Chapter 2

"Go, go , go shawty, it's yo birthday. We gon' party like it's yo birthday," I rapped, bobbing my head as I went down the stairs heading for the kitchen. 

I swear 50 cent's "In the club" is like a birthday anthem to every birthday boy or girl out there. It never got old and the words, although gibberish as they sound, were the perfect picture of how it was exactly to celebrate a birthday with style. 

As I reached downstairs, I went full on ghetto doing the 'yo! yo!' hand and body gestures. "We gon' sip Bacardi like it's your birthday. And you know we don't give a fuck, it's not your birthday!" 

50 cent should be so proud of me. Hell, we should do a record together. I got the moves, my rapping was flawless and believe me, I was made for fame. 

While I was so into my gangster mantra, I hadn't noticed someone launched themselves at me like a freaking stampede of rhinos, causing me to tilt to the ground similar to a domino when tipped over  and finally landing on the floor with a loud thud. 

Ow! That hurt like a mother! 

"Happy Birthday, Kellie boo!" 

Groaning, I stared up to a familiar pair of dark brown eyes that she inherited from our mother. 

My baby sister, Zoey. 

"Ugh, Zoey bee!" I whined, trying to pry her off. She was hugging me like a boa constrictor and I was having a hard time breathing. "You're cutting off my air supply! Do you want your sexy brother to die?" 

"Oops!" she giggled, letting me go, but still straddling me on my waist area. "So, how does it feel to be eighteen, bro?" she asked excitedly. 

I shrugged. "It's okay, I guess." 

She rolled her eyes then grinned. "Are you excited to find your mate?" 

I laughed a little. Trust Zoey to ask that question. After all, she was the first one to be mated out of us two though she was sixteen and I swear, it was weird seeing her lip locking with my best friend, Marcus. The memory of Marcus' eighteen birthday still sent unwanted shivers down my spine. 

Eww with the capital E. 

"Well, if it isn't the birthday boy." 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. 

I looked over Zoey's shoulder and saw a grinning Marcus, looking as idiotic as ever. We had been friends since we were six years old and the boy loved Mexican food, especially tacos. He was tall, around six-foot-two, hefty on the muscles (it's a wolf thing buddy), always sporting the disheveled look on his dark brown hair and for the gooey part, as Zoey would like to describe his piercing pale blue eyes, it made her shiver all the way down south. 

I didn't want to imagine what she meant about the shivering part... Disgusting. 

With a big smile on her face, Zoey lifted herself off of me and bounded straight to Marcus, who was just as happy to see her. She lifted her tip toes and placed a chaste kiss on his lips and then another and then it went into full on make out. God, am I always going to witness their gooeyness? Spare me, but then again, they would soon witness a lot more than what they have when I meet my destined one. Mark my words, it's going to be epically mushy. 

Rolling my eyes, I got up from the floor and went around the loved up couple, heading straight to the kitchen. Though I just witnessed something gross, my hunger didn't fade away so I could use a plate of bacon, sausage, eggs and toast piled up like a pancake. Upon my arrival, I was tackled yet again with another bone crushing hug and I caught a whiff of their scent- lavender with a hint of gardenia. 

My mother, Estella Madsen. 

"Happy birthday, Keller!" she greeted, squeezing the life out of my lungs. 

Gasping for air, I said with a strangled voice, "Can't... breathe..." 

As she let go, her light brown eyes, almost to an amber hue, were alight with immense joy. It was amazing how Zoey got her looks from our mom as they both had the same wavy chocolate brown hair and their facial features were so uncanny alike, like how round their cheeks were and how similar their smile was. 

They would practically pass as sisters considering how youthful my mother looked. 

She raised both her hands to my face and pinched both ends of my cheeks, hard. "Who told you to grow up so fast?" she cooed, still squeezing my cheeks like I'm some five year old kid doing something cute. 

"Ma," I whined, trying to swat her hands away, "don't do that." 

With one last pinch, she let go, giggling and then she placed a hand on her jutted-out hip. "I'm your mother. I am entitled to dot on my son." 

I rolled my eyes. "I am not a kid anymore," I said then puffed my chest out. "I'm a grown man now." 

"But you're still my little boy," a deep baritone voice pitched in. 

I tilted my head at the kitchen doorway and saw my daddy dearest, Granger Madsen, smiling. What is up with the teasing anyway? Is it picked on Keller Madsen day? Oh yeah, it's my birthday. Phoey. 

I rolled my eyes again. I swear, if I keep rolling my eyes, I'd probably end up like a crossed-eyed freak. "Again, I am not little anymore," I huffed while crossing my arms over my pectoral muscles. 

Chuckling, he chomped our distance with a few long strides and hugged me so fierce I was out of breath again. Have mercy on my gorgeous lungs, people! 

"Whatever you say, son," he said then let go though he was still gripping my shoulders at arm's length. "I can't believe my little boy is finally eighteen." 

It was so hard to believe that though my dad looked really intimidating with his six-feet-four burly physique, short curly coal black hair, sharp yet defined features which added to his big bad alpha stature, he was a family man. Everyone in the pack said I took after him, but I beg to disagree. I am a lot hotter than my dad. Maybe even more. 

But hey, don't hate me because I'm prettier than all of you. 

As icky as this sounds, my dad adored my mother like she was heaven sent for him and treated her like a fine piece of china, fragile and delicate, and like Zoey, my mom swoon at his mysterious black spheres that sent pleasurable shivers all the way down south. Not to mention his abs. 

What is up with the women in this family? 

I groaned. "Dad..." 

He laughed a little, deep and low. "Okay, okay, I'll stop," he said and then his face turned serious. "You know what this means, son. I want you to take the deal seriously and if not, so help me, I will--" I stopped him mid-sentence, knowing what he meant. He already sounded like a broken record. 

"Yeah, yeah. Or else I will not be able to claim my birthright and blah blah blah," I said rather annoyed with his attempt of reminding me about being a responsible adult. 

He nodded. "Right. So..." he glanced over my shoulder and his expression turned amused. "Really, my love?" 

Frowning, I turned around and saw my mom holding a one tier round shaped chocolate cake which said 'Happy Birthday Kellie boo!' with eighteen candles on the edges. 

She shrugged. "I can't help it. He's not old enough to have a birthday cake," she said, then placed the cake on the kitchen island. 

Marcus and Zoey, for whatever they did that took them to follow so late, came into the kitchen. "Is it time already, mom?" Zoey asked as she approached the kitchen island with Marcus right behind her. 

Mom nodded. "Yup," she said while popping her lips together on the last letter then grinned. "Let's sing happy birthday now, so..." she gestured for the guys to stand beside her while I was across from them, groaning. "And a one, and a two..." 

And so they sang the birthday song, all cheery and giddy and just for the heck of it, I made hand gestures as though I was a conductor while they were my musicians in a orchestra. As they finished singing, my mom gestured for me to blow the candles and so I did, watching the swirls of smoke as every candle puff out from the air that I blew out of my mouth. 

When done, they all cheered and Marcus grinned, excited for the next part. "Now let's eat cake," he said. 

I rolled my eyes. 

                                                    * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 

Conceited. 

Pronounced as kuhn-see-tid, and an adjective. 

According to Merriam-Webster, it means having or showing an excessively high opinion of oneself. 

There were a lot of words associated with said words mainly: egotistical, cocky, full of hot air and other wretched words that relate to such archaic descriptions. 

If you think about it, it sounded like someone I know, if you got the hint. 

But then again, Merriam-Webster got nothing on me. 

Smirking at my reflection in the full-length mirror, I was wearing straight cut dark denim jeans, black button down shirt with sleeves folded all the way to my elbows as three of the buttons were undone and maroon colored DC sneakers, looking like a million bucks. 

Tonight we were going to hit the popular club in downtown Denver, and I was ready to party the night away, but still heeding dad's deal. If I wanted to look for my destined one, why not try looking at a club, right? What were the chances of finding her there? Or maybe it was just my excuse to ogle legs and boobs as I go. It was not like I was breaking a rule, so I was still on board with the deal. 

With one last look of myself in the mirror, I winked and turned around then left my bedroom, heading for the stairs. As I go along, I shout for Zoey and Marcus to hurry the hell up because I was not getting any younger and after twenty minutes or so, we were now on my Blood Red Audi Locus KRMZ, zipping towards the club, Pandemonium. 

With the speed I'm going, it took us 15 minutes since the pack house was situated near the wooded area of the state. Finding a parking spot was not hard to find as we were frequent patrons on some weekends so we had parking privileges and before you know it, we were inside. 

The smell of alcohol, sweat and hormones flooded my nostrils like a freaking hurricane, wrinkling my nose a bit. The combination was rather sharp, but I welcomed it all the same. 

We weaved through the crowds with the occasional winks here and there to the ladies and yes, I know what you're thinking so don't look at me like that. I'm just being a guy here and I can't help it. 

Zoey grabbed my arm and tugged for my attention. I inclined my head to look at her and gave a questioning stare. "What?" I asked. 

She grinned. "Marcus and I are going to dance. Is it okay?" 

I nodded, seeming not to care what she'd do. She had Marcus with her so I am done playing the overprotective brother, so I relinquished that job to him, not unless he got her pregnant so that it would be the time to pull out the guns. 

"I'll be at the bar or something," I muttered as I watched her latch onto her mate's arm. 

"Okay," she said and with that, both of them were gone so I took that as my cue to head for the bar. 

                                                      * * * * * * * 

Six glasses of Vodka tonic, four bottles of Budweiser and twelve... fifteen females, she-wolves and humans alike... Okay, I'm not sure if this is the right number, but I'm not counting-vying for my attention in any possible means, and I still haven't found my destined one. I was surrounded by women and there had to be something - anything - and I was seriously going to head out this club, but for some reason, everywhere I go, I get cornered or worse, pestered. 

Like now, for example: 

"So, are you new around here?" a red head wearing a black tube dress asked, batting her eyelashes as though it would snare me to her evil clutches. As I eyed her up and down, I wouldn't  put it past her for being a hooker because damn, her skirt barely covered her ass. 

With an expression of a bored dude, I answered in an airy tone. "Not really." 

She smiled flirtatiously and stepped a little bit close - too close - and I almost cringed a little at her scent. She smelled like citronella with a hint of... mustard? Who the hell smells like that? 

"I haven't seen you around here," she crooned, trailing a finger on my pectorals. "I should know. I'm a regular here." 

'Whoring around, probably,' I thought bemusedly. Giving her a tight-lipped smile - she didn't deserve my pearly whites in the first place - I replied, "I'm usually here every other weekend." 

"Oh," she said. "So, how about..." 

I didn't bother to listen to the rest of her words as it was pointless, not to mention her high pitched vocals were grating on my nerves. Added to my sour mood for not finding my destined one yet, I'm rather twitchy, and if she so much attempts to do anything remotely close to something unsavory, I don't know what I'd do with the girl. 

"Hey!" 

Snapping out of my thoughts, I glanced down to my neglected company and frowned. "Were you listening to me?" she asked rather miffed that I wasn't paying attention. 

It was a well-known tactic in the player handbook if you want to boot off nuisance: ignore, or most likely, not pay attention and it'll do the trick. If the said source of dilemma wouldn't budge, resort to drastic measures. 

Show your jerk side. 

Sighing, I got up all in her face and she looked taken aback for my sudden up close and personal movement. If it meant showing how rude I was then so be it, just for her to scurry off somewhere and annoy somebody else. 

"Listen," I said, low and deathly calm. Her mouth was slightly parted from the shock, so I took that as a sign to continue. "I don't want to be a--" 

I froze half way through my tirade, not able to continue. My body was reacting to some force, nagging and nudging me to god knows what. 

Babump. Babump. 

I felt like there were steel rods attached to my skin pulling me to a direction. I didn't have the slightest clue what to make out of it but either way, the pull was there. 

Could this be it? 

My heart was pounding up a notch as the pull got stronger, intensifying those imaginary steel rods to guide me to some unknown direction. 

I tried remembering my dad's words about meeting your mate, and one statement stuck out the most as I imagined as though he was right in front of me, guiding me on what to do. 

"You will feel the pull. Following it will lead you to what is destined for you." 

As the intensity of the pull grew, my wolf and I spoke in unison, with a distinct voice of such unification with my inner wolf. 

"Ours," my wolf and I spoke.