Part 1

The awakening of a new soul is something beautiful. It was something to be celebrated, though mine was done in secret. It was just me and my father, the only father I could remember. He did it without asking, he spilled my blood and dying for the second time was more frightening than I could have anticipated.

My life took a few adventurous turns and the few decisions I do regret made me the man I was supposed to be. The fates had already decided and nothing I did could or would alter the path I had to walk. Everything happens for a reason, it’s a lesson we’re taught early on.

I didn’t regret my life, especially at the end but I wasn’t prepared for it either. When my soul awakened, I was a new person, the old me had died and the new me emerged a little more scared, a little more broken than before.

I was six years old when I died the first time. Death came swiftly as my neck broke with the impact of the Navigator rolling. Dying wasn’t painful, the rest though, was. Seeing my father holding my body and cursing himself broke something inside me, even though I was still so young. It broke him too.

I was also six years old when I was brought back to life. Coming back was confusing. It was a different time, but like all young children, I adapted quickly. Having him with me made it easier as well. Time passes differently in the realm of the dead and I actually had no idea how much time had passed.

At the age of six, I couldn’t fathom the years I’d spent in the realm of the dead. I couldn’t remember pain or anger, there was nothing, not even a void. I couldn’t remember where I’d gone after I died. All my memories went away after I started to live again.

A week after I was brought back, my bedroom was intact again with everything as I remembered it from my previous life. He was older though, his son, my baby brother, had children of his own and it all felt surreal to face a new world that I knew nothing of.

It was confusing to say the least but whenever it felt like I would fall, he was there to pick me up. I was in awe of him, revered him and I wanted to be him. He was everything that was good in my life, the sun, the moon, even the stars.

Trying to explain my family tree is a bit confusing so I’m not even going to try. I wasn’t anything special, I didn’t have Alpha blood or even Beta blood. I was just a regular kid who got dealt shitty cards. My parents died when I was about four but he took me in and raised me, until I died.

He continued to raise me when I came back though and I couldn’t complain, I had a good life. I had everything I needed and so much more. The only thing lacking in me was not sharing his blood, knowing I’d never be half the man he was.

Now normally you grow up involved with pack life, learning the ropes at a young age. I was raised differently. Although my adoptive father was an Alpha he had given up the Alpha seat a long time ago so I was raised being taught all about how to be an Alpha even though I’d never be one. I didn’t see the point but Kiran was adamant.

He was relentless for me to know how to fight, how to protect myself and so we fought in human form, in wolf form and the day after I shifted for the first time, he sat me down for a very serious talk. He raised me as if I had Alpha blood and the knowledge that I didn’t, left a bitter taste of disappointment in my mouth.

Mingling with humans wasn't as taboo as it used to be, although it was still frowned upon unless you imprinted on one, which didn’t happen often. If it did though, you went through the process of changing the human, which we discovered was possible.

It brought about a whole new set of complications as wolves wanted humans as chosen mates, something that had never happened before. The older generation still taught their young that it was dangerous, that humans were weak. Imprinting on a human was still a rare occurrence and in the years I’d been dead, it had only happened once.

In the beginning, I had no idea what I really wanted to do with my life. I was encouraged to go to college and get a degree, anything. I didn’t really see that happening, especially when he died. I was angry and that’s how the rebellious phase of my life started.

I used to be a happy kid, I laughed a lot. We had adventures and I wanted to be just like him when I grew up. I idolized him, always had and losing him was the worst thing that had ever happened to me. I didn’t want to accept it, so I left everything behind and changed everything about me.

I walked out of my house a few months before my twentieth birthday and I looked the world square in the eyes and said, ‘fuck you’. I wanted to do something spectacular, I wanted him to be proud, even if I was still pissed off with him.

Before that though, I didn’t care about living or dying really, I went through the motions of existing, waiting to die. The only problem was, I didn’t die. It seemed like the gods had different plans for me, and so I lived each day wondering when my time to shine would come, if ever.

You made plans and the gods laughed, knowing that the fates had already decided your path. No amount of planning could ever change that. Accepting who I was and who I was meant to be, was difficult. Acceptance never came easy, but I didn’t care. 

I am Christian Sinclair and I would prevail, fuck the odds.