Choosing Fate

Artemis POV

         People always fear what they don’t understand, what they don’t know- what’s different. You would think growing up amongst supernatural beings, I’d be surrounded by open-minded individuals, people who are accepting of differences. Maybe they were before the plague- the infamous Fated Plague.

         About thirty years ago, werewolves all over the world were becoming ill and dying. Sickness is common in the human world, but it’s rare for supernatural beings. Werewolves, vampires, angels, demons, fae, witches- I’m sure there are more- are all supernatural beings. Although each race tends to keep to themselves, we all lived in some form of harmony before the plague.

         When the plague began killing werewolves left and right, they refused to blame their precious Moon Goddess. Why would she punish her own, right? The Fated Plague targeted werewolves who had sealed a bond to their Goddess-given mate. Something so horrific must be the work of some other being because the Moon Goddess would never hurt her own children, right? At least that’s what werewolves in my father’s pack believed. I soon learned werewolves were hunting down witches, thinking we had cast some kind of spell on them.

         The Fated Plague killed tens of thousands of werewolves, and as a result, just as many witches were hunted, wrongfully accused, and killed as well. My mother tried to reason with our pack; she was a witch after all, and our father fell ill to the Fated Plague. Why would she want her own mate to die? I learned then that people don’t see reason when all they want is revenge.

         Our pack used to admire my parents’ bond because it was so rare- a werewolf and a witch. They celebrated my twin sister and me when we were born as hybrid twins. Yaya and I had the best of both worlds. We could shift to our wolf forms, and we had the ability to conjure magic. Yaya is an enchantress, she can cast spells and gets her strength from the elements. I’m an elixirist, I make potions and tonics of all sorts.

         Our mother, Constance, was a compassionate woman who used her magic for good. She would heal and bring joy to the pack. She even tried to heal our pack members who fell ill to the plague, yet they still believed she only did that to cover her tracks as one of the creators of the plague. They created a narrative about our mother, claiming that she put a spell on our father, Dawson, and made him believe that they were fated mates. They claimed our mother started the plague and used a fake bond with our father to gain access to our pack so she could kill them all.

         I laugh thinking about how stupid they were. Fucking idiots. Our Alpha was the biggest idiot of them all when he ordered our mother’s execution. His mate, our Luna, died from the plague and he literally led a witch hunt throughout our entire territory, forcing my mother, Yaya, and me to run. We lived in caves and even tried to hide amongst humans, but they always found us. One day, our mother decided to give me and Yaya a chance to live; she made us run without her.

“It’s me they want, and I’m becoming too weak to run anymore,” my mother strained as she coughed up phlegm and blood into her hands. Her skin had lost its warm glow and was now ashen. Her lips were chapped, and she lost so much weight.

         “We are too young, Mom. We still need you.” I begged her to keep fighting for a little longer. Yaya had her knees pulled into her chest as she cried silent tears.

         “Children will always need their mother, no matter how old they get. But you are both old enough to live without me. You have each other. Always fight for each other,” she instructed me sternly, Her eyes glowing a fiery orange.

         “I promise, Mom.”

         “Good. Now…Go!” She pointed to the door of the crappy motel room we had been hiding in. Yaya and I gave her one final hug, grabbed our backpacks, and then we ran.

         We were only fourteen at the time.

         Yaya urged me to run away with her, but I wouldn’t abandon our mother like that. We hid in the trees across from the motel where we watched as our pack broke into the motel room. Yaya managed a simple cloaking spell so they couldn’t find us. Even in the face of death, our mother held her ground. They beat her despite  being too weak to fight. I held my hand over Yaya’s mouth to muffle her sobs- her cloaking spell wasn’t strong enough to conceal any noise we made.

         We watched them tie our mother to a cheap, wooden chair. Then, our Alpha arrived. He stalked into the motel room. He reached for the blade he kept on his hip pulling it from its leather sheath. I swallowed what felt like a boulder when I saw the glint of the golden blade against the dim lights of the motel room.

         Silver is a werewolf’s weakness; gold is a witch’s. Most don’t know this fact because witches keep this secret close to their chests. Our pack only knew because of our mother. They knew how painful gold was to the touch, just like silver burns a werewolf’s skin and flesh.

         Yaya covered her eyes, but I couldn’t. I watched as he tortured my mother, slicing her open slowly. I watched as she fought the urge to scream as her skin burned. 

            I watched, and now, I hate them. 

            Eight years later, I still hate them all. Every werewolf. Every ignorant Alpha. It was just a means to an end to agree to work with Bram for the last couple of years to help kill Alphas and take over packs.

         Yaya didn’t want revenge to the same extent that I did, but she would never leave my side. Even now, she is chained in a cell across from me. The silver chains burn our skin because of our werewolf genes. We have been kept down here for months; held prisoner, harassed, and embarrassed. The cycle continues, but not for much longer.

         I keep my ear pressed to the stone walls that surround me. I wait for the familiar tapping. The full moon is a few days away and these stupid howlers will be too busy looking for their mates again. Stupid.

         Some things never change. You’d think the plague would cause all these moon-lovers to run in the opposite direction of the full moon and fated mates. Following the plague, nobody found their fated mate, their soulmate, for over twenty years. Our parents’ generation was the last to have fated mates. But, somehow, they are back. And I have caught whispers that more people are finding their fated mates. Once again, werewolves are blinded by their desire to find their soulmate. Oh well, makes my escape much easier.

         I shuffle my feet in the loose dirt and grime that covers my cell floor. Still no sign of him.

         “Artemis?” My sister calls out to me from her cell. Her back is to me, and she is curled into a ball, wrapped in the thin sheet, they call a blanket. A growl leaves my lips knowing she is struggling and losing her will as each day passes.

         “I’m here, Yaya,” I say gently. I wish I were strong enough to break out of this cell. She’s too weak to use her magic due to the herbs they’ve covered her cell with, and the silver bindings suppress our wolves too. We are essentially human now.

         “How are you?” she asks as she turns around to face me. Her small cot creaks as she shifts her weight. Her curly hair is a mess around her face and her orange eyes are puffy and tired. I haven’t looked in a mirror in months, but since we have similar features, I’d imagine I look worse for wear.

         “I’m magical,” I say in an uplifting, sarcastic tone. We both crack up and share a laugh.

         That was something we heard our parents say when we were kids. Our dad would always ask our mom how she was feeling after a long day, especially once he got sick. Our mother didn’t want to cause him further stress by saying she felt scared or sad. She would always tell him she felt magical, which was even funnier given she was a witch. It always made our dad smile and lighten his spirits. Yaya and I adopted that same tradition once we were on our own. It was our way of keeping our parents’ memories alive.  

         “Stay that way. Wake me up when they bring our food down. I don’t want to deal with that mullet-haired idiot again,” she seethes as she rolls over again. The Beta of Red Mountain Pack. He has been our most recent tormentor for the last couple of weeks. He and his pink-haired, Alpha brother are first on my list once I’m out of here.

         Them, and the rest of this pack.

         Not much longer.

         Tap…Tap-Tap…Tap…