She's The Alpha

One

The rain was pouring down on the dreadful afternoon, and thunder could be heard in the distance, but it mattered not to the pack of Wolves surrounding the fresh grave where a coffin had been lowered. They were in human form, heading back to the pack house on foot, other than Paige, who stood in the rain staring down at the Coffin with a rose in hand.

She closed her eyes in silent prayer to Callisto, Goddess of the Moon and Mother of the Wolves, the prayer for the departed. She hoped it would find its way to her father.

She could barely hear the footsteps behind her over the violent raindrops, but a voice called, "Paige, come inside before you get sick. Nothing is worse than a sick pup."

Paige stepped away from the Coffin, throwing the red rose into the grave. She took a deep breath and turned, her eyes meeting her grandmother's. There was no life in either of their eyes that day, both just trying to get through the last of the funeral plans; thankfully, the dreadful bit had passed, but now they had to face everyone all at once at the dinner.

As if the day wasn't bad enough.

"Come now, dear."

On a normal day, Paige would hate being talked to like a pup. Well, she technically was still a pup for another two weeks. The same day, she will be able to start finding her mate and would be seen as an adult in her pack.

On that day, though, she did not care. She couldn't find it in herself to roll her eyes or give a sarcastic remark.

She grabbed her grandmother's hand and followed the older woman to the pack house, but as they approached the doors to the dining hall, arguing could be heard through the glass doors, making Agatha curse under her breath. They stop a few feet away from the entrance, and Agatha dropped Paige's hand.

She turned her head to look at the younger girl, "You want to grow up so fast, pup, well here is a glimpse of what it will be like if you, one day, become an Elder."

Werewolves have a much longer lifespan than humans do. As long as we keep shifting into our wolves, we will stay young, fit, and healthy. Wolves who lose their mates typically stop shifting and start their aging process due to the depression that comes when your mate is ripped from you. Once a Werewolf starts aging and stop shifting, they become like humans. They disconnect from the pack mind and die at around one hundred years of age, give or take.

Many Werewolves die in battle, but some die via Silver Bullets by Human Monster Hunters or Wolfsbane; a very powerful poison that takes only thirty minutes to kill.

Elder Werewolves aren't particularly rare, so to speak, but Packs don't have many. Night Guard, Paige's pack, has six Elders.

Elder Agatha takes a deep breath and brushes down her ceremonial robe before leading the way into the dining hall, where the other Elders were snapping and yelling at each other from a table near the door, pack members watching from other seats as they go at it. "Well, that didn't take long." Agatha mumbled as she walked over to the table, "Do you five have no respect?" The shouting stopped immediately as her voice was heard, "This is a funeral. My son-in-law, Paige's father, your Alpha, is dead, and you are over here bickering like tween girls."

Elder Lincoln scoffed, "We are discussing an urgent matter."

"That is having a discussion?" Agatha laughed, "Well, share with the class! Your arguing got everyone's attention anyway!"

Elder Andrew cleared his throat, "We are discussing who shall be the next Alpha."

"Who is next on the succession?" Paige asked, furrowing her eyebrows as she stepped forward, "My father should have made one when he became Alpha, did he not?"