Arla: White Wolf, White Witch

Chaos. The sound of jaws snapping. Snarling. Screaming. 

Arla’s parents had warned her to stay home and lock the doors while they left to help defend their pack, but as the clock ticked, the worry within her increased. She paced the living room and craned her neck to try to see anything out of the windows, but all she could see in every direction was forest.

The Apostle Ridge Pack, run by Alpha Anton, was a small pack by werewolf standards. Their remote territory sat nestled in deep, dense forest, giving the wolves the freedom to exercise and hunt undetected by humans. But right now, that isolation had fear prickling her skin, goosebumps rising, and her body jittery until she could no longer stay put. 

She knew her parents would be in the thick of the action. Her dad, Horace, was the pack’s Beta and was built to fight and defend, and her mother, Esther, would be alongside him. Arla knew that if her mother had to fight, she wouldn’t leave his side. 

She decided to risk it and make a dash for the packhouse. As she rounded the corner, she saw them. Witches. She had never seen one in person before - werewolves despised them and the feeling was mutual. As she shakily forced her legs to move up the steps of the packhouse, she wondered why on earth witches were there on pack land. 

Curiosity began to overtake the fear, and she hid behind a large pillar to watch the events unfolding in the town square. She spotted her mother and father standing in their rightful place next to Natasha’s parents, the Alpha and Luna. 

A male witch stepped forward, pointing his finger at Alpha Anton, who instinctively pulled his mate, Luna Simone, closer to his side.

“You!” the witch bellowed, his hand outstretched. “Your pack and my coven, we had a treaty. You ignored that treaty and executed one of my witches. My wife!”

“Your wife shouldn’t have been in my territory,” replied Anton with a snarl.

“It was an accident! You killed her without giving her a chance to explain.”

“Your wife shouldn’t have been in my territory,” Anton repeated, slower and in a more menacing tone.

It’s startling how just a few rash actions can change lives so profoundly.

The witch smiled, but it wasn’t the kind type. It was twisted, unhinged, full of pain. In the blink of an eye, he raised his hands and pointed straight at Luna Simone, shooting out a shard of ice.

Arla watched in horror as her father leapt bravely into its path, blocking the Luna. As he fell to the floor, clutching his chest, one more ice shard sailed through the air.

The witches finally had their vengeance.

Arla ran. She no longer cared about the danger, she needed to get to her dad. More chaos. More screaming. Arla could no longer be sure that it wasn’t her own screams she was hearing as she grew more frantic.

As her mother’s mournful screams echoed throughout the surrounding forest, Arla felt her skin prickle with awareness. She looked up to meet the intense green eyes of a retreating witch.

Their eyes remained locked and slowly, the witch nodded her head. Suddenly she felt her panic recede, and a strength surged through her, as though something hidden within her had awoken. 

Their connection broke when she sensed movement in her peripheral vision. Alpha Anton. She ran to her mother’s side, pressed her tiny hand into her father’s giant palm and gave him one final kiss goodbye. 

One rash decision from a cocky Alpha and one vengeful payback from a witch was all it took to unravel a happy existence. The loss of a mate is one of the hardest things for a werewolf to endure and in that moment, Arla knew that not only had she lost her father, she had also lost a part of her mother.