Young Zarek & Elowen

POV ZAREK

Her scent reached me before I even saw her. The unmistakable sweetness of spun sugar mixed with the damp earth of the forest floor gave her away. Twigs snapped in rapid succession. A rustling sound tore through the thick bushes bordering the stream.

Nine-year-old Elowen broke through the foliage a second later. She froze in her tracks. Her round eyes widened to the size of saucers the moment they landed on me. Her small hands shot behind her back, desperately trying to conceal a crinkled plastic bag from my line of sight.

I leaned back against the rough surface of the boulder, letting a slow smirk tug at the corner of my mouth.

"What are you doing here, princess? Hiding from your mother again?"

She let out a loud, annoyed huff. The initial shock wore off, replaced by the fiery defiance she always carried around like a shield. She marched over, her little boots stomping the mossy ground, and slumped her small frame onto the hard stone right beside me.

"How did you know that? Did you follow me? And why are you here? This is my place. You are not allowed here."

She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring up at me as if she could intimidate a werewolf five years her senior. I bit the inside of my cheek. It took real effort to suppress the smile threatening to break across my face. Her fierce, feisty attitude always managed to pull me out of my dark moods, even if she had no idea she was doing it.

I picked up a smooth, flat rock from the surface of the boulder. I tossed it toward the flowing stream. It skipped twice across the rushing water before sinking into the depths.

"Last time I checked, I owned this land. This is still part of my territory." I kept my voice casual, watching the ripples distort the reflection of the towering pines.

Her jaw dropped in sheer shock. She stared at me, processing the audacity of my claim. Then, she stubbornly puffed her chest out, refusing to back down.

"I do not care, Zarek. When I say it is my place, then it is mine!"

She flashed a cocky, triumphant smile. She pointed a small, sticky finger toward a massive oak tree standing a few meters to our left, right along the muddy bank.

"Look right there. See that name carved into the bark? Lysandra Elowen Kincaid. That makes it mine."

I followed her gaze to the messy, uneven letters scratched into the wood. I let my silence serve as her victory. Arguing with a stubborn nine-year-old was a losing battle, and making her cry was the last thing on my agenda today.

Letting her claim this small patch of the woods as her sanctuary was easy. The truth was, this secluded bend in the stream served as my refuge too. It was the only spot in the entire territory where I could escape the crushing weight pressing down on my shoulders. Here, the rushing water drowned out the endless demands of the pack members. Here, I could just breathe.

Fourteen years old. Most teenagers my age were worried about school grades or sneaking out to parties. I was worried about winter rations, border patrols, and rogue attacks. It had been exactly three months since I became the Alpha of the Obsidian Crest Pack. Three agonizing months since my grandfather drew his last breath.

I was prepared for the role. The elders started drilling pack law and combat tactics into my skull the moment I turned eleven. But preparation in theory was nothing like the brutal reality of execution. Taking over a grieving pack without my grandfather's steady guidance drained my sanity daily. The title was a heavy crown forged from duty and sacrifice. I wore it because I had to, but in these quiet moments by the water, the sheer isolation of leadership threatened to swallow me whole.

I blinked away the ghost of my grandfather's memory and refocused on the little girl beside me.

"Okay, tell me then. What did you take this time?" I asked the question while keeping my eyes locked on the sunlight dancing across the stream.

Elowen shifted her weight on the rock. Her shoulders slumped just a fraction.

"Just cupcakes."

Her voice was weak, stripped of its previous cocky bravado. It was enough to drag me fully out of my spiraling thoughts. I turned my head to look at her. The tension rolling off her small frame was palpable.

"And how many?"

She stared down at her muddy boots, refusing to make eye contact. I reached over and ruffled her messy hair. She let out a soft whine of protest. I did not let her pull away. Instead, I wrapped my arm around her shoulders and yanked her into a tight, brotherly hug against my side. She squirmed against my ribs, but my grip held firm.

"Spill it. Tell me the truth." I softened my tone, squeezing her shoulder gently.

"Just three." She mumbled the lie straight into my jacket.

I snorted a harsh laugh, the sound echoing off the trees.

"Lies."

She huffed again, giving up the charade. She pulled back just enough to look up at me.

"Fine, it is seven! I took a lot of them because they are my favorite. And I am going to give you one, just one. So you cannot tell my mom, okay?"

She wiggled her eyebrows in a comical display of bribery. She brought her hands out from behind her back and shoved the plastic bag into her lap. Reaching inside, she pulled out a thoroughly squashed cupcake and held it up to my face. The bright pink icing was smeared across the wrapper, the sponge cake crushed from being crammed into the bag with six others. It looked like a casualty of war, but I knew her mother's baking. It would taste incredible.

I accepted the peace offering. I peeled back the sticky wrapper and took a massive bite, polishing off half the pastry in one go. The sugar rush hit my tongue instantly.

"You know she will still find out regardless. She is going to be mad at you again. Now she has to bake another batch for the pack meeting later." I spoke around the sweet dough, raising an eyebrow at the little thief.

Elowen just giggled. She chewed on her own flattened cupcake, her mouth smeared with pink frosting.

"That is why I took seven. It will be totally worth it when Mom gets angry!"

She dropped her cupcake back into the bag for a second. She held up her small hands, curling her fingers inward to mimic sharp claws. She scrunched her face into a terrifying grimace.

"Grrrr... she gets angry just like that! Like a giant bear!"

She broke character a second later, giggling uncontrollably at her own performance. She picked her snack back up and went back to chewing happily. I chuckled at her wild imagination. I reached into the open bag sitting on her lap and grabbed a second squashed cupcake. I waited for her loud protests. I expected a scolding about the one-cupcake limit she had set. Instead, she just glared at me out of the corner of her eye and kept her mouth shut.

We ate in comfortable silence for several minutes. The only sounds were the rushing water and the wind rustling through the dense canopy above. The sugar and the quiet companionship acted as a balm to my frayed nerves. I felt the knot of tension in my neck slowly start to loosen.

Then, Elowen turned her body to face me. The playful glint in her eyes was gone, replaced by a deep, genuine concern that felt too mature for her round face.

"Do I really, really need to call you Alpha now? Mom keeps telling me I have to address you as Alpha, but it sounds stupid. You are not old. The title of Alpha is for grandfathers."

She rolled her eyes in dramatic disgust. I pressed my lips tightly together. I forced myself not to laugh at her blatant disrespect for the highest rank in our society. I let her continue her rant.

"Why did they make you an Alpha? Can somebody older than you not be the Alpha? I am scared for you, Zarek. Maybe being an Alpha will make you grow older faster. You should have told the elders you do not want to be the Alpha."

Her voice dropped to an urgent whisper on the last sentence. She cast a nervous glance around the empty woods, acting as if the elders were hiding in the bushes waiting to punish her for treason. She looked back up at me. A warm glow of admiration shone in her bright eyes.

"But you are doing okay. Mom said you are very strong and that you can protect the pack. So I think that is okay. Just do not grow too old like your grandfather did. Silver hair is not cool at all!"

A genuine, warm chuckle rumbled in my chest. I turned to fully face her. I lifted my hands and affectionately cupped her little frosting-smeared face. My thumbs rested gently against her cheeks. Her words pierced through the thick armor I wore every day. She had no idea how much her innocent faith anchored me.

"Well, princess, thank you if you think I am too cool to be an Alpha. But the truth is, I wanted to be one. I would do anything to keep this pack running and safe. And if that means I have to get uncool silver hair, then so be it."

I gave her a serious, honest look. She stared directly into my eyes, searching my face to see if I was playing a joke on her. Finding nothing but truth, she shook her head in disapproval. She raised her hands and playfully swatted my fingers away from her cheeks. She crossed her legs on the boulder. A heavy, suffocating shift in the atmosphere occurred the moment she opened her mouth again.

"Will you be getting a Luna soon? Mom said you should have one. We have not had a Luna for forever. Mom said that too."

My hand immediately dropped to my side. My fingers curled inward, clenching into a tight, white-knuckled fist against the stone. The sudden question felt like a physical blow to my ribs. I did not expect a nine-year-old to bring up the one topic I despised the most. The elders had been whispering about it since the funeral, plotting to find me a suitable mate to stabilize my reign. They saw a fourteen-year-old boy and thought a Luna would anchor him. They were wrong.

I stared out at the water, my jaw set like stone. I already knew the answer to her question long before the Alpha title ever passed down to me.

My grandfather ran the Obsidian Crest Pack with an iron fist and a steady heart for decades. He did it alone. My grandmother, his Chosen Luna, passed away when they were both young. The pack whispered that losing a mate destroyed an Alpha. They claimed a wolf could not function with a severed soul. But my grandfather survived. He thrived. He proved that an Alpha did not need a partner to rule effectively.

A mate was a vulnerability. A Luna was a weakness waiting to be exploited by rival packs or internal traitors. I could not afford weaknesses. The pack needed my undivided attention. They needed a leader without emotional baggage, someone who would never hesitate in a moment of crisis because he was worried about a female. I refused to let my heart become a liability.

I let out a heavy, ragged sigh. The peaceful sanctuary of the stream faded, replaced once again by the cold, isolating reality of my duty. I loosened my fist, letting my fingers uncurl. My decision was set in stone, unmovable and unshakeable.

"No, I don't need a Luna." There was a note of finality in my voice.