A/N: This story contains some spoilers for The Alpha's Rejection

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

HELENA | Age 17 | 10 years ago

"Helena," comes my mother's whisper.

I sit up on my bed and look at the red digits in my alarm clock. It's seven AM. Time to get up to prepare for school.

"Hey ma," I reply as I stretch my arms over my head, pulling my crumpled t-shirt down my belly.

"Go downstairs and have breakfast, sweetheart. Be good, okay?"

The soundproof walls block all outside sounds, but at this time, the packhouse is bustling with footsteps and chatter. Thirty families live here, but my mother and I stick to ourselves. We're the mysterious neighbors.

I jump out of bed and fix the sheets. After a quick shower, I kiss my mother's cheek, carry my book-bag and head downstairs for the breakfast buffet.

I greet no one. Only muttering a thank-you to an older pack member that hands me an empty plate. I sit alone on a two-person table, looking out the window and the high school in the distance. It's better that I'm alone.

I don't look forward to school. It's excruciatingly boring, because there's nothing new to learn. I've read so many books, absorbing every bit of information, that my education is much more advanced than my 12th grade curriculum.

Teachers have tried to approach my mom about advanced classes, but she fears putting me in the spotlight, so advanced classes are forbidden.

Keep your head low, and be good. That's her mantra.

Heads bow, and when the Alpha's scent reaches me, I lower my head as well.

Alpha Driftwood greets his packmembers. He's a good man. Took in my mother and I when we transferred to this pack a year ago with a suspiciously long transfer record. He looked into my mother's haunted, frightened eyes and allowed us into his territory without question.

This is our tenth pack. We've been running from something–or someone. A ghostly enemy that keeps my mother up at night. She refuses to tell me what's stopping us from setting down roots. She insists that the only way to survive is by uprooting ourselves every few years.

I'm getting tired of running. Tired of not being able to make true connections in fear of leaving my friends in the dust.

I stare at the window in class, not bothering to open my textbook. My teachers have long learned not to punish my distraction by ordering me to the whiteboard because although Im not paying attention. I'll answer their questions every time.

My calculus teacher announces there will be a test next week. Most students groan, but I'm not one of them. I do calculus for fun at night when I can't sleep.

I remind myself that least I'll be graduating soon. I might take college classes if my mother doesn't decide to play re-location roulette again.

I hand in my homework at the end of class and follow the waves of students outside.

There's a buzz in the air. The Alpha's heir is returning home today after a one-year absence. Alpha Octavius had been apprenticing at neighboring packs. Last time I saw him, I was sixteen and at risk of fainting at his feet. He's a handsome man—man, not a boy. He has always been older than me by a few years.

He's kind like his father. Our only encounter happened years ago, when I was straining to reach a book in the library. He strutted his six-foot-six figure over to me, said some words that I was too shocked to process, and handed me the book with a chuckle.

I still have the book in my room. I've yet to return it.

There was a strange undercurrent of energy when our fingertips touched—subtle and quick, but not a figment of my imagination. And yet I doubt he felt it because he showed no reaction. He has so many girls vying for him that he has probably experienced real chemistry elsewhere.

I adjust my bookbag on my shoulder, forcing myself to forget about the handsome Alpha with the perfect smile and tattooed hand.

We will never cross paths again, anyway.

"Helena!" My mom pushes the bedroom door open, setting a bucket of cleaning supplies on the ground.

"Guess what!"

I smile at her adoringly. It's rare that she shows such childish excitement.

"I spoke with my boss. Told her you were graduating soon. She said you're welcome to work in gardening or cleaning!"

Oh. I see what this is about.

"That's great," I reply, forcing a smile. I don't have the heart to react otherwise.

This isn't what I dreamed of doing. I want to apply my education. Work with chemists to create formulas for better farming fertilizer instead of watering flowers all day.

But of course I can't tell my mother that.

I'm meant to stay hidden. To not have any achievements or intelligence. To become a wallpaper like her, cleaning and looking over my shoulder all day.

I can't have a life. I'm bound to run forever. And although I'm becoming an adult soon, that won't change anything. I don't have the backbone to declare that I'm done running, because that would mean separating from her. My mom is all I have. If she runs, I will be right at her heels, running with her.

"I'm going to go for a walk, mom. I'll be back."

"Okay. Be sure to—"

"Be sure to avoid the territory line. Yes, I know."

She has imposed many odd rules, but the strictest one is to never approach the territory line. It's like she fears I'll get snatched away.

My curiosity about our fugitive lifestyle has been burning my entire life. I always stop pressing for questions when she gets stressed, but I'm reaching a breaking point. Once I become an adult, I'll demand to know who we're running from. I deserve the truth.

I walk past her, feeling a heavy load on my shoulders although I left my backpack in the room beside my bed.

I sigh as I pull my hair down from my ponytail and push my sleeves up my elbows—something else my mom discourages. She hates when I show too much skin, and I've never understood why.

I turn right toward the staircase and my nostrils are overwhelmed by the reek of alcohol.

A male figure turns the corner as well, his massive body catapulting me backward.

It's not his bulk that shocks me, it's the electricity that ripples across my skin and stirs my wolf. Beneath the reek of alcohol, I find an appealing scent. An addicting musk I've never smelled before.

Mate, my wolf acknowledges.

I look at the male, who is so drunk he stumbles backward against a wall.

Alpha Octavius?! Oh my goodness. He's my fucking mate!

He groans and touches his forehead, lifting his head to meet my eyes.

I do what I'm best at and run the fuck out of there.