the Alpha and Gamma families as an extension of our own. My brother,
Elder, was best friends with James, the Alpha’s son. Everyone expected me
to be best friends with Cindy, Gamma Jonas’ daughter. But we didn’t get
along at all. We just remained on friendly terms because of our families.
“I think my pumpkin is nervous. Turning eighteen is a big step,” dad said,
placing his arm around me and pulling me to his side.
“That’s right. She will be able to sense her mate, and he will be able to
identify her if they both are over eighteen,” the Alpha said with a big smile.
“She’s too young for that kind of thing,” my dad scowled and both of his
friends burst out laughing. My dad and Alpha Mark were partly right. I was
nervous about being able to sense my mate. But there was more. My wolf
still hadn’t come to me, I had never been able to shift and for each full
moon that came and went I looked weaker in the eyes of other werewolves.
A werewolf started to be able to shift between the age of sixteen and
twenty-five. Everyone knew the younger you were when your wolf came,
the stronger it, and therefore you, would be. James had shifted for the first
time a month after turning sixteen, my brother seven months after his
sixteenth birthday. Cindy had been a little over seventeen when she shifted.
I was almost eighteen and I hadn’t even felt a slight tingle during a full
moon. I was afraid that if I found my mate, he would think I was too weak.
“You're not still worried about your wolf, are you, little one?” the Alpha
asked. I nodded. We had had this conversation many times in the last two
years. “Armeria Rose Winstone, two years is nothing. She will come to
you,” he said. I flinched as he used my full name. My mother has a thing for
all things growing and has named her only two children after her favorite
plants. My father didn’t object because he loves her too much to not let her
have her way.
“I know, Alpha,” I said.
“You are perfect, just the way you are, pumpkin,” my father said and
kissed the top of my head.
“You have to say that, you’re my father,” I pointed out.
“And if some boy tells you anything else, you tell us and we will beat his
ass.”
“Thank you Uncle Jonas,” I said.
“Any time,” he told me and ruffled my hair. I objected and tried to get
away, but my father laughed and kept me in place. I hated when people
messed with my hair. It was hard to keep under control with its red curls at
