Lupus Argentum *editing*

Chapter 1

1.

The wall has never looked so gray before. The cracks in the paint have never been so obvious, neither have the holes left behind from old picture frames. The more I stare, the more imperfections and signs of aging appear. Even behind blurry eyes, the discoloring and emptiness are vibrant. I glance down at my sketchbook again, the page just as empty and cold as the wall. I want to draw something, anything at all.

"Come in," It comes out more monotone than I meant to. Cecilia walks into the room with a warm smile, her long brown hair swaying as it hangs down to her shoulders. Cecilia is a beautiful slender woman, her soul one of the kindest I have ever met. If not for the bags under her eyes, she would look out-of-place standing in that dull doorframe, surrounded by the empty walls.

"Dinner is almost ready." Her voice is kind, yet there is an underlying command for me to come downstairs and eat. Her voice leaves a strong coffee taste lingering in the air. I should probably go down with her; it has been a couple of days since I saw the others.

"I already ate," I try to lie. I just want to draw, sort out my thoughts, and slow down the trains in my mind. Anyway, my appetite isn't existing after my conversation with Narcissa earlier today.

"Oh, look! Poor Maylea!"

"You have to join us at the dinner table today, after all, it's you who decided what's for dinner."

"She hasn't shifted yet so all she can do is go grocery shopping,"

"Maylea, did you hear me?"

"I don't know why my sister cares for you so much. I would have killed myself if I was you."

"Ok," I answer Cecilia, looking her in the eyes. Her stare is hard before her shoulders and eyelids fall with a sigh. "You have to understand May, the other looks up to you and I don't want them to start–I don't know—not showing up for dinner and such." She looks conflicted like she knew it sounds like she hopes they won't end up like me, yet she knows it's true. "You know I didn-"

"I'll be down in a minute." I interrupt her before she can finish, hating the thought of lies coming out of her mouth for my benefit. I don't mind people speaking the truth, no matter how much it might hurt. I know I am not the best role model for the others, and while it doesn't feel good, it feels worse to have people close to you lying about it.

"You can leave now." I try to give her an out of the situation, wanting to spare her from having to explain herself. In retrospect, I might have appeared irritated or mad, which wasn't my intention, and I thoroughly regret it.

She seems hesitant to leave, turning around with a heavy body and wavering at the door. Eventually, after a deep breath, she looked over her shoulder at me. "I have to talk to you later." She declares, her voice now more reminiscent of stale sour coffee with too much sweetener in. With one short yet lingering look around the room, she turns and walks out into the warmly lit hallway.

"No wonder your parents didn't want you, I mean look at you! My sister probably can't wait for the day you leave."

Was Narcissa right? I mean, would Cecilia throw me out? Has she made her mind, written the decision in stone, or can I still convince her to let me stay? Am I in trouble? My legs move before I can register it. I pace the wooden floor, gnawing on my nails, trying to settle the ants crawling in my blood. I can feel them crawling in my ears and throat. A deep thumping, probably my heart, pounds behind my eyes. I wish I could stop it because I know it will do no good, but at the back of my mind a small girl looks up with big hopeful eyes. Am I finally adopted? Has my stranger found me? Would I be the next kid to pack my bags and walk out of here into the arms of a new family? Probably not.

The house is enormous, filled with kids much younger and cuter than me. Those are the children people adopt. They want children with potential, children with rosy cheeks and bright innocent eyes filled with wonder and curiosity. They want children that will grow into strong werewolves, maybe werewolves of a higher rank like a doctor or warrior. I'm a 19-year-old human girl who spends her day locked in her room drawing, and her night on the roof thinking. No one wants her, no one wants the girl with no credentials or history. Since Cecilia found me at her doormat one morning, she is the closest to a mother I have come and I love her. As clique as it is, it still hurts.

"Are you coming, May?"

My pacing has stopped, and I look up at Pandora, still with my thumbnail between my teeth. She, unlike Cecilia, looks completely out of place in the dreary doorframe. She's the kind of child people adopt. At the tender age of seven, her vibrant red curls are a fair representation of how lively and fun she is, the freckles on her rosy cheeks akin to the stars I stare at all night long. Molly arrived last week after her mom passed away because of the rejection from her mate. The dinner is in her honor as a celebration of surviving a week here.

"I'll be down in a sec." I smile softly at her, feeling uncomfortable with the contrast between her and the room. She skips down the hall, disappearing down the stairs where the others were chatting away. I follow shortly after, stopping by the shared bathroom to wash my puffy and patchy face. I try to avoid looking in the mirror, yet my eyes sway to the dark circles under my dull hazel eyes and my messy dark blonde hair. Taking a deep breath, I tie my hair into a ponytail and quickly dab some concealer under my eyes, hopefully looking more alive.

"She finally decided to join us." The comment comes from a grumpy little kid named Candice, and I don't bother to respond with more than a soft smile and a hum. All six kids are sitting around a big rectangular table, chatting about their day. The room is next to the kitchen, with an open floor plan into the living room, which was littered with toys. Jeremy is eying the Lego as I sit between him and Pandora. He's a silent kid, I've actually never heard him utter a single word. At 10 years old, his blonde hair and deep brown eyes suggested how charming he could be, without even saying anything.

I try to eat and make small talk, but generally, I am not good with children or small talk. Mostly, I watch the trees rustling in the wind outside. It would be fun to draw. People tend to not bother me when I'm drawing, and for a few hours, my mind is completely blank. Eyes. I love to draw eyes. Eyes can reveal so much and capturing the depth and movement correctly on the paper is a novel experience each time.

"Ok kids, go to your rooms please, I expect your homework done before bedtime." Cecilia looks directly at me, letting me know that she expects me to stay behind. Grabbing my upper arm, she drags me into her office, ignoring my questioning looks. It's a big office, with two couches facing each other, a big mahogany desk and some bookshelves. We sit on opposing couches, her with a serious mask on, and I filled with anxiety.

"We need to talk about 'you know what'" she says with a determined tone yet pity in her eyes. She is referring to my wolf. You see, I am 19 and haven't shifted yet, haven't even met my wolf. I should have shifted before the age of 16, while a few late bloomers shift up to a year later. Except for my scent, I am identical to a human. Nobody knows, of course, except me and Cecilia, because we didn't want to risk my place in the pack. However, it is becoming worrying.

"Are you listening?" Cecilia's minimally annoyed voice brought me back from my train of thoughts. I muttered a low apology, not worrying about her hearing me due to her heightened senses. She just shook her head, looked at me, and sighed before opening and closing her mouth, as if she was a fish out of water.

"I think it is time we tell the alpha."

"What?" it tumbled out of my mouth before I could even process the true meaning of her words. The thought honestly scared me. He would not be happy about our secret and he isn't a very big fan of humans, which, for my lack of wolf, I am. "What if he throws me out of the pack?" I whisper more to myself, but Cecilia hears me. I would not survive long as a rogue, I would be killed faster than light.

"He wouldn't do that. You still have wereblood running in your veins."

"Are you willing to risk it?!" I could feel the thumping of my heart and the sweet burn of tears. "Can't we wait until my birthday at least?" I was begging at this point, desperate to not risk the routine I had become so dependent on, desperate to survive.

"I'm sorry, it's a little too late for that."

"Poor girl,"