Blue Moon » Stilinski

Thirteen

            Our species. When did I begin to think of myself as more of a monster than a human?

            I am not a monster I am not―

            “We form a league,” she says suddenly, standing too tall in my shrinking humanity; I feel like this house is changing me. “The alpha pack disbands into smaller, more manageable packs. Each pack with their own alpha… and their own betas. Being an alpha is not set in stone.”

            It takes me a minute, but I eventually understand what she’s implying. Why there’s a cold, serious mask on her face. “You can’t seriously be suggesting that we turn alphas back into their beta form. Death would be preferable― and more merciful― than shifting them back.”

            I remember once, when I was twelve, Ben took me on a trip to Quebec. It was arranged for us to be staying with a local pack; the alpha had some kind of connection to Roxanne. I faintly remember Ben’s lecture in the car about foreign policy in werewolf politics or something like that, his voice rising and falling like the mountains outside of the passenger window. I was too excited about leaving the alpha pack― if only for a brief time― to care much about what he was saying.

            I should have listened to every word he ever told me.

            We stayed in Quebec for two weeks. The pack that owned the house was only made up of six members― two of which were children who were not of shifting age yet. During the days, I would spend hours sitting at a wooden table with Ben and the adults of the Canadian pack. They would talk about alliances between packs and disputes that had broken up among regions and a spike in the number of werewolves killed by hunters. Ben would elbow me in the side whenever I zoned out― which was quite frequently― but I found it was hard to focus on politics when you were twelve and there was a whole world to explore, waiting behind a single pane of glass.

            The scent of pine trees was much more appealing than spending hours in a stiff, straight-backed chair.

            Then, the day before we were supposed to leave, I was finally allowed to wander free. If I had been thinking of more than just sitting down by the river and watching the birds fly overhead, I would have run far, far away. God knows I was never allowed to be by myself.

            But I wasn’t thinking of anything more than the river and the birds― I barely even noticed the alpha of the Quebec pack behind me. It wasn’t until his claws slashed my shoulders open that I realized the danger. I was still learning how to control the shift, and I remember desperately trying to get my claws to extend. He lashed out again, and I dived to the side, his claws barely brushing my abdomen.

            “It doesn’t seem fair,” he growled, voice thick around his fangs. “So much power for someone that doesn’t even know how to use it― someone who doesn’t even want to use it.”

            The moment blurs together in my mind, warped by fear and the overwhelming desire to survive. All I can really remember is blood running into my eyes as he descended on me, and Ben coming out of nowhere to smash into him, a flurry of claws and fangs... but I remember everything that happened after in perfect clarity.

            “Please,” the alpha begged, cowering in the middle of a dark room, and all I could hear was his voice whispering threats in my ear. “Don’t do this! I’ve been your alpha for years! You know me― you know who I am!”

            “I’m not so sure I do anymore,” the second-in-command said, voice behind bared teeth. “You have violated the rules of this pack and have endangered the life of another. You are no longer fit to be alpha.”