Dahlia The Female Alpha Of Alpha’s

“Wakey, wakey human.” I groan, clutching the pillow tighter over my head. The one thing I hate is being woken up in the mornings, especially when I’m hungover to death. I only wish that Celeste, my wolf, would get the memo.

“Celeste, shut up!” I moan as she chuckles in my head.

“Na ah, no can do princess. Today’s the day, we will find him. Our mate.” if I didn’t already have a banging headache, I would certainly have one now. She is bouncing on her paws, letting out excited yips and playful barks.

“No, we won’t. Or have you forgotten? We don’t have one.” I snap at her as I roll over, pulling the quilt higher, when my hand brushes against something cold. She whimpers.

“Of course we do. Now we are 21, we will find him. Now, up, up, up shower, brush your teeth and, brush your hair.” I crack my eyes open and remove the quilt. I chuckle, still a little bit drunk, as I find the empty bottle of wolf’s brew.

Today is my 21st birthday, and it is safe to say I got carried away with the pity party I had by myself in my favourite tree. When I was 16, I shifted for the first time. Mom and dad were shocked that it happened, and it didn’t take a genius to know it was too soon.

My training has changed and become more intense since then. In preparing me for my future of Alpha of Alpha’s.

The worst period of my life, if I’m being honest. My best friend, well, my only real friend, Malachi, who is 6 years older than me, wouldn’t speak to me, let alone look at me after I shifted. I don’t understand why the sudden change. I texted him and called, but he never responded, so I gave up. Some friend he is.

When I turned 18, I began shadowing my parents. The mighty Alpha Destinee and Alpha Titus Blackwood. Aura, my mom’s wolf, is the wolf that once belonged to our Moon Goddess, Selene. But still they are both great parents, but whenever I bring up the fact that they have twin sons and they can have the title, it always causes arguments with them both.

I may be alpha born and Selene declared my future. But I don’t want it. If anything, one of the twattlings should take over. I hate it; I hate being here. I just want to live a normal life. Travel, make friends because of who I am and not for my title or what they can gain from me.

Sighing, I get up, standing on wobbly legs as I stagger to the bathroom. Looking in the mirror, I chuckle to myself. I’m so attractive.

My long brown hair is a tangled and matted mess. I have mud and twigs sticking to it. Mud on my face and down my legs. I chuckle as I remember I fell out of the tree, landing