Chapter 2

“Alpha,” Emal says bowing. 

“Emal, for the millionth time. Just call me Axel, you know I hate formalities.”

“Maybe one day I will, Alpha,” he says kindly.

“I would prefer it to be sooner rather than later. Now, back to your performance. You mentioned to Billy you wanted to add something to give it a little more flair?”

“Yes, I was thinking it would be exciting to have Ginger ride on my trunk,” he says, turning red in the face. I smirk at him.

Emal is the biggest draw to our show. Not only is he massive in human form but he is a were-elephant. Not just any elephant either, Emal is a rare albino elephant. Ginger however is a quiet petite redhead gypsy who pretends to be a witch that transforms the whole cast of the show into animals. And Emal has a crush the size of his animal form on her. 

“Ginger!” I call her over, she skips over happily.

“What’s up Axel?” She asks, sounding rather chirpy.

“How do you feel about Emal carrying you on his trunk for a part of the act?”

Her eyes light up and she covers her mouth in excitement. 

“Oh, I bet that would look so cool.” She turns to Emal. “We should start practicing right now.”

Emal looks down at his feet shyly.

“If you would like to, I have time.”

I smirk and meander over to Billy who is currently standing waist-deep in the river. He is laser-focused on the fish that leap around him carelessly. He thrust his hand in the water and pulls out a fish looking mighty happy with himself. Reaching down he lifts a large basket that is attached to his side and slides the fish in, lowering the basket back under the water. 

“I thought the Peirson’s were on dinner duty?” I ask.

“They wanted fish,” he mutters, sounding bitter.

“So you are the one fishing for what reason?”

“You would think a family of cats would know how to fish,” he says annoyed.

“Right, so again, why are you the one doing it?”

“Because they are tiger cats, Axel. Tigers don’t fish for salmon.”

I frown at him.

“I think this has more to do with the salmon jumping out of the water and your bear instincts than their ability to catch a certain type of fish.”

“Think what you want.” He grumbles.

“You are in a mood.” I point out. I enjoy Billy’s grumpy moods.

“Listen, I’m exhausted, ok? I ate breakfast, I was taking a nap, and thing one and thing two brought their thing three to use his little tiger baby eyes on me.”

“You big ol’ softy.”

“Go away before I make your right side match your left side,” he mutters.

I chuckle as I walk back to my home for a while. The large red and white tents stick out like a sore thumb calling all curious humans to it like a moth to the flame. Everyone is chattering happily, discussing their new additions to their shows, or just living up the travel life. We travel when and where we please and we never stay in the same place long. I have no desire for people to poke around or try to become friendly with my pack. 

If someone in the human communities were to find out that shifters exist not only would our entire show cease to exist but many of the shifter community would be wanting our heads on chopping blocks. Humans have all kinds of lore surrounding werewolves and vampires, when you coexist for long enough someone is bound to see things, but what humans don't realize is just how vast the shifter community is. There are many animal shifters out there, I had never really given it much thought when I lived at home. Why would I need to when we all lived in a small community of our own kind. 

Billy is the first nonwolf shifter that I met. He found me dying in the woods and carried me back to his tiny cabin. When I woke up I was in my human form and my face was covered in bandages. He nursed me back to health for days, my wolf focused all its healing powers on saving my eye, which I am grateful for but I am now left feeling like the Phantom of the opera, always trying to cover up my deformed half face. 

I used to be a looker. By all rights, I would have been considered downright good-looking. But now the only person who can truly love me is my destined mate, and that will be purely because she has to love me. There are no fairy tales here, no kissing of the beast to make him a handsome man. Just kissing the beast and trying not to realize how shitty of a hand you’ve been dealt. 

A shift in the wind draws my attention to the woods behind my tent, a faint hint of cinnamon and apple wafts through the air and I move to follow it. My feet pull me along as I scan the bushes and dark woods hoping to find its source. I’m not a moron, I know this draw, this scent is my mate. The one person in the world who is predetermined to love me, no matter what. 

That is of course unless she finds me repulsive. I lurch to a stop at the thought. Charging through the dark woods after her, with how I look, would scare her. One look at me and she would think the dead has risen and come for her flesh. Ok, that might be an exaggeration, but the fear of rejection is paralyzing. I’ve felt its sting before it’s the one thing I wish to forever avoid. My wolf instincts rage war in my mind, urging me to run towards her, to grab her and claim her as mine and never let her leave me. 

I spin on my heels and walk away from the scent. I can feel it pulling me trying to drag me back, begging me to find it. But I refuse to be held captive, yet again, by the curse of what I am. Werewolves, my family, they have all rejected me, spurned me, and branded me for dead. No, I have long broken away from the stereotypical drive that is my nature based on the DNA of the animal that is a part of me.

“What are you doing?” Sarah asks me, glancing at the woods and back to me. Her dark eyes watch me intently.

“I heard something in the woods,” I answer her.

“You don’t think someone is watching us do you?” She asks nervously.

Sarah is our resident scaredy-cat. Literally. She is a beautiful, regal tiger who is afraid of everything outside of our pack. She fears the day the humans discover our secret and come for her sweet little Al, who is all of 5 years old. I sigh heavily and walk over to her, placing my hand on her shoulders.

“There is nothing there to fear, Sarah. It was just a deer.”

“What if it's a shifter deer?” she whispers. I frown at her.

“There is no such thing as shifter deers.”

“You don’t know that!” she whispers.

“I do, Sarah. Ok? In the years you have been here, have I ever let anything happen to you or anyone in our pack?”

“Well, no.”

“And I will die before anyone comes for Al. You may have given birth to that boy but he is family to all of us. No one will ever lay a hand on anyone in this pack unless they have a very violent death wish.” My voice slips and my alpha tone comes out and she smiles.

“I always feel better when the alpha in you comes out.”

“It proves how much I care about our pack,” I assure her and she nods, finally looking placated. 

“I know you do, Axel.” She sighs heavily. “I’m sorry for panicking.”

“It’s fine, Sarah.” I smile.

“I love ya Axel, but your smile still gives me shivers.” She says as she turns and walks away.

The moment Sarah is out of sight I peek over my shoulder towards the woods. Even if my mate is the one in the woods, that doesn’t mean she won't cause us any harm. Which means she could be a threat to my pack. I curse Sarah for the paranoia she has planted in my brain. Then groaning I run into the woods. The changing leaves flutter to the ground as I thunder through looking for the source of my annoyance. My mate.

I crash through branches and leap over downed trees with ease. Each stride pulls me closer, the scent growing stronger. I take a moment to internalize the draw of my mate and push it away. She may be my mate but she could also be a threat to my very existence and my pack. This means until I understand her motives, she is nothing but a threat. 

I freeze, waiting for the woods to show me the way, birds are tweeting to my right and behind me. To my left, there is a void of sound, a lack of animal movement and I cautiously begin my trek. The trees grow denser and the air colder as I lower myself into a ready position and creep over a large log. My breath catches when I see her.

Like a flower in the midst of a winter storm, she lays on the dark leaf-laden ground of the forest with a thin blanket huddled over her shaking body. I clear my throat to announce my presence and move closer. She doesn’t stir other than to mumble and groan. Then suddenly she begins to sob, and scream for aid. I don't want to touch her, go near her. I loathe the idea of those damn tingles which will end my resolve. But her screams break me and reaching out I stroke her cheek ever so softly.