The day dragged on as Michael worked his axe, the muscles in his back tired and sore from tending to the overwhelmingly large pile of brush off to the side of his mother's yard. Unmated female wolves watched him from afar, daydreaming about being his mate and hoping that he would stomp over and claim them as his own.
But they were just that: dreams. Dreams of lust and power, but not of love. That was what Michael wanted. An endless and unbreakable bond between two beings that were meant to be together and could never be torn apart. He wanted a love like his parents shared before his birth, before his fathers death.
He'd only heard stories of the great warrior he knew as his father. Tales of great courage and bravery as he fought against the wolves' mortal enemies. But the only story that ever stuck with him was the tale of how he died honorably defending his pack.
Someone - or something - had killed his second in command and best friend, leaving his body on the edge of their territory. Betas were the strongest among worriors and many were born to each pack, most of which were employed to the Alpha's personal guard and advisors on the Council. Michael's father had gained the Betas' respect and loyalty and the strongest of them honored him with their friendship. They had been the closest of comrades, from what Michael had heard, and nothing could separate them. Not women, not battle, and not even death. But that changed when his best friend's corpse was found being mutilated by scavenger birds.
There was a castle on the grounds where the warrior's body was found, tall and archaic with its onyx colored stone walls and flames flickering in its windows. Michael's father was engulfed in the flames of rage and attacked the castle guard, injuring an armoured man before tearing through the wooden door. There, he found two women alone in the vast room, both smelling of blood, and attacked. He mortally wounded one before he was taken down by an angry child with a wooden pike.
Michael's mother entered the room, and, having saw the massacre, attempted to save her mate. She grabbed the boy to remove him, but he stabbed her in the eye with his make-shift lance, and in her fury, she tore the boy apart. Much to her horror, her wolf started to withdraw from her mind. She ran as far from the castle as she could bear before shifting back and sobbing into the damp grass. Her grief haunted her to this day, her only reminder of her late husband being the child she bore months later.
Michael.
Named after his father.
The sound of the blade whistling through the air and crushing through wood brought him out of his thoughts. Sweat dripped into his eyes from his brow, the salt burned his retinas and caused his eyes to water. Michael slid the back of his wrist across his forehead to gather and wipe away the sweat before he glanced up into the sky.
The crimson and violet sky blended with the indigo that indicates sunset as the life sustaining star sank below the horizon for it's long needed nap. The day was over, and his work was done.
Michael wiped his neck with a cool damp towel that was left for him on the porch by his doting mother, then followed the scent of marinated steak into her kitchen. Her eyes lit up when her massively large son sat at the dinner table with a smile of a boy strewn across his face and a glint of mischief in his eye.
"My, is my hard working young man ready for some supper?" she chuckled, making him a plate and mocking him slightly.
"Mother, you know there are many things I can resist, but your cooking isn't one of them. I'm surprised Sebastian and Gabriel havent knocked down your door," he joked even has he devoured the honey-buttered rolls that his mother left on the table. They were sweet and moist in his mouth and he could barely contain a groan. His other just smiled at him as she placed his plate in front of him.
Moments after the ceramic plate touched the table, all of the food had been devoured and left Michael wanting more. The hunger that he'd experienced before had grown into what seemed like an unsatifiable starvation, leaving his stomach feeling empty and rousing his wolf into a primal craving. His mother watched as he devoured his second plate, a slight smile on her face.
"It isn't food that you're craving, son."
Michael looked up at her, watching her carefully. "But I'm starving, Mama. I could eat for days." She just gave him a knowing smile and took his plate, heading to the kitchen. A overly dominant growl rumbled low in his chest, borderlinging a roar.
"Give that back. I said I'm fucking starving." She turned to look at her son, fully grown and built like a tank. The perfect Alpha, any woman lucky to be in his presence.
"Go see her, Michael. Youre craving your mate. It's normal, but that carnal hunger can't be suppressed with food or beer or wine. The only thing that can satisfy it is to mate. It's called a rut, and you know that." A deep annoyed growl rumbled deep within his chest, and she turned and glowered at him. "And you know better than to growl at me, young man. Not just once, but twice? You're no where near in your right mind. Go get your mate and fix this behavior before you lose yourself."
Guilt panged in his chest like a pain that was long forgotten until this moment. He'd never yelled at his mother. Not for any reason, no matter how angry he was or how aggravating she was, he never growled or yelled at her before.
"Maybe you're right, Mama. I'll go see her," Michael said, bowing his head and heading for the door. She cleared her throat and he turned in her direction, doorknob in hand. "Yes, Mama?"
"What's her name?" she asked, calm and collected.
"Alanna."
He could've sworn he heard her growl, but when he looked up, she had a smile plastered to her face and she kissed his cheek. "Go on, Mike. Go have fun."
The door creaked closed as he stepped into the darkness.