~A short trip down mory lane~
Tracy’s POV (Tessy in the present ti)
I had always been simple. Not because I didn’t want more out of life, but because life had made it painfully clear that people like didn’t get "more."
I was born an Oga in Bolarish Pack, lowest in rank, invisible in most rooms, overlooked in all conversations. When my father was still alive, things felt a little less cold. He had been a warrior, a strong and respected one despite my rank. He gave love, warmth, and a roof over my head—his house in the city, away from the noise of the pack house. But when he died, that warmth died too.
I didn’t cry at his funeral. I couldn’t. The grief had gone too deep for tears. Instead, I just stood there... staring at the fresh pile of earth like it had stolen the last piece of .
After he passed, I buried myself in routine. I cleaned the pack house. I scrubbed floors, polished silverware, and disappeared into the walls like a ghost. Most people didn’t even know my na. Oga was enough of an identity for them.
But sothing happened the year I turned seventeen. I t my wolf for the first ti.
Her na was Salana.
She ca to one quiet morning while I was washing the kitchen counters, whispering in my mind like a lullaby from nowhere.
"Tracy."
I had frozen. The sponge in my hand dropped to the floor with a dull splat. For a long second, I thought I was losing my mind. But then she spoke again.
"Tracy... I am Salana. I am your wolf."
The mont she said her na, a warmth blood in my chest. My knees gave out, and I sat on the cold tiles, trembling. I had heard stories of others eting their wolves at an early stage of their lives. I thought it wouldn’t happen for until I turned eighteen, or never at all, considering how rarely Ogas had powerful wolves.
But what shocked more than her voice... was her color.
She showed herself in a dream that night. She was a sparkling silver. Not gray, not pale, not brown or spotted.
I had gasped the first ti I saw her. Her coat glead like moonlight stretched over water, each strand shimring as she padded toward in a forest that slled like pine and magic. She looked noble. Regal. Powerful.
Ogas don’t get silver wolves, I rembered thinking. We got brown. Gray. Sotis off white, but never silver. Never the color that usually belonged to high-ranking bloodlines, to Alphas and warriors.
So I kept her a secret.
And Salana didn’t mind. She liked it better that way. "Let them underestimate us," she would often say with a playful growl. "When the ti cos, they’ll see."
At seventeen, I had no mate, no friends, and no power. But I had her. And that was enough.
I didn’t live in the pack house like the other Ogas. My father’s house sat in a quieter part of the city, close enough to the pack but far enough for to breathe. Every morning, I’d take the sa route: five blocks, past the bakery, across the hill, and down the dirt road leading into the pack estate. Then every evening, I’d make the walk back, aching feet dragging behind , heart too tired to think of tomorrow.
Until last night.
The eve of my eighteenth birthday.
I barely touched my dinner. My stomach was twisting into tight, nervous knots. Tomorrow. Tomorrow I could et my mate. That one person destined to love unconditionally, to shield from the world and pull out of this quiet loneliness.
The thought made my palms sweat.
I lay in bed in my father’s old room, staring up at the ceiling fan as it turned slowly, the shadows on the wall dancing like ghosts. The silence was thick, but inside my mind, Salana stirred.
"He’ll be strong," she said suddenly.
"Who?" I asked, rolling to my side and hugging my pillow.
"Our mate. He’ll be strong. With dark eyes and a heart that’s seen war. But he’ll be gentle with you."
I smiled faintly. "You’re painting a fairytale, Salana."
"Why not?" she teased. "You deserve one."
I sighed, letting the warmth of her presence soothe . "I wonder what he’ll sll like. Everyone says you recognize your mate first by their scent."
"He’ll sll like safety," she whispered.
I drifted to sleep thinking of that—of strength, of arms around , of soone finally seeing .
The next morning, I woke up very early. The sun had only just peeked over the horizon, casting pale gold stripes across my bedroom floor. I lay in bed for a while, staring at nothing, my heart already thudding in anticipation.
Today was the day. My birthday and I would et my mate today. I could feel it and I don’t know how or why. There was this certainty that had settled deep in my heart.
I took my ti with my shower, letting the water run longer than usual. I used the good soap—the one with the lavender scent I reserved for special days. My hands shook as I got dressed. Plain jeans and a fitted gray shirt. Nothing out of the ordinary, but my face looked different in the mirror.
My face looked nervous, hopeful and terrified all at once.
I brushed my hair back and tied them into a ponytail. No makeup. No perfu. Just .
The walk to the pack house felt different this morning. The birds seed louder, the wind gentler. Salana was unusually quiet in my mind. She was awake, but instead of speaking, she was watching and waiting.
And then I crossed the threshold into the pack house.
That’s when the scent hit .
Oh Goddess.
It was... intoxicating. Warm and wild. Like cedarwood wrapped in musk and fire. It clung to the air, wrapped around my lungs, and made my knees feel weak.
Mate.
My wolf stirred violently in my chest. She roared the word with joy.
Mate. Mate. Mate!
But with that joy ca a wave of fear so sharp it stole my breath.
Because I recognized that scent. I know it all too well. It belonged to no other than Alpha Jorell, one of the sons of the current Alpha—one of the fiercest, coldest, most respected werewolves in our entire region. He was known for his brutality in battle, his strict deanor, and the cold glint in his eyes that rarely showed emotion.
He had two sons, Reuben and Jorell, and would be handing over the mantle of leadership to one of them in a few days.
One of the criteria for riting the throne was to have a strong wolf as your mate. Either an alpha female or a strong beta female. But I am an Oga.
Before now, Jorell had been flaunting Lisa, a strong alpha female as his Luna, and I, as well as everyone believed she was his mate. Who knew this sudden twist will happen out of the blue?
My stomach churned.
No. No, this couldn’t be happening.
It couldn’t be him.
I didn’t deserve soone like Jorell. An Oga? A cleaner? I had scrubbed the floors of this house while he walked on them. We weren’t even in the sa universe.
But fate... fate didn’t care.
His scent grew stronger as I walked deeper into the building, my heart thudding painfully in my chest.
Salana was vibrating inside .
"It’s him," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "Tracy, it’s him."
I turned a corner, and there he was.
Tall, broad-shouldered, dressed in black. His thick brown hair was tied loosely behind his neck, and his jaw was tight as he spoke to one of the senior warriors. And in that mont, he looked perfect in my eyes.
He stopped talking the mont he saw and his body went rigid.
The entire hallway seed to go still. The warrior beside him faltered mid-sentence and turned to look at too, but I barely noticed. All I could see was Jorell’s eyes as they widened slightly.
He had caught my scent too.
I swallowed hard, unable to move, unable to breathe. His stare bore into mine like he was trying to understand how this could be real. Like he couldn’t believe it either.
And then... sothing changed in his eyes. Those pair that were just now filled with surprise, turned angry.
He turned away abruptly, speaking in a low, clipped voice to the warrior again before storming off down the hall in the opposite direction, his boots echoing against the floor like gunfire.
I stood there, rooted to the spot, my body numb and my heart screaming.
He walked away.
My mate saw ... and he walked away.
Salana whimpered in my head, and I felt her pain echoing through mine. "Why...?" she whispered.
Tears stung my eyes, but I blinked them back.
I forced my legs to move. I had a job to do. I was just the cleaner, rember?
I passed a few pack mbers on the way to the kitchen, but I didn’t hear a word they said. My mind was still reeling. My mate was Jorell. Alpha Jorell. And he had rejected without saying a single word.
He had seen .
He had recognized .
And then he had walked away like I was nothing.
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