The Eighteenth Birthday

POV: Freya.

I shifted the heavy pile of scratchy wool blankets in my arms, my worn sneakers sinking slightly into the dew-damp grass. The cool night air kissed my cheeks as I made my way toward the massive stone firepit sitting at the center of the pack grounds. Tonight was the full moon celebration, a monthly tradition that brought our entire community together. There would be roasting meats, loud laughter, and ancient stories told under the stars. Then, the fully shifted wolves would disappear into the dark woods to run under the moonlight.

I arranged the blankets over the wide, sturdy logs circling the pit. They were meant for coziness rather than actual warmth. Werewolves ran notoriously hot, practically radiating heat like walking furnaces. Even those of us who hadn’t shifted yet shared that high body temperature.

*Yet.*

I gripped the edge of a plaid blanket, smoothing out the wrinkles. For the past eighteen years, I had been relegated to the group left behind. While the rest of the pack tore through the forest in their magnificent forms, feeling the wind in their fur, I stayed by the firepit. My job was to watch over the boisterous pups, break up their squabbles, and poke the dying embers with a stick. It was getting old. Deep down, a hollow ache gnawed at my chest. I desperately wanted my wolf to finally come to me. I wanted to hear her voice in my mind, to feel the shift in my bones, to prove to my pack—and to myself—that I wasn't some broken dud.

"Hi, pumpkin."

The familiar, warm voice pulled me from my brooding. I turned toward the tree line and managed a small smile. My father stepped into the clearing, flanked by Alpha Vaughn and Gamma Tobin. The three of them had just finished their perimeter check of the woods, a standard precaution before the pack let loose for the night.

"Hi, Dad," I called back, tossing the last blanket onto a log.

They walked over in unison, a towering wall of muscle and authority. These three men had been inseparable best friends since childhood. When Alpha Vaughn took over the pack from his own father years ago, he hadn't hesitated to name my dad his Beta and Tobin his Gamma. They ran the pack seamlessly together, their lifelong bond making our territory one of the strongest and most respected in the werewolf world. To me, though, they were just Dad, Uncle Vaughn, and Uncle Tobin.

"Looking forward to tomorrow?" Alpha Vaughn asked, his sharp eyes softening as he looked at me.

Tomorrow. My eighteenth birthday. The milestone every werewolf anticipated from the moment they understood what a mate was.

I rubbed the back of my neck, feeling the sudden heat creeping up my throat. "Kind of."

Gamma Tobin crossed his thick arms over his chest, raising a brow. "What do you mean, 'kind of', green bean?"

My dad closed the distance between us, wrapping a heavy, comforting arm around my shoulders and pulling me flush against his side. "I think my pumpkin is just nervous. Turning eighteen is a massive step."

Alpha Vaughn smiled widely, the firelight catching the silver tracing the edges of his dark hair. "That's right. She’ll be able to sense her mate, and he’ll be able to identify her, provided they’re both of age."

My dad playfully scowled, tightening his grip on my shoulder. "She's far too young for that kind of thing. No boys."

His two best friends burst into roaring laughter, the deep sound echoing across the clearing. Their amusement eased the tension in my chest for a fraction of a second, but it couldn't wash away the cold dread pooling in my stomach.

They were partly right about my nerves. I was anxious about the mate bond, about the sudden tethering of my soul to another person. But my anxiety ran far deeper than they realized. It was an ugly, terrifying fear that kept me awake most nights.

My wolf still hadn't come to me.

It was common pack knowledge that werewolves typically experienced their first shift anywhere between the ages of sixteen and twenty-five. But everyone also knew the unspoken rule: the older you were when you first shifted, the weaker your wolf became.

I thought about the others my age. Declan, the Alpha's son and my brother's best friend, had shifted a mere month after turning sixteen. He was massive, powerful, a born leader. My older brother, Alden, found his wolf seven months after his sixteenth birthday. Even Tessa, Gamma Tobin's daughter—whom I merely tolerated for the sake of our families—had shifted when she was just a little over seventeen.

I was turning eighteen at midnight, and I hadn't felt even a slight tingle of my wolf. Not a whisper in my mind. Not an itch under my skin during the peak of the full moon. Nothing. I was practically human in a pack of apex predators.

My profound fear was simple and paralyzing: what if my future mate realized I was weak? What if he took one look at my wolfless existence, decided I was a burden, and rejected me right there in front of everyone? The thought of hearing those words—of feeling the bond snap before it even formed—made me sick to my stomach.

Alpha Vaughn tilted his head, his Alpha instincts catching the subtle shift in my scent. The amusement faded from his face, replaced by a gentle, paternal concern. "You're not still worried about your wolf, are you, little one?"

I hesitated, then nodded, dropping my gaze to the grass. We had variations of this conversation for the past two years, ever since my sixteenth birthday came and went without a shift.

"Freya Dawn Prescott," Vaughn said, his voice dropping into a steady, resonant tone that commanded belief. "Two years is nothing. She will come to you."

I flinched slightly at the use of my full name. My mother adored classic names and insisted on them for both her children. Dad, who loved her far too much to ever say no, had happily agreed.

"I know, Alpha," I mumbled, forcing the words past the tight lump in my throat.

My dad leaned down and pressed a firm kiss to the top of my head. "You are perfect just the way you are, pumpkin."

I shot him a sideways glance. "You have to say that. You’re my father."

Uncle Tobin stepped forward, reaching out a massive hand to roughly ruffle my unruly red curls. "And if some boy tells you otherwise, you tell us. We’ll beat his ass."

"Thank you, Uncle Tobin," I said, trying to duck away from his hand.

"Any time," he chuckled, messing up my hair even more. I groaned, batting his hand away while my dad kept me anchored against his side, laughing at my struggle. My curls were a nightmare to manage on a good day. Messing with them turned my head into a giant poof of tangles and frizz.

"Alright, enough lazing around. Move your asses," Alpha Vaughn commanded, clapping his hands together. He looked back at me. "I’ll see you later tonight, little one. After midnight, we celebrate your big day."

"Fine, we're coming," my dad sighed with dramatic, pretend annoyance.

I watched the three of them walk off to finish their duties. Sometimes, despite their intimidating titles, they seemed stuck in a permanent teenager mode. It was a little scary to think they ran the entire pack, but their results spoke for themselves. As I turned back to the firepit, a small voice whispered in my mind. *I am lucky. Good family. Good friends. Good pack. So what if I don't have a wolf? If my mate loves me anyway, I'll be fine.*

*Unless he rejects you because you're a weak burden,* the darker, louder voice countered, playing like a broken record in my head.

Hours later, the full moon hung high and brilliant in the ink-black sky. The celebration was in full swing. I sat on one of the wool-covered logs near the roaring fire, laughing along with a group of younger wolves. Clive, one of our oldest and most battle-scarred warriors, was gesturing wildly as he recounted a tale of fighting a rogue vampire coven decades ago. The number of vampires in his story seemed to multiply with every passing full moon, but nobody corrected him. We all loved the theatrics.

Out in the deep woods, the fully shifted shifters were running freely. I kept one eye on the tumbling pups wrestling in the grass and another on the teenagers lingering near the food tables.

It was just past midnight when the atmosphere shifted.

I noticed them first by the tree line. The pack was returning from their moonlit run. They walked out of the dense forest in small groups and pairs, most already shifted back into their human forms, wearing the spare shorts they left tied to the trees. They looked relaxed, their skin gleaming with sweat in the firelight. But my brow furrowed in confusion. They were back unusually early. The run usually lasted until the early hours of the morning.

I stood up, brushing dirt from my jeans, wondering what had cut the run short.

Then the crowd parted.

My mother and Luna Maeve emerged from the packhouse path, walking carefully toward the firepit. Suspended between them was a magnificent, massive birthday cake. My eyes went wide. It was a towering three-tier creation covered entirely in delicate, hand-crafted sugar flowers that looked like a blooming night meadow. Sitting proudly on the very top tier were two flickering candles burning brightly in the shape of a one and an eight.

The surrounding pack members cheered and clapped as they set the masterpiece down on a sturdy picnic table.

"Happy birthday, sweetie," my mother beamed, wiping a smudge of white frosting from her thumb before wrapping her arms around me.

"Thank you, Mom," I breathed out, hugging her back.

Before I could step away, Luna Maeve stepped in, pulling me into a tight, warm embrace that smelled of expensive perfume and forest pine. "I hope you find your mate soon, Freya," she whispered into my ear, her voice full of genuine affection. "And I hope he is everything you deserve."

"Thank you, Luna," I replied, my chest tightening with that familiar spike of anxiety.

My dad appeared out of the crowd, clapping his hands together. "Time to blow out the candles and make a wish, pumpkin!"

I leaned forward, taking a deep breath, ready to extinguish the flames.

"Not yet!" my mother snapped, holding up a hand. "Alden isn't here yet."

I paused, glancing around the firelit faces. She was right; my older brother was nowhere to be seen.

Luna Maeve snuggled up against Alpha Vaughn's side as he wrapped an arm around her waist. "He's off with Declan and Tessa."

"I can wait," I offered quickly, not wanting to cause a scene. Alpha Vaughn and Luna Maeve gave me an appreciative smile.

My mother, however, crossed her arms, her foot tapping the dirt. "Honestly. The entire pack is here waiting, and our son is nowhere to be found." The deep impatience in her voice was unmistakable.

A heavy minute passed. The wax from the candles began to drip onto the sugar flowers.

Then, I heard the snap of branches.

I heard my brother's frantic, heavy breathing before I actually saw him. Alden came half-running, half-stumbling out of the dense forest line. He was panting heavily, his chest heaving as he pushed through the thick underbrush. Closely following behind him was Declan, the Alpha's son. Tessa trailed a few paces back, taking her sweet time and looking entirely unbothered.

"Sorry! Sorry," Alden gasped out, holding his hands up defensively as he jogged toward the table. He flinched under my mother's harsh, glaring eyes. "I didn't realize how deep into the forest we had run. We lost track of time. You didn't blow out the candles yet, did you?"

"No," my mother said flatly, her tone cold enough to freeze water. "She has been waiting."

Alden rubbed the back of his neck, looking guilty. "Sorry," he repeated, looking at me.

But I wasn't listening to my brother. I wasn't paying any attention to his frantic apologies, or my mother's scolding, or the way the crowd shifted.

The moment Declan stepped out of the tree line and the wind shifted, everything else ceased to exist.

It hit me like a physical blow to the chest. A scent so rich, so intoxicating, and so overwhelmingly powerful that my knees nearly buckled. Sandalwood. Deep, earthy, and grounding, mixed seamlessly with the bright, mouth-watering sweetness of ripe pineapple. It bypassed my rational brain and sank straight into my marrow.

I gasped, my hands gripping the edge of the picnic table to stay upright. Even without my wolf present, my deepest primal instincts screamed the truth, ringing loud and undeniable through every fiber of my being.

*Mate.*

The scent of my fated mate.

My heart slammed against my ribs like a caged bird. Slowly, feeling as though I were moving underwater, I turned my head away from my brother. I tracked the heavy, magnetic pull of the sandalwood and sweet pineapple straight toward the edge of the forest.

I locked eyes with Declan.

He stood frozen beside Alden. The firelight flickered across his sharp jaw and broad shoulders, but his eyes were wide, blown out, and locked fiercely onto mine. His face perfectly mirrored my own utter, paralyzing shock. His chest stopped heaving. He wasn't blinking. He was staring at me like the ground had just vanished beneath his feet.

The noise of the pack faded into a dull, distant hum. The flickering candles blurred in my peripheral vision. The thought rang loud, unbelievable, and terrifying in my mind, echoing in the silence between us.

Declan, the Alpha’s son, was my mate?