Mates of a Werewolf Hunter

Chapter 1 Valentine's Ordeal

Valentine Winters P.O.V

As the entitled Alpha Female of the pack, my sixteenth birthday arrived with a buzz of excitement echoing through the halls of our school. The familiar faces that surrounded me whispered happy wishes, acknowledging the significance of the day. The title came with its perks, and everyone treated me with a warmth that resonated from the acknowledgment of my bloodline.

Yearning for the elusive connection that comes with finding one's mate, I couldn't help but envision the warmth of being enveloped in a secure embrace, leaning on everlasting arms. The idea of having someone who would risk it all for my safety, someone who would always be there, resonated deeply within me.

Friends, whether they were the sturdy betas and deltas or the less esteemed omegas, zetas, and epsilons, formed the tapestry of my social circle. I despised the hierarchical divisions that came with ranks, opting instead to appreciate friendships beyond the constraints of societal norms.

The night unfolded with my father, Nathaniel, the current alpha of our pack, orchestrating a grand celebration in my honor. Loupe Lycan, our pack, was abuzz with anticipation for the party, and I shared the excitement, hoping that amidst the revelry, I might finally encounter my mate.

Dutifully, I participated in the social dance ritual, twirling and stepping in time with every eligible male present. However, the strain on my feet became undeniable. "Umm, I just need a momentary pause, my apologies," I expressed to my dance partner. He responded with a smile, sealing the pause with a tender kiss on the back of my hand, causing a flush of crimson to color my cheeks.

Desiring a breath of fresh air, I stepped outside the pack house. A concerned friend, Zoe, intercepted me. "Hey, going somewhere?" she inquired, her eyes reflecting genuine concern. "Just need some fresh air. Don't fret," I reassured her, setting out with a silent determination.

Wandering into the woods, a routine for werewolves like us, I found solace in the embrace of nature. Clad in an alluring, flowing red dress – my favored colors being black, red, and white – the night held the promise of enchantment and mystery.

Deeper into the woods I ventured, the cool breeze launching its assault on my flesh, causing my dress and hair to dance behind me like untamed spirits. The allure of the wild called to me, and with a rebellious spirit, I discarded my stiletto heels, relishing the sensation of mud embracing my bare feet. I wasn't one to shy away from the primal touch of nature – I was a fighter through and through.

Far from the typical prep, my wardrobe usually leaned towards the rebellious side with an affinity for all-black attire and skinny jeans. Yet, on this particular day, I found myself draped in an enormous dress, a choice enforced by my family. Their reasoning? "You're a female, darling. Do you want your mate to mistake you for a man?"

I chuckled at the absurdity of the thought. Imagining a straight guy discovering his mate is a man and suddenly grappling with an unexpected twist of sexuality – the sheer mental image was enough to provoke laughter and sympathy.

My journey led me to a waterfall stream, a haven I frequented in times of joy, sorrow, or frustration. The place where I unraveled my thoughts and emotions, settling on the green meadow, feeling the grass beneath my palms.

Beneath the stars and moon, I attempted the futile task of counting the stars, only to abandon the effort in favor of simply relishing the dark blue expanse of the night sky. With my eyes closed, I allowed myself to exhale, the tension of the day dissipating with each breath.

The tranquility of the moment shattered when the snap of a twig reached my ears. In an instant, I, along with the wolf within me, snapped to attention, attuned to the rustle of leaves and the subtle shifts in the forest. My senses heightened, I sniffed the air, listened to the subtle sounds, felt the energy around me, and observed the shadows.

Just as I detected a strange scent, a searing agony pierced me, akin to an injection thrust into my core and then slowly withdrawn. The mysterious encounter in the heart of the woods had begun, shrouded in a mix of curiosity and foreboding.

Anonymous P.O.V

"Sir, we've captured a female werewolf," one of the men reported.

"Good, bring her to me, and alive," I commanded.

The hatred for werewolves ran deep within me, a sentiment shared by my father. It was a species that stole my mother from me, a woman I never had the chance to know. She perished while giving birth to me, leaving a void that even countless werewolf deaths couldn't fill. I had become a hunter, a relentless predator of these creatures, particularly the rogue ones with a bloodlust that extended to both humans and werewolves. They preyed on the vulnerable, the easy targets, and I had taken it upon myself to eliminate them.

I'm the pre-eminent here because of my genes, I'm a half- I began to think, interrupted by the arrival of the captive girl, unconscious and roughly sixteen years old.

"Tie her to that chair," I instructed, and the men promptly obeyed, securing her with sterling silver chains that weakened werewolves, rendering them powerless to resist or break free.

Despite my disdain for werewolves, an uncharacteristic feeling gnawed at me – a reluctance to see the girl harmed even in the slightest way. I shook off the sentiment, approaching her and lifting her chin with my thumb and index finger. She was stunning, with long dark brown hair, thick eyelashes, a perfect nose, and luscious lips that momentarily distracted me from my duty.

No! Snap out of it, what's wrong with you? I scolded myself internally.

"My, another one and a girl, isn't this sensational?" my father beamed, entering the room, and surveying the unconscious werewolf.

"Cut her dress till it reaches her knees; it's unreasonably wearisome and vast," my father directed, and the men wasted no time in complying. An unexpected pang of displeasure surged through me at the thought of them touching her, cutting her dress. It was as if I, and only I, was permitted to have any form of skin contact with her.

What's into me? I think I should kill the girl sooner than I thought for making me feel this way, I contemplated, torn between duty and an unexplainable connection that defied the hatred I held for her kind. 

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- Valentine Winters