to myself, he never went anywhere without that damned scrap metal. It would be the only thing he had in his possession during his untimely death. I flicked the sharp steel tool open and noticed that this knife, and my memories were all that I had left of him. I hugged it to my chest and squeezed my eyes shut, refusing to cry anymore.

A pained hiss left my shuttering lips as I felt the familiar stinging behind my neck once again. I crouched down, picking up one of the shattered pieces of mirror. Holding it up, I aimed it at the back of my neck. My eyes squinted once I focused on the cause of my discomfort. A scar, no bigger than the size of a few quarters was carved. Two connected swirls actively fizzed before my eyes. I palmed it but immediately retracted my hand as I felt the stabbing pain it inflicted. A wolf having a scar was a near impossibility and the pain one must go through to leave one was absurd. Many of our most active fighters don't even have visible damage, so I didn't understand what could've possibly caused it. Furrowing my brows, I dropped the sharp mirror to the ground and hid the scar with my hair.

Knowing I couldn't hide here like a scared child, I wiped the tears from my face and walked out of the bathroom. Just as I turned a hard corner in the long hallway, I heard my name called out.

"Avalyn."

I stopped in my tracks before turning around. I surprisingly came face to face with Sihnon—a high elder in our counsel. He specializes in our history. As a child, I would call him our glamorized librarian. In less liberal terms, of course.

"Look, I know—"

"If you know so much, then why don't you explain to me what the hell went wrong?" I explained boisterously. After a long silence, I sighed and apologized for my misdirected outburst.

"I understand, but you must follow your fathers advice Avalyn, focus your anger."

I turned to the bench pressed again the wall that held holsters used for storing mobile weapons. I secured one around my thigh and placed my fathers knife in it.

"Where are you going?" Sihnon asked.

"Focusing my anger." I responded before walking out our front door.