The Prime Alpha

DERAN

I didn’t always know what kind of a werewolf I was. And, truth be told, I still don’t know what kind of a person I am.

“Once there is life, there is hope,” people preach with smug shoulders, their gaze straight and tone firm as though truer words could never be spoken.

And maybe they were right.

Maybe once we had life, hope was lurking somewhere, even if unseen. But the question remained: was breathing a singular indication that one had life?

“You will all write a five-hundred-word essay on gratitude and contentment,” Mrs. Choy had addressed the class in my first year of high school. “You can be flexible with your work; there’s no failing this. This exercise is only to act as a form of introspection, a guide to look inwards. So, good luck to all of you.”

I had then attended what people would call a ‘rich kid’s school’, and I had no doubt that Mrs. Choy thought there were tons we had to be grateful for. I recall sitting there in the half-empty classroom, vision blurred with teary eyes, pen dancing in my trembling hand; zero words written on the sheet before me.

Gratitude?

If you had asked me when I was eleven, or any time before that, I would have told you that I was grateful for life. Perhaps there is both a short and long explanation for why I am no longer grateful for life, or for anything, to be honest.

Short answer? Well, life had since been drained of its colours and was now all black and white for me; nothing to feel thankful for.

Long answer? Well, storytime.

You see, as a kid, I was proud that Mum and Dad were goofballs who would eat pancakes with their bare hands, crack jokes and laugh with reckless abandon. Back then, I would have told you I was content with my world; I woke up excited, looking forward to watching my favourite shows, which Mum religiously followed with me even though they were for ages twelve and below. I relished practising with Dad, listening as he passed on some of his tricks of becoming ‘the ultimate predator, a masterful fighter’.

“Both of your parents are Alphas,” kids my age would say, eyes lit like little bulbs, envy thick in their longing voices.

I had long known that there weren’t many Alphas and it was quite the rarity to see one at all. It was even harder to see two in the same place, and unheard of to see two who were married. Over ninety-eight per cent of werewolves were Betas, and Alphas were envied, feared, respected—and by some, hated.

But even as a kid I knew every werewolf, if given the chance, would pick the red eyes over the amber.

“I hope I’ll be an Alpha,” I cried to Mum a day before my tenth birthday, holding onto her arm, face damp with tears. I sniffled, eyes on the rugged floor. “I want to be like you and Dad.”

Mum scooped me into her arms and brought her face so close to mine that her lashes tickled my face. “Deran, whether Beta or Alpha, you will always be like me and Dad. Always.”

Every werewolf changes into the wolf on their tenth birthday for the first time; it happens first on that particular day for everyone, Beta or Alpha. They get to know what kind of a werewolf they are by the colour of their eyes after their first change. There was usually a celebration, and almost every time the kid’s eyes glowed amber, hence there being an overwhelming preponderance of Betas.

“Any time now, little man.” Dad squeezed my tense shoulder as I waited, praying in my heart that I wasn’t a Beta.

So when I started getting the feelings I was told to expect—heightened senses, light feet, itchy skin—I knew it was time.

Mum and Dad had a handful of friends and family around, all of whom cheered me on, jolly to celebrate little Deran’s tenth birthday.

Then it happened.

Right there before my own eyes, history was made.

They all soon began staring at me—better put, they began to study me with scanning gazes—and an awkward restraint I could now identify as fear settled over the room.

Yeah, one of them even had a dropped jaw.

Mum and Dad were silent at first, each of them holding onto me, but they had stopped smiling or saying anything at all. The awkward minute or so in which nobody spoke felt like torture; the silence drowned my anxiety and, on its surface, rose confusion.

What was going on? Little me had wondered.

Then Mum spoke, turning to Dad. “There’s no way, is there? This cannot be happening.”

Dad nodded at her, then turned and cracked a smile at me. “Sweetheart, I fear it is so. Our boy is special.”

Special? There was nothing special about being a Beta, little me had figured, my heart pounding in my chest. The moment I had dreamed of had come.

What was I?

There was soft chatter scattered around the living area; one or two people came to look into my face, kind of like how old people got too close to ATM screens.

“How is this possible?” someone wondered aloud. “An eye reveal before changing? What in the world!”

Dad gave me a hand mirror and I leapt with joy as I saw my eyes glow red—maybe they shone more intensely than my parents’. But I thought, well, the redder the better. At least, there was no room for doubt.

I was an Alpha.

“Mum, I’m like you and Dad!” I cried, leaping in the air and then embracing them as they squatted before me. “I’m so happy. I… I don’t… I’m so happy, Mum!”

Mum stared at Dad rather intently, but not at me.

Wait.

Something was off.

What was wrong?

Even then I knew being an Alpha was a rarity, but it wasn’t a bad thing, was it? I was like Mum and Dad. This wasn’t a thing to cause any worry.

But why then did they all look awfully distraught?

Everyone else watched in silence, far more invested than I would have imagined. My little mind decided that they were puzzled by our family being all Alphas.

“You’re not like us, Deran.” Dad ruffled my hair the way he usually did, patting my shoulder with a look I couldn’t then decipher. “You’re something more. Something far more special. Far more special.”

***** *****

“We’ll return in a few days, a week at most.” Mum hugged me tighter as Dad loaded the last of the bags into the taxi booth. “I promise we’ll be back before you know it. Mummy doesn’t lie, does she, eh?”

They—my parents with my baby sister—were headed to check out a property overseas, somewhere we could settle without having to look over our shoulders. Somewhere safe for me. We had all grown exhausted from the attention I brought to the family.

I didn’t mind them going since it meant I would spend some time with my Uncle Seth. Then I knew only one thing about Uncle Seth—he was very rich.

A mere three hours after they left, Uncle Seth dashed down one of the curly staircases in his mansion, a phone to his ear, screaming like I had never heard anyone scream, let alone a man. I recall, with disturbing vividness, hearing the voice of agony, watching as despair seemed to dance in the air about us. He hit the floor before the phone did.

“No, no, this isn’t true. This isn’t true. It can’t be true,” he chanted, as though asking reality to correct itself.

He had just heard that my parents and five-month-old sister were involved in an accident on their way to the airport. They were all blown to bits.

So, yeah, this is the long answer.

NICKY

“Yes, thank you.” I let go of the luggages and allowed the taxi driver put it all in the booth.

“You’re one tough nut, young lady,” his chest heaved as he finally got it all into the back. He turned to me with a scanning gaze, probably wondering how a frail-looking girl like myself had carried three boxes with ease. He chuckled before saying, “These days, with all this girl-boss thing, it has entered you all for real. My first daughter? She wouldn’t ever raise a leg if she didn’t have to. But my youngest? That one can hold her own in a fist fight with a bloody kangaroo.”

I took a deep breath as if willing myself into relaxing, feeling the cool morning breeze toss my hair about, and hearing the driver drone on about his daughters.

Yes, I could have done without the music he put on, but it was all good. I was basically home—in the city I grew up in—and I was done with school for good.

“Despite everything, you live your