The shift had been painful. Nothing his father had told him had prepared him for it, but it was worth it. Harold glanced down at his paws, and let out a bark.
He’d known he would one day turn into a wolf – it was the first thing his parents had ever told him. But now, at age thirteen, it had finally happened.
Usually, he stayed with the other kids on the full moon. But this time, his grandmother had looked down her nose at him and sniffed. She snapped her fingers at Harold’s dad and said, “It’s time.”
His parents had brought him out to the woods with the other older members of their pack. His mother had taken off all his clothes while they looked on stony-faced, and his father, his alpha had ordered him to shift.
Harold had been hesitant, uncertain, embarrassed in front of the whole pack. His grandmother tapped her cane and snarled at him to shift. It was the tone she used when she was impatient and angry – Harold and his brothers heard that tone a lot. But Harold hadn’t wanted to shift. He had wanted to be at home with his brothers. They rarely wanted to play with him – he wasn’t good at sports, he didn’t have much imagination, and he didn’t like getting into trouble – but being with them would have been preferable to being yelled at by his grandmother.
But something within him, something wild, something yearning to be free heard that call, and with a cracking of his bones, the boy became a wolf.
He tried walking a few steps, wobbling as he tried to navigate four feet instead of the usual two.
His father stood before him and stilled him with a pat on the head. Harold growled at the touch, and his father smiled in a cold way.
“My son,” he declared, “has shifted. He has proved he is worthy to be alpha.”
Harold blinked up at his father as the rest of the usually stiff and elegant pack mates howled into the air for a few moments before each running into the woods. Only his parents and his grandmother remained behind.
“Shift, darling,” cooed his mother, Marguerite.
“Yes, son,” added his father, Harold Sr., “shift.”
Harold did not want to. It had damn well hurt to go this way; he knew it would also hurt to go the other way. But something in his father’s voice got through to him, urging him to obey, and after a few painful moments, he was the scrawny boy again, panting on the ground.
His mother kneeled and patted his shoulder. That was perhaps the most surprising moment of the evening. His mother didn’t do hugs or displays of affection – far too messy for his pristine mother.
Harold relaxed on the ground. Twigs pressed into his backside, but honestly, that pain paled in comparison of the agony of his first shift.
His parents continued to smile at him. They seemed pleased, displaying warmth that wasn’t present in their other interactions. His grandmother looked like her usual stern self – that was a little more reassuring.
“Well done, Harold,” said his mother.
“Don’t mollycoddle the boy, Marguerite,” scolded his grandmother. “Shifting is hardly an achievement. We all do it.”
“It is important,” insisted his father. “Harold is a wolf, and therefore he will be the alpha one day. Today, my son is a man and a wolf.”
Harold looked up at his father. Of course, he understood that his father was the alpha wolf over their other pack mates. He led the pack in their business; he made the necessary decisions. But he did not know he was supposed to be the alpha after his father.
His grandmother sniffed and looked down her nose at him. “Yes, miracles do happen.”
He had been a sickly child. Always ill, always in hospital needing tests, needing transfusions of blood. But a few months ago that all stopped. He started getting better. Though that had not stopped the callous remarks of his grandmother – her regret that his brother Arthur could not be the eldest son. His grandmother did not say it aloud, but she made it known she believed it would have been better if Harold had never gotten over his sickness - if he had never made it.
Harold scowled to cover up the tears that threatened. Men and wolves did not cry. Alphas did not cry.
None of them had believed in him. They all looked at him as if there was something wrong with him. Well, that changed today. He was going to be the alpha.
Harold shook off his mother’s arms, and despite the agony, he clambered to his feet to face his father.
A twinge of pride shone in Harold Sr.’s eyes. “Being alpha comes with a lot of responsibilities.”
“I understand.”
“You will have to work harder than anyone else. Devote your life to the pack. Your duty to them is more important than anything you want.”
Harold puffed out his skinny chest. He could do that.
“You will…”
“And one day,” interrupted his mother, ignoring her husband’s glare, “you will have an arranged mating to another wolf – you will never be able to choose your own mate.”
Harold blanched thinking of the pretty red head in his Spanish class. The one who made him tongue-tied and blush to the roots of his hair.
“Do you accept this?” asked his father.
The redhead flashed before his eyes, and he quickly banished her. She was dating the captain of the tennis team – it was unlikely Harold had any chance with her anyway. Perhaps it would be better this way.
“I do,” he said in a loud, clear voice.
His parents looked relieved, but his grandmother sneered.
He would show her. He would show them all.