Raised Mateless (On Hold)

Chapter 17

The sun had just risen from its hiding place, banishing the dark to be replaced by light. Dakota and I stood at the edge of the training field – waiting. Trees surrounded the grounds as guards, claw marks along the ground acted as guidelines, and a rack of knives, small guns, and whips stood off to the side. 

"Day thirty-seven of training. How are you feeling, Koda?" 

I glanced down at my little boy, who wasn’t quite so little any more, and frowned. In the last month his once slim figure had bulked into a solid mass of muscle. Dakota’s hair was almost covering his eyes and he had grown the habit of walking without shoes – he outgrew them faster than my credit card could approve the purchases. If he went back to his grade school they would probably ask me to move him into the upper year classes with the ten year old boys.

"Momma, I’m fine," He smiled, his boyish features breaking free with the carefree smile, "Quit worrying." 

If only I could, I thought. Today Dakota would decide his weapon as an Alpha in training. It was a millennia old tradition for not just werewolves but all shifters; your choice of weapon in battle determined your ranking in war. Often, wars raged between shifters were fought first in the human form, and then continued with the use of their spirit animals. Guns were awarded to those who stayed near the back of the lines – back up or covering from the trees. Whips were often given to women fighters or those with quick reflexes, someone who were the footmen in battle but prefered a safe distance to calculate their next move. Knives were said to be the brave man’s weapon; one that can be thrown to defeat an opponent but may never be gotten back or forcing a person to face the risk at hand to hand combat, fighting face to face with another. 

When I was fourteen and receiving the same training, I found myself following into the category with the rest of our female fighters – a whip. Although, it was rare that an Alpha received a weapon, but it had happened in the past. 

The two of us walked into the freshly cut grass field, heading towards the gravel path that led to the opening of the training grounds. There stood the two men that had been the bane of my existence for years. 

Alan Peterson’s face had lost its boyish features only to leave a chiseled young man standing before me, with a look of faux innocence on his face – his eyes, though, still glowed in vile delight. I welcomed the familiar shiver of disgust that ran down my spine as his lips fell into a knowing smirk. 

Beside him Alpha Foster stood rigid and the usual stern frown he had, graced his chapped lips. In the past month the grey streaks in his hair began to fully cover whatever hair he had left. It was no secret the Elite Council were putting constant pressure on the aging Alpha but I still felt little to no sympathy for the man that had admitted he cared only for his bloodline to stay in high status and not for his actual grandson. 

"You’re both late." Alpha Foster snapped, a look of frustration passing along his eyes before settling back to their disapproving stare. "Unfortunately, I could no longer wait and Alan has already finished the process." 

I quickly glanced towards his hands to find his fingers grasping nothing, another sign he could be a true Alpha. A strong enough shifter does not need a weapon to defend themselves or their pack. Apparently, Alan was one of the strong ones now.