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How come my mate is now a married man?

Only fate knows. Maybe the circumstances are to blame, or maybe I just should've been more persistent. But it’s hard when you're not the punchy type. I’ve never been the kind of person who steps over others to get what I want.

I’m a werewolf, despite both of my parents being human. My maternal grandfather was a werewolf too. On my father’s side, both grandparents were human.

There are many legends about how werewolves came to be. From a scientific perspective, a specific gene was discovered relatively recently—one that a small percentage of the population carries. Those who have it are werewolves. But sometimes the gene lies dormant and never manifests. These individuals are considered mostly human, though technically they’re latent werewolves.

A latent werewolf can go their whole life without ever realizing it—unless they go through their first transformation or take a special test, which happens to be quite expensive.

The first transformation usually happens around the age of 18 or 19—very rarely later—but always on a full moon.

No one can predict the exact full moon that will trigger it, so people have started calling the year between 18 and 19 “Year X.”

My she-wolf awakened on the second full moon after my eighteenth birthday. Was I happy about it? Not at all. Even though I had my suspicions, I tried to push them away. In vain. I looked far too much like my werewolf grandfather.

Not the wrinkles or gray hair, of course. But in his youth—and even in old age—he was impressive. Tall, brown-haired, with piercing light gray eyes, strong, well-built, the life of the party. Every woman’s dream.

Back in the day, women swooned over him, but he loved only one: my grandmother, Marie. She was his true mate.

Sadly, she passed away a few years ago. Grandpa remembers her with sorrow and endless tenderness—she was his spark, his heart. After her death, something in him faded. Even outwardly, he aged dramatically in just a few years. He seemed to burn out from within.

And that’s saying something, considering he’s a werewolf—with health, endurance, and vitality far beyond the human norm.

He loved her deeply. A mate is a powerful, lifelong bond. They fell for each other instantly.

But Marie’s parents didn’t approve of Grandpa as her fiancé. This was shortly after the Day of Tolerance, when the werewolf gene was officially discovered and recognized. It was a huge scientific breakthrough at the time.

Werewolves came out of hiding and declared their existence—and society accepted and legally recognized them.

Turns out, there were more of us than anyone thought; many had simply been hiding their heritage.

But legal recognition is one thing—real acceptance in everyday life is another. Many people feared, and still fear, werewolves—our strength, our abilities.

Marie’s parents were among those people. Conservative and image-obsessed, they couldn’t accept that their only daughter would marry a “dog” (as Grandpa said they called him). They feared judgment from their snobbish social circle.

Eventually, they disowned Marie, didn’t even attend her wedding. Later, they sent a letter making it painfully clear—they no longer had a daughter.

Despite it all, my grandparents lived a long and happy life—defiant and proud.

Now Grandpa is 84. He’s still strong for his age, though the spark in his eyes dimmed after Grandma Marie passed.

Being a werewolf comes with its perks: strength, excellent health, and rapid regeneration.

I, on the other hand, am calm and quiet. It's embarrassingly easy to throw me off. Sometimes I hate my own personality. I can’t even speak up or defend myself when needed. Definitely not like Grandpa.

Being a werewolf has drawn some attention—thankfully, not too much—but it's not the kind I want.

I live in a place where there aren’t many werewolves, and people here treat us... differently.

Calling it “racism” might sound too harsh, but it’s not far off. People like me aren’t exactly welcome, and they make sure I know it.

Although, there are places where werewolves are admired—even idolized.

We lived in our own house in a village about 40 minutes from the city, near a river.

There was a rotten old bridge across the river. On the far side, fields stretched for miles until the nature reserve forest began.

Among those fields, near the forest, was another small settlement—smaller than ours, but filled with beautiful mansions and farms.

That’s where Grandpa lived.

Behind our house was a lovely orchard planted by my father, and nearby was a small garden where my mom grew vegetables.

We didn’t need to grow food—my parents had stable, well-paying jobs—but Mom loved working the land. It was her outlet, her stress relief.

Some people turn to alcohol in hard times, others call up friends. My mom heads straight to her garden.

She says a heart-to-heart with a tomato bush does more for her than any group of friends ever could. A true introvert.

My first transformation happened at night, in my room. The day had been completely normal—nothing to suggest what was coming.

But that night, I woke up drenched in sweat, wracked with pain and burning up.

It started deep in my chest and spread outward in waves. It was pure agony—I couldn’t make sense of anything.

My bones cracked loudly, my skin itched, stretched, and furred, and my muscles clenched in brutal spasms. It was hell. And I was terrified.

My arms and legs wouldn't respond to me. I felt like I wasn’t fully in control of my own body... but I also felt HER.

My she-wolf. She had awakened and was making herself known, though she hadn’t taken over completely.

We were both afraid. For both of us, this was the first time.

And yet... through it all, we felt a strange power. A bond. A connection we had never known before.