Werewold Alpha Queen: Fate, Flesh, and Fangers

Part One: Strength

Water lies useless against the cracks of my dry lips. I use my tongue to take in what I can, but the water could be candy and still not get slurped down into my throat. Sigh. Where is Marta? I scan the room, but as suspected, I’m alone.

Changing was nothing new among my kind, but regretting it was unheard of. I did regret it, though. I didn’t think about the strength gained or the senses heightened. Instead, I thought of the pain every time the new bones in my back cracked.

Would this sharp-jawed, 6’2 empty-headed wolf even appreciate my sacrifice to become his mate? The elders said he had selected me, but I knew that was a lie. Glynn was a playboy, and all he thought about was warm bodies and solid food. I was just a sleeve for cubs to come through.

Even my mate mark—faint, shallow, barely more than a pinprick—told the truth. A true match left scars deep enough to brand the soul. Mine? The elders had bitten, torn, and tried to force my body to accept him, but no matter how deep they went, my skin refused to bind to his.

 It was unheard of to be a new queen and not be an absolute need for the alpha. Glynn had better things to do. I hadn’t even thought about whether he would make it to the wedding or not. No, I was just holding space for the pack to be satiated.

An alpha queen should be the heart of her mate’s desire. Instead, I was just a pawn moved to appease the pack.

A voice rumbles from the hallway, cutting through my haze.

“Out of my way. She’s too weak to handle a little pain?”

I stiffen.

“Glynn?” I stutter. When the door opens—there he stands. Here in all his glory, my so-called mate.

“Don’t call me by my name, Jocelyn,” he growls, “I am alpha, and that is how you will address me.”

“I’m just surprised to see you,” I say, attempting to cover myself.

“We are mates now,” he grumbles, looking at me with a long, predatory gaze, “it would look bad for me not to come. I didn’t want to.”

The words cut deeper than I’d like to admit. I fight back with silence as I swallow the bitterness and say nothing.

I would fight that battle later. I was too weak now. Something had gone wrong with the transformation, and I needed a transfusion. He sits on the bed beside me and studies my face slowly.

“Well, you aren’t ugly,” he smirks, “I guess the elders at least got that part right.”

He was toying with me now. Everyone knew I was beautiful for a human and even more enticing in wolf form. My reddish hair grew in wavy tresses, and my eyes shone a smooth green hue. Boys had always had an interest, but I had been betrothed when I hit puberty. I never even had a chance.

“I’m glad you're satisfied,” I spit out, annoyed.

“I didn’t say that,” he responds sharply, “I have never heard of an alpha queen who couldn’t take the transformation to actually become queen.”

The insult stings because I know he’s right. Among our kind, shifting into a wolf was second nature, but becoming an alpha required a transformation of a different kind. Bones shattered and reformed, bodies grew taller, stronger, faster. Power coursed through every inch of our being.

I had endured it all—and yet, something had gone wrong. My body resisted.

“Well, it doesn’t matter, does it? It isn’t like you’re going to go against pack law, so it is probably time that you stop being so arrogant and get to know me.”

 To my surprise, he reaches for my water and lifts it to my lips, watching as I take slow sips.

“You might not be strong in body, but you are very strong-willed.” He seemed pleased, and that little bit of acknowledgement sent a tiny flush of color to my cheeks.

“My body is strong too, or I wouldn’t be here. This was outside of my control,” I scoff.

“Nothing is out of our control.” His voice is smooth, dark, and arrogant at the same time.

Maddening. I want to throw the cup at his head, but my limbs feel like dead weight. Instead, I glare at him as he stands. He towers over me, broad-shouldered and imposing, his muscles flexing beneath a tight white shirt and dark jeans.

That’s all he was—a wall of muscle, wrapped in ego and wrapped tighter in arrogance. I push the thought away as he strides toward the door, vanishing as suddenly as he arrived.

“Was he in here?” Marta, my dizzy little sister, spins into the room, practically vibrating quizzically.

“Yes, the egotistical fool made an appearance,” I sigh.

“You don’t seem impressed,” she smiles, trying to make the situation lighter, but she knows me too well.

It should have been her. She was made for this kind of life.

She would have loved to serve the people. Marta, my little sister, would have made a far better queen. She adored pack life. She lived for service, for the bonds, for the family. She healed faster, fought harder, and embraced pain with open arms.

 The elders didn’t like the match due to age. When they looked at her, they saw a child, so they set their sights on me. My father was influential in ways outside of finance. He had fought in the great war against the fanged ones. Alone, he had come home with a thousand fangs around his neck.

I hated to look at the fangs hanging on the wall of my cabin, but male wolves would practically swoon over them. Even Glynn liked to look at them. To me, they were a reminder that war devours, and people forget why they fought in the first place.

The scent of blood still lingers in the air, but I don’t know if it’s from my wounds or the ghosts that refuse to let me rest. There was an encroaching group of fangers nearby, and they caused wolves to ache for a chance to bring home a pair of fangs.

Luckily, that is one thing that Glynn and I agree on. Right now, the pack needs to focus on breeding. We wouldn’t make any kind of attack unless it was in retaliation.

“Yes…he came by. He called me weak due to the transformation going poorly,” I murmur.

“That isn’t something you can control,” I pull the IV from my hand, “I’m sick of lying in this bed.”