When I was a child, I was easily fascinated by the idea of mates. Plainly, it might have seemed like just another love story—how a mate discovered their other mate and they fell in love—but I liked it. Probably because I was always waiting for my own time to come—for the day when I could stare straight into my mate’s eyes and let myself fall in love.
It was certainly considered weird of me for liking such things. Little boys did not usually like these kinds of things, but I would always wait patiently for my mother to tell me another mating tale.
“Honey,” Mom said, “why don’t you join your brothers?”
I wondered why she asked that because I knew that my mother knew me so well. She knew I wasn’t into video games, soccer or any of the stuff my brother and their friends did.
“No,” I said, “I want to know what happened to Estella.”
She sat down on the chair in front of me and stroked my ruffled hair back and forth. I looked up to her as she smiled and said, “Where did I stop, sweetheart?”
“Estella. She found her mate—Jared, the beautiful schoolboy? But she hides from him, and things go wrong.”
“Yeah,” Mom sighed. “Are you sure you want to hear this? This is quite a sad story for you, Jordan.”
I could only nod enthusiastically.
“Let me make sure you get this straight,” Mom said. “This story is not actually made up. It’s your Grandma Stella's, Jordan. She hid from your grandpa before they met.”
I couldn’t believe this. My grandparents were like the sweetest couple I’d ever seen. Even now, after decades of marriage, they were like young lovers (Mentally and physically—since, immortals didn’t really age.)
“Poor Grandma,” I said. “But she and Grandpa made it. To marriage, I mean.”
“Yes, but she regretted everything she’d done. She even told all your aunts to not do the same because hiding from one’s mate has terrible consequences, darling.”
I let the silence pass before I asked Mom another question.
“But Mom,” I sighed, “there wouldn’t be much difference even if Grandma Stella didn’t come out of hiding, would there? They were still meant to be together.”
“No, sweetie. If our mate knows our presence, there will be lots of differences. Once the males acknowledge their mate's presence, the bond will develop. This is how mates are connected. It also depends on how strong the mate bond is between the two. If it isn’t strong enough, the male mate may not know at all that the female is actually near him. You know that some shifters are mateless, don’t you, sweetie?”
Mateless was a term we used for any werewolf who hadn’t found their mate for a very long time. Being mateless was considered the biggest misfortune to befall immortals, especially among the shape-shifters. Since werewolves contained two separate halves in one creature, we believed that we bear half of our mate’s soul while our mate held the other half of ours. Some half mortal/half immortals, like half-human half-vampires, held the same beliefs. This also explained the mate bond. Our life would not be considered as complete until we had met our mate who held the other half of our soul. An immortal would also be considered mateless if their mate died. If your mate died, you would never be able to live the same way because half of your soul would be missing.
“So if my mate hides from me…I’d be mateless. Is that true?” I asked.
“It depends on how strong your mate bond is. Most of the time mate bonds cause a strong attraction—a deadly tie to your heart. This bond will usually drive you to find your mate.”
I knew then, I didn’t ever want to be mateless. Some teen wolves who’d thought they’d fallen deeply in love believed they didn’t need a mate, but Mom told me that the love we felt for our mate would be different. Marriages and relationships were only temporary and could be broken if werewolves had discovered their mates.
Years had passed, and sometimes I still found myself thinking about Grandma for days after Mom told me about her mating discovery. I knew I would never want to fall in love with anyone but her—my mate, my one true love. She could have been somewhere around the world or here in La Cove. She might even be thinking about me too at the moment.
I promised myself that I would wait for her till the end of time. What if I dated someone and she was actually there watching me? I didn’t want to break her heart since she was the one who deserved to be by my side. She was the one who had the other half of my soul.
* * * *
Most of us were already sixteens and seventeens of age, and the adults still thought we were seven inseparable friends. The Alpha had actually given our clique a name—he called us "The Little Pack". (Really, it made me want to puke.)
I had never felt like I was a part of that group, but the grown-ups like to think so. Since I was born small for my size, they thought it would be safer for me if I was surrounded by these big buff boys—it would provide me better protection if I went everywhere with them. From what, I’m not sure. My mother was one of them who assigned my brother to keep an eye on me. That’s why I was stuck with them.
I’m sixteen fucking years old but I still have babysitters.
As usual, we gathered together at a tree house my father built at the edge of the neighborhood to wait for the bus. A few of the boys were shape-shifting, getting ready to go play deep in the meadow; some of them took out a chessboard and played sleepily, and others, like my brother, were leaning on the wooden wall taking a nap. I was reading a book like usual.
Callan was struggling hard to fight his morning drowsiness. I guess that’s why he suddenly came over to talk to me.
“Hey Jordan,” he yawned, “what are you reading?”
Callan was one of the kids in The Little Pack who was my age. He and Rick was the Alpha’s son.
“Er . . . The Host?” I answered him. I blankly handed him the book even though I knew he wasn’t interested at all. No one in the group was interested in the things I liked. Everything I did was different and everyone noticed. No one in the clique read novels, so when they saw me holding one they were curious about why it was so interesting. Unlike the other boys, I rarely got texts and when I did they always wanted to know who it was. I never went out on dates like they did and if I even talked to a girl they would freak out.
“Is this a sequel to Twilight?” Callan asked, noticing The Twilight Saga logo at the bottom of the book.
I rolled my eyes. “Nope, it’s written by Stephenie Meyer, the author of The Twilight Saga.”
“Oh. Is there anything about us inside?” he chuckled.
“No, there’s no Jacob Black inside, only aliens,” I responded.
“Oh, okay,” Callan said. Shortly after, he wandered off to another spot and I no longer cared about what he was doing.
Stanley had already awakened from his nap and was watching Jace play chess. My brother looked a little drowsy; I didn’t know how he could focus on the game.
The bus was still nowhere to be seen, so I leaned my head on the wall and opened my book and—
What the fuck?
MOLE
I stared at the handwriting on the title page of the book. A flame of rage lit up inside me.
That motherfucker—
Jace. Of course.
Jace Andrews. I hoped the asshole would just die—just literally die, decay into the ground and be eaten by pests until he became nothing.
He was the ‘Alpha’ of the clique. Everyone worshiped him like he was a living Greek god or something.
Among the werewolves, the grown-ups had predicted that Jace would be the next pack leader. He was physically and mentally strong—he’d won Wolf Combat, an annual werewolf fighting game, several years in a row now. He would always put on a sweet polite face in front of the adults that made me want to punch puppies. The girls prayed every single day that they would be his mate.
Things weren’t that different among the mortals.
At Bloomingdale High, Jace was known as the most attractive guy in school. I heard he’d dated the entire cheerleading squad and had them crying because he wouldn’t commit to any of them. Currently, he was dating Heather, another sexy chick that was considered every man’s dream girl. Jace was too fucking sexy even had some of the teachers vying for him. He’d gotten on the Honor Roll several times—the teachers loved him for his intelligence. Everyone knew him as Bloomingdale High’s star quarterback, President of Gay-Straight Alliance Club, the school’s Honorable Mathlete and the Head Representative of the Anti-Bullying Club. Here’s what they didn’t know.
He was an endless nightmare. Every time I saw him I wished he didn’t exist. Or I wished I didn’t exist because he did. It was painful just seeing his face. Since we were little kids he had liked to push me over until I fell, called me names, taken my books and thrown them out the window, screamed at me in front of my friends, made fun of me and humiliated me and—
God, I need a break.
I was turning sixteen and I was determined not to let him do these things to me anymore. I had the courage now to stand up to him. I’d rather be punched to death by him than to have to hear the catcalls and suffer the humiliation caused by him again. Never. Again.
But then everything changed.
It was a nice Saturday morning. During the weekend the boys would always hang out at my place because my mom would cook something nice for breakfast and they would dine together with my family. I woke up a little late, after the sun had risen, so everyone was already downstairs eating my mom’s delicious blueberry muffins. So I simply cleaned myself up and took a shower. When I was done taking my shower, I tried to reach for the towel and—
And it was gone.
I walked out of the shower and found that all of the folded towels in the bathroom had disappeared. I tried not to panic and assumed that no one would be in my bedroom. Everything would be fine; I would just get a towel from my dresser. They’re all downstairs.
With water dripping down my body, I walked out of the adjoining bathroom into my bedroom and ran toward the dresser.
The room felt oddly breezy and I realized the door was ajar.
Jace and Nathan stood in the doorway, laughing.
“Oh my God, there is a freaking mole near his dick!” Jace shouted.
I could feel my face heat up. I took one of the bed sheets closest to me and covered up my crotch. I didn’t care if Mom was going to kill me if she found out that the bed sheet was wet because I was dying of embarrassment.
“Give me back the towel,” I groaned, looking stupidly at my feet. C’mon, stand up for yourself, punch him in the fucking face, I thought. But I couldn’t move. I was frozen and trembling and my face was getting warmer.
I don't remember how it ended, but I was very angry at myself for not having the courage to stand up to Jace or at least try to kill him.
“Hey, Jordan, why don’t you open up and show us the mole on your dick?” he shouted when I’d finished cleaning myself after P.E.
“Mole,” Jace said as I got on the bus.
“Tiny black spot, mole, mole, mole, on the dick, on the dick,” he sang to me in front of some girls at the cafeteria in an attempt to humiliate me.
The mole grows older on your dick, was the sixteenth birthday wish I received from him.
“At least he wished you well,” my brother said when he found out about it.
But books were my priority. I’m sure my brother Stanley remembered how terrible of a tantrum I had thrown when Jace had taken my novels and flung them out a window a few years ago. I had locked myself up in my bedroom and skipped meals the whole day—my dad had to pound on the door to get me out.
Now, Jace hadn’t just blemished the book, he ignited the fire of pain from the most humiliating incident that’d ever happened to me in all the sixteen years of my life. I couldn’t stand this—I needed to do something to let him feel what I was feeling—irritated and annoyed.
I wanted him to know how angry I was, only this time I wouldn’t pussy out.
I stood and walked up to him. Jace was on the wooden floor in the middle of the tree house, playing chess with Nathan. The first thing I saw was his butt in those tight jeans.
My heart started to race, and I could already sense voices of doubts in my head. He will kill you … don’t do this …
But I had enough. This was the perfect time because no one noticed I had already approached Jace from behind. I took my hands up high, despite the hesitant that was bewildering in my chest.
Then I slapped Jace Andrew on his ass, so hard that I felt my hand burning from the impact. I crossed my arms over my chest, watching as he stood with wrath and confusion burning in his eyes.
Everyone had their eyes on me. I didn’t care—this was a moment I’d always been waiting for.
He walked closer to me and I held my breath and stayed where I was without trembling.
“What the fuck did you—”
I squeezed my hand into a fist and punched his nose as hard as I could. He almost fell down, but Rick and Callan had a hold of him from the back.
Suddenly, the voices inside my head came flooding back. What was I thinking? I was very small and weak and I was no match for Jace. The rage disappeared once I saw blood coming out of his nose. All that determination was replaced by a sudden fear. This couldn’t be happening.
He’s going to kill me now.
I jumped out of the tree house and ran.
I landed on the ground hard and my spine was jarred by the fall. Fighting the pain, I sprinted into the meadow, going deeply into the forest. I turned around and—
Jace was less than a feet from me.
Fuck, how did he get here so fast?
We were actually almost in the heart of the meadow. Strategically, I turned left, but it was useless when Jace Andrews was the one who wanted to kill you. I kept on running; the wind was strong against my face it felt like it was pushing me back.
Two strong arms wrapped tightly around my chest from behind and sent us rolling down a hill.
He struggled to not lose hold of me as we trundled down—I could feel his anger and muscles twitching with the desire to punish me like he wanted to kill me with the crushing hold of his arms. Once he stopped us from moving, he shoved my chest on the grass so hard that my heart felt like it was going to be crushed by my rib cage. I could feel his hands slapping my face; his fists were hitting my forehead so hard that I felt like blacking out.
He groaned, “Do—not—mess—with—me.”
Each of those words was punctuated by an attack from his strong hands.
But when I saw his eyes, everything felt weird.
The pain started to go away. His face made my heart relax and pump hard at the same time. The heaviness in my chest felt lighter.
You are—you’re so—so—fucking beautiful.
He was still hitting me hard with his hands. He really wanted me to die. He really wanted to torture me and all I wanted was—
All I wanted to do was to reach out and kiss him. I wanted him all over me and to tell him how sorry I was. I wanted to cry into his chest because his body felt like home and his warmth was all I needed to live.
This is damn weird.
I was pretty sure I was hallucinating from brain damage caused by him. But things got sillier when he stopped hurting me and stared straight into my eyes. Something was streaming inside my system; something extremely beautiful but unreachable, something that was so solid but indefinite.
I tried to brush these thoughts away, but the more I’d tried, the more it came.
That’s when I was certain about everything.
“You brat,” Jace groaned. I didn’t move when he stood up. “We missed the bus because of you,” he said again.
I tried to say something, struggling hard to beg him not to leave me, but I couldn’t.
When he walked away, a new kind of tension had started to build up in my chest.
When he was gone, I sat up and stared into the earth, my mind empty.
The heaviness was back.
I screamed.
I yelled and shrieked like doing so would actually turn back time. I don’t know why I felt the need for time to turn back because everything was pointless.
He’s mine. He’s the one.
I closed my eyes and tried to think of anything else. I tried to imagine sexy, naked strippers crawling on my bed toward me to fulfill my erotic desires. But I couldn’t see any naked strippers. I only saw him—completely naked, approaching me.
He’s the only one I desire.
I wanted to die. I didn’t want to believe it was him.
But it was really him. Nothing could change this and that sucked balls.
* * * *
Once when I was a little child, I asked my mother the same question an infinite number of times.
“How do you know when someone is your mate, Mom?”
She sighed and looked at me; she had the same expression on her face when I last asked her the same question.
“You’ll just know, sweetie.”
“But—that’s not—”
“Trust me, you’ll know someday.”
I had never believed that ‘someday’ would happen. But it had, and it had just happened.